It was not much after eleven when the two, huddled together on the seat of the buckboard, started back for Lost Chief. The cold was so intense that they were obliged to take turns driving. When the road permitted, they walked until even their hardy lungs demanded rest. Then they huddled together again, their knees touching the dashboard, lest Oscar's poor dead feet should thrust against theirs.
They talked very little except to guess as to the probable name of the murderer. Toward dawn, when the moon had set and Douglas was trusting the trail to the horses, he said:
"Do you remember at the schoolhouse Sunday, when Charleton said he didn't believe in a hereafter, old Jeff chimed in and said, 'Me too'?"
"I remember," replied Judith.
"What do you suppose Jeff thinks about it now?"
"He ain't thinking. He's gone. There's no hereafter. Dad says so." Judith huddled still closer.
"Isn't it horrible!" shuddered Douglas. "Horrible!"
Judith began to cry again. "If there was just a heaven," she sobbed, "I wouldn't mind living or dying either."
"Well, there isn't any." Douglas heaved a great sigh. "I wonder if they hang kids as young as us for murder?"
"Let them try hanging me, just once! That's all I've got to say!" exclaimed Judith stoutly, in spite of her chattering teeth. "The worst I ever did to Oscar Jefferson was to play bucking bronco on that old milch cow, Jinny, of his. And she sure-gawd could buck! But I was only a little girl then and I can prove it."
"Looks as if we might be in real trouble to me!" muttered Douglas.
