The big oaks shouldered themselves in black umbels against the horizon; pointed conifers shot up inky spires between them. The sky was only greyish black, lit by many stars, and Judith trembled to note that their dim illumination might almost permit one to recognise an individual at a few paces distance. Without misadventure she came to the spot designated, urged Selim in under the shadow of a tree, dismounted, and stood beside him waiting. Would Creed come? Would Huldah persuade him that the message was only a decoy? Would he come too late? Would some of the boys intercept him, so that he should never come at all? At the last thought she started and leaned out recklessly to search the dark path with desperate eyes. Perhaps she had better venture forward and meet him. Perhaps after all it would be possible for her to get closer to Nancy Card's. Then in the midst of her apprehensions came the sound of shod hoofs. She had chosen this point for two reasons: first the old trail she meant to follow down the mountain passed in close to the spot; and second it was the last place they would expect Bonbright to approach; his way to it would never be guarded. But of course she ran the risk of Blatch himself or some of his friends and followers appearing. And now she held her breath in intense anxiety as the trampling came nearer. There appeared out of the dense shadow of the bluff a man walking and leading a mule by its bridle. She knew the mule, because she got the silhouette of it against the sky, and directly after she saw that the man who led it was tall, with a bandaged head, which he carried in a manner unmistakable, and one shoulder gleaming white--she guessed that that was because his coat was off where the bandages lay under his white shirt and over the wound in his shoulder. It was Creed. With a throb of unspeakable thankfulness she realised that she had till now dreaded that if he came at all Huldah would be with him. She moved out from the dense shadow. "Whar--whar's Huldy?" she questioned before she would trust herself to believe. But Creed, full of the wonder of her message, dropped the mule's bridle and came toward her his uninjured arm outstretched. He put the inquiry by almost impatiently. "Huldah? She went on down to Hepzibah soon Saturday morning," he said. "O Judith, did you mean it--that word you sent me by Little Buck?" He came swiftly up to her, snatching her hand eagerly, pressing it hard against his breast, leaning close in the twilight to study her face. "You couldn't mean it," he hurried on passionately, tremulously, "not now; you just pity me. Little Buck cried when he told me what you said, honey. He was jealous. But he needn't have been--need he Judith? You just pity me." Creed's manner and his words were instant reassurance to Judith's womanly pride. But immediately on the relaxation of that pain rose clamouring her anxiety for his safety--his life.