Judith crawled out of the blankets, took Doug by the arm, and pushed him down in the warm nest she had left. Then she covered him carefully. "It's my turn now," she said. He slept until noon. When he woke, Judith was making coffee, and the little wild mare was munching oats with the other horses. The Wolf Cub was gnawing on a bone, and the sun sifted brilliantly through the cedars. Douglas got to his feet stiffly and Judith looked up at him from her cooking with a smile. "Nothing like having your breakfast served immediately on waking," said Douglas. "Come and eat, Doug. We must be on our way." Judith poured a tin cup of coffee and offered Douglas a bacon sandwich as she spoke. "You shouldn't have let me sleep so long. A couple of hours would have kept me going the rest of the day." "You talk as foolish as old Johnny!" exclaimed Judith. "You were in almost as bad shape as I was, and two hours' sleep would have been a mere aggravation to me. Will you let me have enough grub to see me down to the Bowdins' ranch, Doug?" "No, I won't," replied Douglas succinctly, bracing himself for battle as he spoke. "Don't let's quarrel, Doug." Judith kept her eyes on the fire. "I haven't any intention of going back to Lost Chief. I've broken away and I shall stay away." "I don't blame you for feeling that way, Jude, but surely you can see that this is no way to go." Judith set her fine jaw firmly. Finally she said, "Where did you pick up my trail?" "Where you left the stage road. Jude, did you know that old Johnny gave Dad a nasty one above the knee?" "No! Old Johnny came to my rescue, but I didn't think he could hit a canyon wall. Good old Johnny! What became of him?" Douglas moistened his lips. "He followed my father to the half-way house. Dad was all in. Couldn't even build himself a fire. Johnny wouldn't do a thing for him. He went outside and sat down on the doorstep with my shot-gun across his knees; every time Dad yelled at him he said he was saving Jude for Douglas. The last of the afternoon Peter and I came up and found old Johnny there." "Good old Johnny!" said Judith again. Douglas nodded, hesitated, then said. "He was asleep and we couldn't wake him up." Judith's eyes suddenly filled with horror. "You couldn't wake him up? You mean--" Again Douglas nodded. "He was gone, poor old Johnny. For you and me. I came on after you, alone." Judith twisted her hands together. "But dead, Doug! And in such a simple way! O the poor little old chap! I can't forgive myself, Douglas!" "It's the way he'd like to have gone. You are not to blame." "O, yes, I am. I should have stopped and sent him home. But I was beside myself, Doug,--O, you don't know! you can't know!" "You're not to blame yourself about Johnny, I tell you." "Now I never do want to go back! You'll just have to grub-stake me, Doug. Please!"