THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS

BY HAROLD BELL WRIGHT

TO FRANCES, MY WIFE

IN MEMORY OF THAT BEAUTIFUL SUMMERIN THE OZARK HILLS, WHEN, SO OFTEN, WE FOLLOWED THE OLD TRAIL AROUNDTHE RISE OF MUTTON HOLLOW--THE TRAILTHAT IS NOBODY KNOWS HOW OLD--AND FROMSAMMY'S LOOKOUT WATCHED THEDAY GO OVER THE WESTERN RIDGES. 

"That all with one consent praise new-born gawds, Tho they are made and moulded of things past, And give to dust that is a little giltMore laud than gilt o'er-dusted. "

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT 3; SC. 3. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE STRANGER. 

It was corn-planting time, when the stranger followed the OldTrail into the Mutton Hollow neighborhood. 

All day a fine rain had fallen steadily, and the mists hung heavyover the valley. The lower hills were wrapped as in a windingsheet; dank and cold. The trees were dripping with moisture. Thestranger looked tired and wet. 

By his dress, the man was from the world beyond the ridges, andhis carefully tailored clothing looked strangely out of place inthe mountain wilderness. His form stooped a little in theshoulders, perhaps with weariness, but he carried himself with theunconscious air of one long used to a position of conspicuouspower and influence; and, while his well-kept hair and beard werestrongly touched with white, the brown, clear lighted eyes, thatlooked from under their shaggy brows, told of an intellectunclouded by the shadows of many years. It was a face markeddeeply by pride; pride of birth, of intellect, of culture; theface of a scholar and poet; but it was more--it was thecountenance of one fairly staggering under a burden ofdisappointment and grief. 

As the stranger walked, he looked searchingly into the mists onevery hand, and paused frequently as if questioning the propercourse. Suddenly he stepped quickly forward. His ear had caughtthe sharp ring of a horse's shoe on a flint rock somewhere in themists on the mountain side above. It was Jed Holland coming downthe trail with a week's supply of corn meal in a sack across hishorse's back. 

As the figure of the traveler emerged from the mists, the nativechecked his horse to greet the newcomer with the customarysalutation of the backwoods, "Howdy. "

The man returned Jed's greeting cordially, and, resting hissatchel on a rock beside the narrow path, added, "I am very gladto meet you. I fear that I am lost. "

The voice was marvelously pure, deep, and musical, and, like thebrown eyes, betrayed the real strength of the man, denied by hisgray hair and bent form. The tones were as different from the highkeyed, slurring speech of the backwoods, as the gentleman himselfwas unlike any man Jed had ever met. The boy looked at the speakerin wide-eyed wonder; he had a queer feeling that he was in thepresence of a superior being. 

Throwing one thin leg over the old mare's neck, and waving a longarm up the hill and to the left, Jed drawled, "That thar's DeweyBal'; down yonder's Mutton Holler. " Then turning a little to theright and pointing into the mist with the other hand, hecontinued, "Compton Ridge is over thar. Whar was you tryin' to gitto, Mister?"

"Where am I trying to get to?" As the man repeated Jed's question, he drew his hand wearily across his brow; "I--I--it doesn't muchmatter, boy. I suppose I must find some place where I can stay to-night. Do you live near here?"

"Nope, " Jed answered, "Hit's a right smart piece to whar I live. This here's grindin' day, an' I've been t' mill over on FallCreek; the Matthews mill hit is. Hit'll be plumb dark 'gin I githome. I 'lowed you was a stranger in these parts soon 's I ketchedsight of you. What might YER name be, Mister?"

The other, looking back over the way he had come, seemed not tohear Jed's question, and the native continued, "Mine's Holland. Pap an' Mam they come from Tennessee. Pap he's down in th' backnow, an' ain't right peart, but he'll be 'round in a little, Ireckon. Preachin' Bill he 'lows hit's good fer a feller t' be downin th' back onct in a while; says if hit warn't fer that we'd gitto standin' so durned proud an' straight we'd go plumb overbackwards. "

A bitter smile crossed the face of the older man. He evidentlyapplied the native's philosophy in a way unguessed by Jed. "Verytrue, very true, indeed, " he mused. Then he turned to Jed, andasked, "Is there a house near here?"

"Jim Lane lives up the trail 'bout half a quarter. Ever hear tello' Jim?"

"No, I have never been in these mountains before. "

"I 'lowed maybe you'd heard tell o' Jim or Sammy. There's themthat 'lows Jim knows a heap more 'bout old man Dewey's cave thanhe lets on; his place bein' so nigh. Reckon you know 'bout ColonelDewey, him th' Bal' up thar's named fer? Maybe you come t' lookfer the big mine they say's in th' cave? I'll hep you hunt hit, ifyou want me to, Mister. "

"No, " said the other, "I am not looking for mines of lead or zinc;there is greater wealth in these hills and forests, young man. "

"Law, you don't say! Jim Wilson allus 'lowed thar must be gold inthese here mountains, 'cause they're so dad burned rough. Lemmehep you, Mister. I'd like mighty well t' git some clothes likethem. "

"I do not speak of gold, my boy, " the stranger answered kindly. "But I must not keep you longer, or darkness will overtake us. Doyou think this Mr. Lane would entertain me?"

Jed pushed a hand up under his tattered old hat, and scratchedawhile before he answered, "Don't know 'bout th' entertainin', Mister, but 'most anybody would take you in. " He turned and lookedthoughtfully up the trail. "I don't guess Jim's to home though;'cause I see'd Sammy a fixin' t' go over t' th' Matthews's when Icome past. You know the Matthews's, I reckon?"

There was a hint of impatience now in the deep voice. "No, I toldyou that I had never been in these mountains before. Will Mr. Matthews keep me, do you think?"

Jed, who was still looking up the trail, suddenly leaned forward, and, pointing into the timber to the left of the path, said in anexciting whisper, "Look at that, Mister; yonder thar by that bigrock. "

The stranger, looking, thought he saw a form, weird and ghost-likein the mist, flitting from tree to tree, but, even as he looked, it vanished among the hundreds of fantastic shapes in the grayforest. "What is it?" he asked. 

The native shook his head. "Durned if I know, Mister. You can'ttell. There's mighty strange things stirrin' on this heremountain, an' in the Holler down yonder. Say, Mister, did you eversee a hant?"

The gentleman did not understand. 

"A hant, a ghost, some calls 'em, " explained Jed. "Bud Wilson hesure seed old Matt's--"

The other interrupted. "Really, young man, I must go. It isalready late, and you know I have yet to find a place to stay forthe night. "

"Law, that's alright, Mister!" replied Jed. "Ain't no call t'worry. Stay anywhere. Whar do you live when you're to home?"

Again Jed's question was ignored. "You think then that Mr. Matthews will keep me?"

"Law, yes! They'll take anybody in. I know they're to home 'causethey was a fixin' t' leave the mill when I left 'bout an hour ago. Was the river up much when you come acrost?" As the native spokehe was still peering uneasily into the woods. 

"I did not cross the river. How far is it to this Matthews place, and how do I go?"

"Jest foller this Old Trail. Hit'll take you right thar. Good roadall th' way. 'Bout three mile, I'd say. Did you come fromSpringfield or St. Louis, maybe?"

The man lifted his satchel from the rock as he answered: "No, I donot live in either Springfield or St. Louis. Thank you, very much, for your assistance. I will go on, now, for I must hurry, or nightwill overtake me, and I shall not be able to find the path. "

"Oh, hit's a heap lighter when you git up on th' hill 'bove th'fog, " said Jed, lowering his leg from the horse's neck, andsettling the meal sack, preparatory to moving. "But I'd a heaprather hit was you than me a goin' up on Dewey t'night. " He wasstill looking up the trail. "Reckon you must be from Kansas Cityor Chicago? I heard tell they're mighty big towns. "

The stranger's only answer was a curt "Good-by, " as his formvanished in the mist. 

Jed turned and dug his heels vigorously in the old mare's flanks, as he ejaculated softly, "Well, I'll be dod durned! Must be fromNew York, sure!"

Slowly the old man toiled up the mountain; up from the mists ofthe lower ground to the ridge above; and, as he climbed, unseen byhim, a shadowy form flitted from tree to tree in the dim, drippingforest. 

As the stranger came in sight of the Lane cabin, a young woman ona brown pony rode out of the gate and up the trail before him; andwhen the man reached the open ground on the mountain above, androunded the shoulder of the hill, he saw the pony, far ahead, loping easily along the little path. A moment he watched, andhorse and rider passed from sight. 

The clouds were drifting far away. The western sky was clear withthe sun still above the hills. In an old tree that leaned far outover the valley, a crow shook the wet from his plumage and driedhimself in the warm light; while far below the mists rolled, andon the surface of that gray sea, the traveler saw a company ofbuzzards, wheeling and circling above some dead thing hidden inits depth. 

Wearily the man followed the Old Trail toward the Matthews place, and always, as he went, in the edge of the gloomy forest, flittedthat shadowy form. 

CHAPTER II. 

SAMMY LANE. 

Preachin' Bill, says, "Hit's a plumb shame there ain't more men inth' world built like old man Matthews and that thar boy o' his'n. Men like them ought t' be as common as th' other kind, an' wouldbe too if folks cared half as much 'bout breeding folks as they do'bout raising hogs an' horses. "

Mr. Matthews was a giant. Fully six feet four inches in height, with big bones, broad shoulders, and mighty muscles. At logrollings and chopping bees, in the field or at the mill, or in anyof the games in which the backwoodsman tries his strength, no onehad ever successfully contested his place as the strongest man inthe hills. And still, throughout the country side, the old folkstell with pride tales of the marvelous feats of strength performedin the days when "Old Matt" was young. 

Of the son, "Young Matt, " the people called him, it is enough tosay that he seemed made of the same metal and cast in the samemold as the father; a mighty frame, softened yet by youngmanhood's grace; a powerful neck and well poised head with wavyred-brown hair; and blue eyes that had in them the calm of summerskies or the glint of battle steel. It was a countenance fearlessand frank, but gentle and kind, and the eyes were honest eyes. 

Anyone meeting the pair, as they walked with the long swingingstride of the mountaineer up the steep mill road that grayafternoon, would have turned for a second look; such men areseldom seen. 

When they reached the big log house that looks down upon theHollow, the boy went at once with his axe to the woodpile, whilethe older man busied himself with the milking and other choresabout the barn. 

Young Matt had not been chopping long when he heard, coming up thehill, the sound of a horse's feet on the Old Trail. The horsestopped at the house and a voice, that stirred the blood in theyoung man's veins, called, "Howdy, Aunt Mollie. "

Mrs. Matthews appeared in the doorway; by her frank countenanceand kindly look anyone would have known her at a glance as theboy's mother. "Land sakes, if it ain't Sammy Lane! How are you, honey?"

"I am alright, " answered the voice; "I've come over t' stop withyou to-night; Dad's away again; Mandy Ford staid with me lastnight, but she had to go home this evenin'. " The big fellow at thewoodpile drove his axe deeper into the log. 

"It's about time you was a comin' over, " replied the woman in thedoorway; "I was a tellin' the menfolks this mornin' that youhadn't been nigh the whole blessed week. Mr. Matthews 'lowed maybeyou was sick. "

The other returned with a gay laugh, "I was never sick a minute inmy life that anybody ever heard tell. I'm powerful hungry, though. You'd better put in another pan of corn bread. " She turned herpony's head toward the barn. 

"Seems like you are always hungry, " laughed the older woman, inreturn. "Well just go on out to the barn, and the men will takeyour horse; then come right in and I'll mighty soon have somethingto fill you up. "

Operations at the woodpile suddenly ceased and Young Matt wasfirst at the barn-yard gate. 

Miss Sammy Lane was one of those rare young women whose appearanceis not to be described. One can, of course, put it down that shewas tall; beautifully tall, with the trimness of a young pine, deep bosomed, with limbs full-rounded, fairly tingling with thelife and strength of perfect womanhood; and it may be said thather face was a face to go with one through the years, and to livestill in one's dreams when the sap of life is gone, and, witheredand old, one sits shaking before the fire; a generous, lovingmouth, red lipped, full arched, with the corners tucked in andperfect teeth between; a womanly chin and nose, with characterenough to save them from being pretty; hair dark, showing a touchof gold with umber in the shadows; a brow, full broad, set overbrown eyes that had never been taught to hide behind their fringedveils, but looked always square out at you with a healthy look ofgood comradeship, a gleam of mirth, or a sudden, wide, questioninggaze that revealed depth of soul within. 

But what is the use? When all this is written, those who knewSammy will say, "'Tis but a poor picture, for she is somethingmore than all this. " Uncle Ike, the postmaster at the Forks, didit much better when he said to "Preachin' Bill, " the night of the"Doin's" at the Cove School, "Ba thundas! That gal o' Jim Lane'sjest plumb fills th' whole house. WHAT! An' when she comes aridin' up t' th' office on that brown pony o' hern, I'll be dadburned if she don't pretty nigh fill th' whole out doors, bathundas! What!" And the little shrivelled up old hillsman, whokeeps the ferry, removed his cob pipe long enough to reply, withall the emphasis possible to his squeaky voice, "She sure do, Ike. She sure do. I've often thought hit didn't look jest fair fer God'lmighty t' make sech a woman 'thout ary man t' match her. Makesme feel plumb 'shamed o' myself t' stand 'round in th' same countywith her. Hit sure do, Ike. "

Greeting the girl the young man opened the gate for her to pass. 

"I've been a lookin' for you over, " said Sammy, a teasing light inher eyes. "Didn't you know that Mandy was stoppin' with me? She'sbeen a dyin' to see you. "

"I'm mighty sorry, " he replied, fastening the gate and coming tothe pony's side. "Why didn't you tell me before? I reckon she'llget over it alright, though, " he added with a smile, as he raisedhis arms to assist the girl to dismount. 

The teasing light vanished as the young woman placed her hands onthe powerful shoulders of the giant, and as she felt the play ofthe swelling muscles that swung her to the ground so easily, herface flushed with admiration. For the fraction of a minute shestood facing him, her hands still on his arms, her lips parted asif to speak; then she turned quickly away, and without a wordwalked toward the house, while the boy, pretending to busy himselfwith the pony's bridle, watched her as she went. 

When the girl was gone, the big fellow led the horse away to thestable, where he crossed his arms upon the saddle and hid his facefrom the light. Mr. Matthews coming quietly to the door a fewminutes later saw the boy standing there, and the rugged face ofthe big mountaineer softened at the sight. Quietly he withdrew tothe other side of the barn, to return later when the saddle andbridle had been removed, and the young man stood stroking thepony, as the little horse munched his generous feed of corn. 

The elder man laid his hand on the broad shoulder of the lad solike him, and looked full into the clear eyes. "Is it alright, son?" he asked gruffly; and the boy answered, as he returned hisfather's look, "It's alright, Dad. "

"Then let's go to the house; Mother called supper some time ago. "

Just as the little company were seating themselves at the table, the dog in the yard barked loudly. Young Matt went to the door. The stranger, whom Jed had met on the Old Trail, stood at thegate. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE VOICE FROM OUT THE MISTS. 

While Young Matt was gone to the corral in the valley to see thatthe sheep were safely folded for the night, and the two women werebusy in the house with their after-supper work, Mr. Matthews andhis guest sat on the front porch. 

"My name is Howitt, Daniel Howitt, " the man said in answer to thehost's question. But, as he spoke, there was in his manner a touchof embarrassment, and he continued quickly as if to preventfurther question, "You have two remarkable children, sir; that boyis the finest specimen of manhood I have ever seen, and the girlis remarkable--remarkable, sir. You will pardon me, I am sure, butI am an enthusiastic lover of my kind, and I certainly have neverseen such a pair. "

The grim face of the elder Matthews showed both pleasure andamusement. "You're mistaken, Mister; the boy's mine alright, an'he's all that you say, an' more, I reckon. I doubt if there's aman in the hills can match him to-day; not excepting Wash Gibbs;an' he's a mighty good boy, too. But the girl is a daughter of aneighbor, and no kin at all. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed the other, "you have only one child then?"

The amused smile left the face of the old mountaineer, as heanswered slowly, "There was six boys, sir; this one, Grant, is theyoungest. The others lie over there. " He pointed with his pipe towhere a clump of pines, not far from the house, showed dark andtall, against the last red glow in the sky. 

The stranger glanced at the big man's face in quick sympathy. "Ihad only two; a boy and a girl, " he said softly. "The girl and hermother have been gone these twenty years. The boy grew to be aman, and now he has left me. " The deep voice faltered. "Pardon me, sir, for speaking of this, but my lad was so like your boy there. He was all I had, and now--now--I am very lonely, sir. "

There is a bond of fellowship in sorrow that knows noconventionalities. As the two men sat in the hush of the comingnight, their faces turned toward the somber group of trees, theyfelt strongly drawn to one another. 

The mountaineer's companion spoke again half to himself; "I wishthat my dear ones had a resting place like that. In the crowdedcity cemetery the ground is always shaken by the tramping offuneral professions. " He buried his face in his hands. 

For some time the stranger sat thus, while his host spoke no word. Then lifting his head, the man looked away over the ridges justtouched with the lingering light, and the valley below wrapped inthe shadowy mists. "I came away from it all because they said Imust, and because I was hungry for this. " He waved his hand towardthe glowing sky and the forest clad hills. "This is good for me;it somehow seems to help me know how big God is. One could findpeace here--surely, sir, one could find it here--peace andstrength. "

The mountaineer puffed hard at his pipe for a while, then saidgruffly, "Seems that way, Mister, to them that don't know. Butmany's the time I've wished to God I'd never seen these hereOzarks. I used to feel like you do, but I can't no more. They'mind me now of him that blackened my life; he used to take onpowerful about the beauty of the country and all the time he was aturnin' it into a hell for them that had to stay here after he wasgone. "

As he spoke, anger and hatred grew dark in the giant's face, andthe stranger saw the big hands clench and the huge frame growtense with passion. Then, as if striving to be not ungracious, thewoodsman said in a somewhat softer tone, "You can't see much ofit, this evening, though, 'count of the mists. It'll fair up bymorning, I reckon. You can see a long way from here, of a clearday, Mister. "

"Yes, indeed, " replied Mr. Howitt, in an odd tone. "One could seefar from here, I am sure. We, who live in the cities, see but alittle farther than across the street. We spend our days lookingat the work of our own and our neighbors' hands. Small wonder ourlives have so little of God in them, when we come in touch with solittle that God has made. "

"You live in the city, then, when you are at home?" asked Mr. Matthews, looking curiously at his guest. 

"I did, when I had a home; I cannot say that I live anywhere now. "

Old Matt leaned forward in his chair as if to speak again; thenpaused; someone was coming up the hill; and soon theydistinguished the stalwart form of the son. Sammy coming from thehouse with an empty bucket met the young man at the gate, and thetwo went toward the spring together. 

In silence the men on the porch watched the moon as she slowlypushed her way up through the leafy screen on the mountain wall. Higher and higher she climbed until her rays fell into the valleybelow, and the drifting mists from ridge to ridge became a sea ofghostly light. It was a weird scene, almost supernatural in itsbeauty. 

Then from down at the spring a young girl's laugh rose clearly, and the big mountaineer said in a low tone, "Mr. Howitt, you'vegot education; it's easy to see that; I've always wanted to asksomebody like you, do you believe in hants? Do you reckon folksever come back once they're dead and gone?"

The man from the city saw that his big host was terribly inearnest, and answered quietly, "No, I do not believe in suchthings, Mr. Matthews; but if it should be true, I do not see whywe should fear the dead. "

The other shook his head; "I don't know--I don't know, sir; Ialways said I didn't believe, but some things is mighty queer. " Heseemed to be shaping his thought for further speech, when againthe girl's laugh rang clear along the mountain side. The youngpeople were returning from the spring. 

The mountaineer relighted his pipe, while Young Matt and Sammyseated themselves on the step, and Mrs. Matthews coming from thehouse joined the group. 

"We've just naturally got to find somebody to stay with themsheep, Dad, " said the son; "there ain't nobody there to-night, andas near as I can make out there's three ewes and their lambsmissing. There ain't a bit of use in us trying to depend on Pete. "

"I'll ride over on Bear Creek to-morrow, and see if I can get thatfellow Buck told us about, " returned the father. 

"You find it hard to get help on the ranch?" inquired thestranger. 

"Yes, sir, we do, " answered Old Matt. "We had a good 'nough man'till about a month ago; since then we've been gettin' along thebest we could. But with some a stayin' out on the range, an' notcomin' in, an' the wolves a gettin' into the corral at night, we'll lose mighty nigh all the profits this year. The worst of itis, there ain't much show to get a man; unless that one over onBear Creek will come. I reckon, though, he'll be like the rest. "He sat staring gloomily into the night. 

"Is the work so difficult?" Mr. Howitt asked. 

"Difficult, no; there ain't nothing to do but tendin' to thesheep. The man has to stay at the ranch of nights, though. "

Mr. Howitt was wondering what staying at the ranch nights couldhave to do with the difficulty, when, up from the valley below, from out the darkness and the mists, came a strange sound; a soundas if someone were singing a song without words. So wild and weirdwas the melody; so passionately sweet the voice, it seemedimpossible that the music should come from human lips. It was moreas though some genie of the forest-clad hills wandered through themists, singing as he went with the joy of his possessions. 

Mrs. Matthews came close to her husband's side, and placed herhand upon his shoulder as he half rose from his chair, his pipefallen to the floor. Young Matt rose to his feet and moved closerto the girl, who was also standing. The stranger alone kept hisseat and he noted the agitation of the others in wonder. 

For some moments the sound continued, now soft and low, with thesweet sadness of the wind in the pines; then clear and ringing, itechoed and reechoed along the mountain; now pleadings, as though asoul in darkness prayed a gleam of light; again rising, swellingexultingly, as in glad triumph, only to die away once more to thatmoaning wail, seeming at last to lose itself in the mists. 

Slowly Old Matt sank back into his seat and the stranger heard himmutter, "Poor boy, poor boy. " Aunt Mollie was weeping. SuddenlySammy sprang from the steps and running down the walk to the gatesent a clear, piercing call over the valley: "O--h--h, Pete. " Thegroup on the porch listened intently. Again the girl called, andyet again: "O--h--h, Pete. " But there was no answer. 

"It's no use, honey, " said Mrs. Matthews, breaking the silence;"it just ain't no use;" and the young girl came slowly back to theporch. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A CHAT WITH AUNT MOLLIE. 

When the stranger looked from his window the next morning, thevalley was still wrapped in its gray blanket. But when he and hishost came from the house after breakfast, the sun had climbed wellabove the ridge, and, save a long, loosely twisted rope of fogthat hung above the distant river, the mists were gone. The cityman exclaimed with delight at the beauty of the scene. 

As they stood watching the sheep--white specks in the distance--climbing out of the valley where the long shadows still lay, tothe higher, sunlit pastures, Mr. Matthews said, "We've all been atalkin' about you this mornin', Mr. Howitt, and we'd like mightywell to have you stop with us for a spell. If I understood right, you're just out for your health anyway, and you'll go a long ways, sir, before you find a healthier place than this right here. Weain't got much such as you're used to, I know, but what we have isyourn, and we'd be proud to have you make yourself to home for aslong as you'd like to stay. You see it's been a good while sincewe met up with anybody like you, and we count it a real favor tohave you. "

Mr. Howitt accepted the invitation with evident pleasure, and, soon after, the mountaineer rode away to Bear Creek, on his questfor a man to herd sheep. Young Matt had already gone with his teamto the field on the hillside west of the house, and the brown ponystood at the gate ready for Sammy Lane to return to her home onDewey Bald. 

"I'd like the best in the world to stay, Aunt Mollie, " she said, in answer to Mrs. Matthews' protest; "but you know there is no oneto feed the stock, and besides Mandy Ford will be back sometimeto-day. "

The older woman's arm was around the girl as they went down thewalk. "You must come over real often, now, honey; you know itwon't be long 'til you'll be a leavin' us for good. How do youreckon you'll like bein' a fine lady, and livin' in the city withthem big folks?"

The girl's face flushed, and her eyes had that wide questioninglook, as she answered slowly, "I don't know, Aunt Mollie; I ain'tnever seen a sure 'nough fine lady; I reckon them city folks are aheap different from us, but I reckon they're just as human. Itwould be nice to have lots of money and pretties, but somehow Ifeel like there's a heap more than that to think about. Any how, "she added brightly, "I ain't goin' for quite a spell yet, and youknow 'Preachin' Bill' says, 'There ain't no use to worry 'bout thechoppin' 'til the dogs has treed the coon. ' I'll sure come overevery day. "

Mrs. Matthews kissed the girl, and then, standing at the gate, watched until pony and rider had disappeared in the forest. 

Later Aunt Mollie, with a woman's fondness for a quiet chat, brought the potatoes she was preparing for dinner, to sit with Mr. Howitt on the porch. "I declare I don't know what we'll do withoutSammy, " she said; "I just can't bear to think of her goin' away. "

The guest, feeling that some sort of a reply was expected, asked, "Is the family moving from the neighborhood?"

"No, sir, there ain't no family to move. Just Sammy and her Pa, and Jim Lane won't never leave this country again. You see OllieStewart's uncle, his father's brother it is, ain't got no childrenof his own, and he wrote for Ollie to come and live with him inthe city. He's to go to school and learn the business, foundry andmachine shops, or something like that it is; and if the boy doeswhat's right, he's to get it all some day; Ollie and Sammy hasbeen promised ever since the talk first began about his goin'; butthey'll wait now until he gets through his schoolin'. It'll bemighty nice for Sammy, marryin' Ollie, but we'll miss her awful;the whole country will miss her, too. She's just the life of theneighborhood, and everybody 'lows there never was another girllike her. Poor child, she ain't had no mother since she was alittle trick, and she has always come to me for everything like, us bein' such close neighbors, and all. But law! sir, I ain't ablamin' her a mite for goin', with her Daddy a runnin' with thatornery Wash Gibbs the way he does. "

Again the man felt called upon to express his interest; "Is Mr. Lane in business with this man Gibbs?"

"Law, no! that is, don't nobody know about any business; I reckonit's all on account of those old Bald Knobbers; they used to holdtheir meetin's on top of Dewey yonder, and folks do say a man wasburned there once, because he told some of their secrets. Well, Jim and Wash's daddy, and Wash, all belonged, 'though Wash himselfwasn't much more than a boy then; and when the government broke upthe gang, old man Gibbs was killed, and Jim went to Texas. It wasthere that Sammy's Ma died. When Jim come back it wasn't longbefore he was mighty thick again with Wash and his crowd down onthe river, and he's been that way ever since. There's them thatsays it's the same old gang, what's left of them, and some thinkstoo that Jim and Wash knows about the old Dewey mine. "

Mr. Howitt, remembering his conversation with Jed Holland, askedencouragingly, "Is this mine a very rich one?"

"Don't nobody rightly know about that, sir, " answered Aunt Mollie. "This is how it was: away back when the Injuns was makin' trouble'cause the government was movin' them west to the territory, thisold man Dewey lived up there somewhere on that mountain. He was amighty queer old fellow; didn't mix up with the settlers at all, except Uncle Josh Hensley's boy who wasn't right smart, and didn'tnobody know where he come from nor nothing; but all the same, 'twas him that warned the settlers of the trouble, and helped themall through it, scoutin' and such. And one time when they wasabout out of bullets and didn't have nothin' to make more out of, Colonel Dewey took a couple of men and some mules up on thatmountain yonder in the night, and when they got back they was justloaded down with lead, but he wouldn't tell nobody where he gotit, and as long as he was with them, the men didn't dare tell. Well, sir, them two men was killed soon after by the Injuns, andwhen the trouble was finally over, old Dewey disappeared, andain't never been heard tell of since. They say the mine issomewhere's in a big cave, but nobody ain't never found it, 'though there's them that says the Bald Knobbers used the cave tohide their stuff in, and that's how Jim Lane and Wash Gibbs knowswhere it is; it's all mighty queer. You can see for yourself thatLost Creek down yonder just sinks clean out of sight all at once;there must be a big hole in there somewhere. "

Aunt Mollie pointed with her knife to the little stream that windslike a thread of light down into the Hollow. "I tell you, sir, these hills is pretty to look at, but there ain't much here for agirl like Sammy, and I don't blame her a mite for wantin' toleave. It's a mighty hard place to live, Mr. Howitt, anddangerous, too, sometimes. "

"The city has its hardships and its dangers too, Mrs. Matthews;life there demands almost too much at times; I often wonder if itis worth the struggle. "

"I guess that's so, " replied Aunt Mollie, "but it don't seem likeit could be so hard as it is here. I tell Mr. Matthews we've cleanforgot the ways of civilized folks; altogether, though, I supposewe've done as well as most, and we hadn't ought to complain. "

The old scholar looked at the sturdy figure in its plain calicodress; at the worn hands, busy with their homely task; and thepatient, kindly face, across which time had ploughed many afurrow, in which to plant the seeds of character and worth. Hethought of other women who had sat with him on hotel verandas, atfashionable watering places; women gowned in silks and laces;women whose soft hands knew no heavier task than the filmy fancywork they toyed with, and whose greatest care, seemingly, was thattime should leave upon their faces no record of the passing years. "And this is the stuff, " said he to himself, "that makes possiblethe civilization that produces them. " Aloud, he said, "Do you evertalk of going back to your old home?"

"No, sir, not now;" she rested her wet hands idly on the edge ofthe pan of potatoes, and turned her face toward the clump ofpines. "We used to think we'd go back sometime; seemed like atfirst I couldn't stand it; then the children come, and every timewe laid one of them over there I thought less about leavin', untilnow we never talk about it no more. Then there was our girl, too, Mr. Howitt. No, sir, we won't never leave these hills now. "

"Oh, you had a daughter, too? I understood from Mr. Matthews thatyour children were all boys. "

Aunt Mollie worked a few moments longer in silence, then arose andturned toward the house. "Yes, sir, there was a girl; she's buriedunder that biggest pine you see off there a little to one side. We--we--don't never talk about her. Mr. Matthews can't stand it. Seems like he ain't never been the same since--since--it happened. 'Tain't natural for him to be so rough and short; he's just asgood and kind inside as any man ever was or could be. He's realtaken with you, Mr. Howitt, and I'm mighty glad you're goin' tostop a spell, for it will do him good. If it hadn't been for SammyLane runnin' in every day or two, I don't guess he could havestood it at all. I sure don't know what we'll do now that she'sgoin' away. Then there's--there's--that at the ranch in MuttonHollow; but I guess I'd better not try to tell you about that. Iwish Mr. Matthews would, though; maybe he will. You know so muchmore than us; I know most you could help us or tell us aboutthings. "

CHAPTER V. 

"JEST NOBODY. "

After the midday meal, while walking about the place, Mr. Howittfound a well worn path; it led him to the group of pines not farfrom the house, where five rough head stones marked the fivemounds placed side by side. A little apart from these was anothermound, alone. 

Beneath the pines the needles made a carpet, firm and smooth, figured by the wild woodbine that clambered over the graves; mosshad gathered on the head stones, and the wind, in the darkbranches above, moaned ceaselessly. About the little plot ofground a rustic fence of poles was built, and the path led to astile by which one might enter the enclosure. 

The stranger seated himself upon the rude steps. Below and faraway he saw the low hills, rolling ridge on ridge like the wavesof a great sea, until in the blue distance they were so lost inthe sky that he could not say which was mountain and which wascloud. His poet heart was stirred at sight of the vast reaches ofthe forest all shifting light and shadows; the cool depths of thenear-by woods with the sunlight filtering through the leafy archesin streaks and patches of gold on green; and the wide, wide skywith fleets of cloud ships sailing to unseen ports below thehills. 

The man sat very still, and as he looked the worn face changed;once, as if at some pleasing memory, he smiled. A gray squirrelwith bright eyes full of curious regard peeped over the limb of anoak; a red bird hopping from bush to bush whistled to his mate;and a bob-white's quick call came from a nearby thicket. 

The dreamer was aroused at last by the musical tinkle of a bell. He turned his face toward the sound, but could see nothing. Thebell was coming nearer; it came nearer still. Then he saw here andthere through the trees small, moving patches of white; an old ewefollowed by two lambs came from behind a clump of bushes, and themoving patches of white shaped themselves into other sheep feedingin the timber. 

Mr. Howitt sat quite still, and, while the old ewe paused to lookat him, the lambs took advantage of the opportunity, until theirmother was satisfied with her inspection, and by moving on, upsetthem. Soon the whole flock surrounded him, and, after the firstlingering look of inquiry, paid no heed to his presence. 

Then from somewhere among the trees came the quick, low bark of adog. The man looked carefully in every direction; he could seenothing but the sheep, yet he felt himself observed. Again camethe short bark; and this time a voice--a girl's voice, Mr. Howittthought--said, "It's alright, Brave; go on, brother. " And frombehind a big rock not far away a shepherd dog appeared, followedby a youth of some fifteen years. 

He was a lightly built boy; a bit tall for his age, perhaps, butperfectly erect; and his every movement was one of indescribablegrace, while he managed, somehow, to wear his rough backwoodsgarments with an air of distinction as remarkable as it wascharming. The face was finely molded, almost girlish, with thelarge gray eyes, and its frame of yellow, golden hair. It was asad face when in repose, yet wonderfully responsive to everypassing thought and mood. But the eyes, with their strangeexpression, and shifting light, proclaimed the lad's mentalcondition. 

As the boy came forward in a shy, hesitating way, an expression ofamazement and wonder crept into the stranger's face; he left hisseat and started forward. "Howard, " he said; "Howard. "

"That ain't his name, Mister; his name's Pete, " returned theyouth, in low, soft tones. 

In the voice and manner of the lad, no less than in his face andeyes, Mr. Howitt read his story. Unconsciously he echoed the wordsof Mr. Matthews, "Poor Pete. "

The dog lifted his head and looked into the man's face, while histail wagged a joyful greeting, and, as the man stooped to pat theanimal and speak a few kind words, a beautiful smile broke overthe delicate features of the youth. Throwing himself upon theground, he cried, "Come here, Brave"; and taking the dog's facebetween his hands, said in confidential tones, ignoring Mr. Howitt's presence, "He's a good man, ain't he, brother?" The doganswered with wagging tail. "We sure like him, don't we?" The doggave a low bark. "Listen, Brave, listen. " He lifted his face tothe tree tops, then turned his ear to the ground, while the dog, too, seemed to hearken. Again that strange smile illuminated hisface; "Yes, yes, Brave, we sure like him. And the tree things likehim, too, brother; and the flowers, the little flower things thatknow everything; they're all a singin' to Pete 'cause he's come. Did you see the flower things in his eyes, and hear the treethings a talkin' in his voice, Brave? And see, brother, the sheeplike him too!" Pointing toward the stranger, he laughed aloud. Theold ewe had come quite close to the man, and one of the lambs wasnibbling at his trousers' leg. 

Mr. Howitt seated himself on the stile again, and the dog, released by the youth, came to lie down at his feet; while the boyseemed to forget his companions, and appeared to be listening tovoices unheard by them, now and then nodding his head and movinghis lips in answer. 

The old man looked long and thoughtfully at the youth, his ownface revealing a troubled mind. This then was Pete, Poor Pete. "Howard, " whispered the man; "the perfect image;" then again hesaid, half aloud, "Howard. "

The boy turned his face and smiled; "That ain't his name, Mister;his name's Pete. Pete seen you yesterday over on Dewey, and Petehe heard the big hills and the woods a singin' when you talked. But Jed he didn't hear. Jed he don't hear nothin' but himself; hecan't. But Pete he heard and all Pete's people, too. And the graymist things come out and danced along the mountain, 'cause theywas so glad you come. And Pete went with you along the Old Trail. Course, though, you didn't know. Do you like Pete's people, Mister?" He waved his hands to include the forest, the mountainsand the sky; and there was a note of anxiety in the sweet voice ashe asked again: "Do you like Pete's friends?"

"Yes, indeed, I like your friends, " replied Mr. Howitt, heartily;"and I would like to be your friend too, if you will let me. Whatis your other name?"

The boy shook his head; "Not me; not me;" he said; "do you likePete?"

The man was puzzled. "Are you not Pete?" he asked. 

The delicate face grew sad: "No, no, no, " he said in a low moaningtone; "I'm not Pete; Pete, he lives in here;" he touched himselfon the breast. "I am--I am--" A look of hopeless bewildermentcrept into his eyes; "I don't know who I am; I'm jest nobody. Nobody can't have no name, can he?" He stood with downcast head;then suddenly he raised his face and the shadows lifted, as hesaid, "But Pete he knows, Mister, ask Pete. "

A sudden thought came to Mr. Howitt. "Who is your father, my boy?"

Instantly the brightness vanished; again the words were a puzzledmoan; "I ain't got no father, Mister; I ain't me; nobody can'thave no father, can he?"

The other spoke quickly; "But Pete had a father; who was Pete'sfather?" Instantly the gloom was gone and the face was brightagain. "Sure, Mister, Pete's got a father; don't you know?Everybody knows that. Look!" He pointed upward to a break in thetrees, to a large cumulus cloud that had assumed a fantasticshape. "He lives in them white hills, up there. See him, Mister?Sometimes he takes Pete with him up through the sky, and course Igo along. We sail, and sail, and sail, with the big bird things upthere, while the sky things sing; and sometimes we play with thecloud things, all day in them white hills. Pete says he'll take meaway up there where the star things live, some day, and we won'tnever come back again; and I won't be nobody no more; and AuntMollie says she reckons Pete knows. 'Course, I'd hate mighty muchto go away from Uncle Matt and Aunt Mollie and Matt and Sammy, 'cause they're mighty good to me; but I jest got to go where Petegoes, you see, 'cause I ain't nobody, and nobody can't be nothin', can he?"

The stranger was fascinated by the wonderful charm of the boy'smanner and words. As the lad's sensitive face glowed or wasclouded by each wayward thought, and the music of his sweet voicerose and fell, Mr. Howitt told himself that one might easily fancythe child some wandering spirit of the woods and hills. Aloud, heasked, "Has Pete a mother, too?"

The youth nodded toward the big pine that grew to one side of thegroup, and, lowering his voice, replied, "That's Pete's mother. "

Mr. Howitt pointed to the grave; "You mean she sleeps there?"

"No, no, not there; there!" He pointed up to the big tree, itself. "She never sleeps; don't you hear her?" He paused. The wind moanedthrough the branches of the pine. Drawing closer to the stranger'sside, the boy whispered, "She always talks that a way; always, andit makes Pete feel bad. She wants somebody. Hear her callin', callin', callin'? He'll sure come some day, Mister; he sure will. Say, do you know where he is?"

The stranger, startled, drew back; "No, no, my boy, certainly not;what do you mean; who are you?"

Like the moaning of the pines came the reply, "Nothin', Mister, nobody can't mean nothin', can they? I'm jest nobody. But Petelives in here; ask Pete. "

"Is Pete watching the sheep?" asked Mr. Howitt, anxious to divertthe boy's mind to other channels. 

"Yes, we're a tendin' 'em now; but they can't trust us, you know;when they call Pete, he just goes, and course I've got to go'long. "

"Who is it calls Pete?"

"Why, they, don't you know? I 'lowed you knowed about things. Theycalled Pete last night. The moonlight things was out, and all theshadow things; didn't you see them, Mister? The moonlight things, the wind, the stars, the shadow things, and all the rest playedwith Pete in the shiny mists, and, course, I was along. Didn't youhear singin'? Pete he always sings that a way, when the moonlightthings is out. Seems like he just can't help it. "

"But what becomes of the sheep when Pete goes away?"

The boy shook his head sadly; "Sometimes they get so lost thatYoung Matt can't never find 'em; sometimes wolves get 'em; it'stoo bad, Mister, it sure is. " Then laughing aloud, he clapped hishands; "There was a feller at the ranch to keep 'em, but he didn'tstay; Ho! Ho! he didn't stay, you bet he didn't. Pete didn't likehim, Brave didn't like him, nothing didn't like him, the treeswouldn't talk when he was around, the flowers died when he lookedat 'em, and the birds all stopped singin' and went away over themountains. He didn't stay, though. " Again he laughed. "You bet hedidn't stay! Pete knows. "

"Why did the man go?" asked Mr. Howitt, thinking to solve a partof the mystery, at least. But the only answer he could draw fromthe boy was, "Pete knows; Pete knows. "

Later when the stranger returned to the house, Pete went with him;at the big gate they met Mr. Matthews, returning unsuccessful fromhis trip. 

"Hello, boy!" said the big man; "How's Pete to-day?"

The lad went with glad face to the giant mountaineer. It was clearthat the two were the warmest friends. "Pete's mighty glad to-day, 'cause he's come. " He pointed to Mr. Howitt. "Does Pete like him?"

The boy nodded. "All Pete's people like him. Ask him to keep thesheep, Uncle Matt. He won't be scared at the shadow things in thenight. "

Mr. Matthews smiled, as he turned to his guest. "Pete never makesa mistake in his judgment of men, Mr. Howitt. He's different fromus ordinary folks, as you can see; but in some things he knows aheap more. I'm mighty glad he's took up with you, sir. All dayI've been thinking I'd tell you about some things I don't like totalk about; I feel after last night like you'd understand, maybe, and might help me, you having education. But still I've been alittle afraid, us being such strangers. I know I'm right now, 'cause Pete says so. If you weren't the kind of a man I think youare, he'd never took to you like he has. "

That night the mountaineer told the stranger from the city thestory that I have put down in the next chapter. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE STORY. 

Slowly the big mountaineer filled his cob pipe with strong, homegrown tobacco, watching his guest keenly the while, from underheavy brows. Behind the dark pines the sky was blood red, andbelow, Mutton Hollow was fast being lost in the gathering gloom. 

When his pipe was lighted, Old Matt said, "Well, sir, I reckon youthink some things you seen and heard since you come last night aremighty queer. I ain't sayin', neither, but what you got reasonsfor thinkin' so. "

Mr. Howitt made no reply. And, after puffing a few moments insilence, the other continued, "If it weren't for what you saidlast night makin' me feel like I wanted to talk to you, and Pete atakin' up with you the way he has, I wouldn't be a tellin' youwhat I am goin' to now. There's some trails, Mr. Howitt, thatain't pleasant to go back over. I didn't 'low to ever go over thisone again. Did you and Pete talk much this afternoon?"

In a few words Mr. Howitt told of his meeting with the strangeboy, and their conversation. When he had finished, the big mansmoked in silence. It was as if he found it hard to begin. From atree on the mountain side below, a screech owl sent up his long, quavering call; a bat darted past in the dusk; and away over onCompton Ridge a hound bayed. The mountaineer spoke; "That's SamWilson's dog, Ranger; must a' started a fox. " The sound died awayin the distance. Old Matt began his story. 

"Our folks all live back in Illinois. And if I do say so, they areas good stock as you'll find anywhere. But there was a lot of us, and I always had a notion to settle in a new country where therewas more room like and land wasn't so dear; so when wife and I wasmarried we come out here. I recollect we camped at the springbelow Jim Lane's cabin on yon side of Old Dewey, there. That wasbefore Jim was married, and a wild young buck he was too, as everyou see. The next day wife and I rode along the Old Trail 'til westruck this gap, and here we've been ever since. 

"We've had our ups and downs like most folks, sir, and sometimesit looked like they was mostly downs; but we got along, and lastfall I bought in the ranch down there in the Hollow. The boy wasjust eighteen and we thought then that he'd be makin' his homethere some day. I don't know how that'll be now, but there wasanother reason too why we wanted the place, as you'll see when Iget to it. 

"There was five other boys, as I told you last night. The oldesttwo would have been men now. The girl"--his voice broke--"the girlshe come third; she was twenty when we buried her over there. Thatwas fifteen year ago come the middle of next month. 

"Everybody 'lowed she was a mighty pretty baby, and, bein' theonly girl, I reckon we made more of her than we did of the boys. She growed up into a mighty fine young woman too; strong, and fullof fire and go, like Sammy Lane. Seems to wife and me when Sammy's'round that it's our own girl come back and we've always hopedthat she and Grant would take the ranch down yonder; but I reckonthat's all over, now that Ollie Stewart has come into such a finething in the city. Anyway, it ain't got nothing to do with thisthat I'm a tellin' you. 

"She didn't seem to care nothin' at all for none of the neighborboys like most girls do; she'd go with them and have a good timealright, but that was all. 'Peared like she'd rather be with herbrothers or her mother or me. 

"Well, one day, when we was out on the range a ridin' for stock--she'd often go with me that way--we met a stranger over there atthe deer lick in the big low gap, coming along the Old Trail. Hewas as fine a lookin' man as you ever see, sir; big and grandlike, with lightish hair, kind, of wavy, and a big mustache likehis hair, and fine white teeth showing when he smiled. He was suregood lookin', damn him! and with his fine store clothes and asmooth easy way of talkin' and actin' he had, 'tain't no wondershe took up with him. We all did. I used to think God never made afiner body for a man. I know now that Hell don't hold a meanerheart than the one in that same fine body. And that's somethin'that bothers me a heap, Mr. Howitt. 

"As I say, our girl was built like Sammy Lane, and so far as looksgo she was his dead match. I used to wonder when I'd look at themtogether if there ever was such another fine lookin' pair. I ain'ta goin' to tell you his name; there ain't no call to, as I cansee. There might be some decent man named the same. But he was oneof these here artist fellows and had come into the hills to paint, he said. "

A smothered exclamation burst from the listener. 

Mr. Matthews, not noticing, continued: "He sure did make a lot ofpictures and they seemed mighty nice to us, 'though of course wedidn't know nothin' about such things. There was one big one hemade of Maggie that was as natural as life. He was always drawin'of her in one way or another, and had a lot of little picturesthat didn't amount to much, and that he didn't never finish. Butthis big one he worked at off and on all summer. It was sure fine, with her a standin' by the ranch spring, holdin' out a cup ofwater, and smilin' like she was offerin' you a drink. "

It was well that the night had fallen. At Old Matt's words thestranger shrank back in his chair, his hand raised as if to wardoff a deadly blow. He made a sound in his throat as if he wouldcry out, but could not from horror or fear. But the darkness hidhis face, and the mountaineer, with mind intent upon his story, did not heed. 

"He took an old cabin at the foot of the hill near where the sheepcorral is now, and fixed it up to work in. The shack had beenbuilt first by old man Dewey, him that the mountain's named after. It was down there he painted the big picture of her a standin' bythe big spring. We never thought nothin' about her bein' with himso much. Country folks is that way, Mr. Howitt, 'though we oughtto knowed better; we sure ought to knowed better. " The old giantpaused and for some time sat with his head bowed, his forgottenpipe on the floor. 

"Well, " he began again; "he stopped with us all that summer, andthen one day he went out as usual and didn't come back. We huntedthe hills out for signs, thinkin' maybe he met up with sometrouble. He'd sent all his pictures away the week before, Jim Lanehaulin' them to the settlement for him. 

"The girl was nigh about wild and rode with me all durin' thehunt, and once when we saw some buzzards circlin', she gave alittle cry and turned so white that I suspicioned maybe she got tothinkin' more of him than we knew. Then one afternoon when we weredown yonder in the Hollow, she says, all of a sudden like, 'Daddy, it ain't no use a ridin' no more. He ain't met up with no trouble. He's left all the trouble with us. ' She looked so piqued and hereyes were so big and starin' that it come over me in a flash whatshe meant. She saw in a minute that I sensed it, and just hung herhead, and we come home. 

"She just kept a gettin' worse and worse, Mr. Howitt; 'peared tofade away like, like I watched them big glade lilies do when thehot weather comes. About the only time she would show any life atall was when someone would go for the mail, when she'd always beat the gate a waitin' for us. 

"Then one day, a letter come. I brung it myself. She give a littlecry when I handed it to her, and run into the house, most like herold self. I went on out to the barn to put up my horse, thinkin'maybe it was goin' to be alright after all; but pretty soon, Iheard a scream and then a laugh. 'Fore God, sir, that laugh's aringin' in my ears yet. She was ravin' mad when I got to her, alaughin', and a screechin', and tryin' to hurt herself, all thewhile callin' for him to come. 

"I read the letter afterwards. It told over and over how he lovedher and how no woman could ever be to him what she was; said theywas made for each other, and all that; and then it went on to sayhow he couldn't never see her again; and told about what a grandold family his was, and how his father was so proud and expectedsuch great things from him, that he didn't dare tell, them bein'the last of this here old family, and her bein' a backwoods girl, without any schoolin' or nothin'. "

"My God! O, my God!" faltered the stranger's voice in thedarkness. 

Old Matt talked on in a hard easy tone. "Course it was all wroteout nice and smooth like he talked, but that's the sense of it. Hefinished it by sayin' that he would be on his way to the oldcountry when the letter reached her, and that it wouldn't be nouse to try to find him. 

"The girl quieted down after a spell, but her mind never comeback. She wasn't just to say plumb crazy, but she seemed kind o'dazed and lost like, and wouldn't take no notice of nobody. Actedall the time like she was expectin' him to come. And she'd standout there by the gate for hours at a time, watchin' the Old Trailand talkin' low to herself. 

"Pete is her boy, Mr. Howitt, and as you've seen he ain't justright. Seems like he was marked some way in his mind like you'veseen other folks marked in their bodies. We've done our best bythe boy, sir, but I don't guess he'll ever be any better. Once fora spell we tried keepin' him to home, but he got right sick andwould o' died sure, if we hadn't let him go; it was pitiful to seehim. Everybody 'lows there won't nothin' in the woods hurt himnohow; so we let him come and go, as he likes; and he just stopswith the neighbors wherever he happens in. Folks are all as goodto him as they can be, 'cause everybody knows how it is. You see, sir, people here don't think nothin' of a wood's colt, nohow, butwe was raised different. As wife says, we've most forgot civilizedways, but I guess there's some things a man that's been raisedright can't never forget. 

"She died when Pete was born, and the last thing she said was, 'He'll come, Daddy, he'll sure come. ' Pete says the wind singin'in that big pine over her grave is her a callin' for him yet. It'smighty queer how the boy got that notion, but you see that's theway it is with him. 

"And that ain't all, sir. " The big man moved his chair nearer theother, and lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper; "Folks say she'scome back. There's them that swears they've seen her 'round theold cabin where they used to meet when he painted her picture, thebig one, you know. Just before I bought the ranch, it was first;and that's why we can't get no one to stay with the sheep. 

"I don't know, Mr. Howitt; I don't know. I've thought a heap aboutit, I ain't never seen it myself, and it 'pears to me that if sheCOULD come back at all, she'd sure come to her old Daddy. Thenagain I figure it that bein' took the way she was, part of herdead, so to speak, from the time she got that letter, and her mindso set on his comin' back, that maybe somehow--you see--that maybeshe is sort a waitin' for him there. Many's the time I have prayedall night that God would let me meet him again just once, or thatproud father of his'n, just once, sir; I'd glad go to Hell if Icould only meet them first. If she is waitin' for him down there, he'll come; he'll sure come. Hell couldn't hold him against suchas that, and when he comes--"

Unconsciously, as he spoke the last sentences, the giant's voicetook a tone of terrible meaning, and he slowly rose from his seat. When he uttered the last word he was standing erect, his musclestense, his powerful frame shaken with passion. 

There was an inarticulate cry of horror, as the mountaineer'sguest started to his feet. A moment he stood, then sank back intohis chair, a cowering, shivering heap. 

Long into the night, the stranger walked the floor of his littleroom under the roof, his face drawn and white, whispering halfaloud things that would have startled his unsuspecting host. "MYboy--MY boy--MINE! To do such a thing as that! Howard--Howard. OChrist! that I should live to be glad that you are dead! And thatpicture! His masterpiece, the picture that made his fame, thepicture he would never part with, and that we could never find! Isee it all now! Just God, what a thing to carry on one's soul!"

Once he paused to stand at the window, looking down upon thevalley. The moon had climbed high above the mountain, but beneaththe flood of silver light the shadows lay dark and deep in MuttonHollow. Then as he stood there, from out the shadowy gloom, camethe wild, weird song they had heard the evening before. The man atthe window groaned. The song sank to a low, moaning wail, and heseemed to hear again the wind in the pine above the grave of themurdered girl. She was calling, calling--would he come back? Backfrom the grave, could he come? The words of the giant mountaineerseemed burned into the father's brain; Hell couldn't hold himagainst such as that. 

Then the man with the proud face, the face of a scholar and poet, drew back from the window, shaking with a fear he could notcontrol. He crept into a corner and crouched upon the floor. Withwide eyes, he stared into the dark. He prayed. 

And this is how it came about that the stranger, who followed theOld Trail along the higher sunlit ground, followed, also, theother trail down into the valley where the gloomy shadows are;there to live at the ranch near the haunted cabin--the shepherd ofMutton Hollow. 

CHAPTER VII. 

WHAT IS LOVE?

Sammy Lane rode very slowly on her way home from the Matthewsplace that morning after the stranger had arrived. She started outat her usual reckless gait, but that was because she knew thatYoung Matt was watching her. 

Once in the timber, the brown pony was pulled to a walk, and bythe time they came out into the open again, the little horse, unrebuked by his mistress, was snatching mouthfuls of grass as hestrolled along the trail. Sammy was thinking; thinking veryseriously. Aunt Mollie's parting question had stirred the girldeeply. 

Sammy had seen few people who did not belong to the backwoods. Thestrangers she had met were hunters or cattlemen, and these had allbeen, in dress and manner, not unlike the natives themselves. Thisman, who had come so unexpectedly out of the mists the nightbefore, was unlike anyone the young woman had ever known. Like JedHolland, she felt somehow as if he were a superior being. TheMatthews family were different in many ways from those born andraised in the hills. And Sammy's father, too, was different. Butthis stranger--it was quite as though he belonged to anotherworld. 

Coming to the big, low gap, the girl looked far away to the blueline of hills, miles, and miles away. The stranger had come fromover these, she thought; and then she fell to wondering what thatworld beyond the farthest cloud-like ridge was like. 

Of all the people Sammy had ever known, young Stewart was the onlyone who had seen even the edge of that world to tell her about it. Her father and her friends, the Matthews's, never talked of theold days. She had known Ollie from a child. With Young Matt theyhad gone to and from the log school house along the same road. Once, before Mr. Stewart's death, the boy had gone with his fatherfor a day's visit to the city, and ever after had been a hero tohis backwoods schoolmates. It was this distinction, really, thatfirst won Sammy's admiration, and made them sweethearts before thegirl's skirts had touched the tops of her shoes. Before the womanin her was fairly awake she had promised to be his wife; and theywere going away now to live in that enchanted land. 

Spying an extra choice bunch of grass a few steps to one side ofthe path, Brownie turned suddenly toward the valley; and thegirl's eyes left the distant ridge for the little cabin and thesheep corral in Mutton Hollow. Sammy always spoke of that cabin as"Young Matt's house. " And, all unbidden now, the thought came, whowould live with the big fellow down there in the valley when shehad gone far away to make her home with Ollie and his people inthe city?

An impatient tug at the reins informed Brownie that his mistresswas aware of his existence, and, for a time, the pony was obligedto pass many a luscious bunch of grass. But soon the reins fellslack again. The little horse moved slowly, and still more slowly, until, by the relaxed figure of his rider, he knew it was safe toagain browse on the grass along the path. 

So, wondering, dreaming, Sammy Lane rode down the trail thatmorning--the trail that is nobody knows how old. And on the hillback of the Matthews house a team was standing idle in the middleof the field. 

At the big rock on the mountain side, where the trail seems topause a moment before starting down to the valley, the girlslipped from her saddle, and, leaving Brownie to wander at will, climbed to her favorite seat. Half reclining in the warm sunshine, she watched the sheep feeding near, and laughed aloud as she sawthe lambs with wagging tails, greedily suckling at their mother'ssides; near by in a black-haw bush a mother bird sat on her nest;a gray mare, with a week old colt following on unsteady legs, cameover the ridge; and not far away; a mother sow with ten squealingpigs came out of the timber. Keeping very still the young womanwatched until they disappeared around the mountain. Then, liftingher arms above her head, she stretched her lithe form out upon thewarm rocky couch with the freedom and grace of a wild thing of thewoods. 

Sammy Lane knew nothing of the laws and customs of the, so-called, best society. Her splendid young womanhood was not the product ofthose social traditions and rules that kill the instinct of herkind before it is fairly born. She was as free and as physicallyperfect as any of the free creatures that lived in the hills. And, keenly alive to the life that throbbed and surged about her, herwoman's heart and soul responded to the spirit of the season. Thedroning of the bees in the blossoms that grew in a cranny of therock; the tinkle, tinkle of the sheep bells, as the flock movedslowly in their feeding; and the soft breathing of Mother Earthwas in her ears; while the gentle breeze that stirred her haircame heavy with the smell of growing things. Lying so, she lookedfar up into the blue sky where a buzzard floated on lazy wings. Ifshe were up there she perhaps could see that world beyond thehills. Then suddenly a voice came to her, Aunt Mollie's voice, "How do you reckon you'll like bein' a fine lady, Sammy, and alivin' in the city with the big folks?"

The girl turned on her side and rising on one elbow looked againat Mutton Hollow with its little cabin half hidden in the timber. And, as she looked, slowly her rich red life colored cheek, andneck, and brow. With a gesture of impatience, Sammy turned away toher own home on the southern slope of the mountain, just in timeto see a young woman ride into the clearing and dismount beforethe cabin door. It was her friend, Mandy Ford. The girl on therock whistled to her pony, and, mounting, made her way down thehill. 

All that day the strange guest at the Matthews place was the onetopic of conversation between the two girls. 

"Shucks, " said Mandy, when Sammy had finished a very minutedescription of Mr. Howitt; "he's jest some revenue, like's not. "

Sammy tossed her head; "Revenue! you ought to see him! Revenuesdon't come in no such clothes as them, and they don't talk likehim, neither. "

"Can't tell 'bout revenues, " retorted the other. "Don't you mindhow that'n fooled everybody over on th' bend last year? He wasjest as common as common, and folks all 'lowed he was just one of'em. "

"But this one ain't like anybody that we ever met up with, andthat's jest it, " returned Sammy. 

Mandy shook her head; "You say he ain't huntin'; he sure ain'tbuyin' cattle this time o' year; and he ain't a wantin' t' locatea comin' in on foot; what else can he be but a revenue?"

To which Sammy replied with an unanswerable argument; "Look ahere, Mandy Ford; you jest tell me, would a low down revenue ask ablessin' like Parson Bigelow does?"

At this Mandy gave up the case, saying in despair, "Well, what ishe a doin' here then? 'Tain't likely he's done come into th' woodsfer nothin'. "

"He told Old Matt that he was sick and tired of it all, " answeredthe other. 

"Did he look like he was ailin'?"

Sammy replied slowly, "I don't reckon it's that kind of sicknesshe meant; and when you look right close into his eyes, he does'pear kind o' used up like. "

In connection with this discussion, it was easy to speak of MissLane's fairy prospects, for, was not the stranger from the city?and was not Sammy going to live in that land of wonders? The twogirls were preparing for the night, when Sammy, who was seated onthe edge of the bed, paused, with one shoe off, to askthoughtfully, "Mandy, what is love, anyhow?"

Mandy looked surprised. "I reckon you ought to know, " she saidwith a laugh; "Ollie's been a hangin' 'round you ever since I canremember. "

Sammy was struggling with a knot in the other shoe lace; "Yes, "she admitted slowly; "I reckon I had ought to know; but what doyou say it is, Mandy?"

"Why, hit's--hit's--jest a caring fer somebody more'n fer ary oneelse in th' whole world. "

"Is that all?" The knot was still stubborn. 

"No, hit ain't all. Hit's a goin' t' live with somebody an' alettin' him take care o' you, 'stead o' your folks. " Sammy wasstill struggling with the knot. "An' hit's a cookin' an' ascrubbin' an' a mendin' fer him, an'--an'--sometimes hit's asplittin' wood, an' a doin' chores, too; an' I reckon that's all. "

Just here the knot came undone, and the shoe dropped to the floorwith a thud. Sammy sat upright. "No, it ain't, Mandy; it's a heapmore'n that; it's a nursin' babies, and a takin' care of 'em 'tillthey're growed up, and then when they're big enough to take careo' themselves, and you're old and in the way, like Grandma Bowles, it's a lookin' back over it all, and bein' glad you done marriedthe man you did. It's a heap more'n livin' with a man, Mandy; it'sa doin' all that, without ever once wishin' he was somebody else. "

This was too much for Mandy; she blushed and giggled, thenremarked, as she gazed admiringly at her friend, "You'll lookmighty fine, Sammy, when you get fixed up with all them prettiesyou'll have when you an' Ollie git married. I wish my hair wasbright an' shiny like yourn. How do you reckon you'll like bein' afine lady anyhow?"

Here it was again. Sammy turned upon her helpless friend, with, "How do I know if I would like it or not? What is bein' a finelady, anyhow?"

"Why, bein' a fine lady is--is livin' in a big house with carpetson th' floor, an' lookin' glasses, an' not havin' no work t' do, an' wearin' pretty clothes, with lots of rings an' things, an'--an', " she paused; then finished in triumph, "an' a ridin' in acarriage. "

That wide questioning look was in Sammy's eyes as she returned, "It's a heap more'n that, Mandy. I don't jest sense what it is, but I know 'tain't all them things that makes a sure 'nough lady. 'Tain't the clothes he wears that makes Mr. Howitt different fromthe folks we know. He don't wear no rings, and he walks. He's jestdifferent 'cause he's different; and would be, no matter what hehad on or where he was. "

This, too, was beyond Mandy. Sammy continued, as she finished herpreparations for retiring; "This here house is plenty big enoughfor me, least wise it would be if it had one more room like thecabin in Mutton Hollow; carpets would be mighty dirty and unhandyto clean when the men folks come trampin' in with their muddyboots; I wouldn't want to wear no dresses so fine I couldn't knock'round in the brush with them; and it would be awful to havenothin' to do; as for a carriage, I wouldn't swap Brownie for awhole city full of carriages. " She slipped into bed and stretchedout luxuriously. "Do you reckon I could be a fine lady, and be asI am now, a livin' here in the hills?"

The next day Mandy went back to her home on Jake Creek. And in theevening Sammy's father, with Wash Gibbs, returned, both men andhorses showing the effects of a long, hard ride. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

"WHY AIN'T WE GOT NO FOLKS. "

Preachin' Bill says "There's a heap o' difference in most men, butJim Lane now he's more different than ary man you ever seed. Ain'tno better neighbor'n Jim anywhere. Ride out o' his way any time t'do you a favor. But you bet there ain't ary man lives can ask Jimany fool questions while Jim's a lookin' at him. Tried it onctmyself. Jim was a waitin' at th' ferry fer Wash Gibbs, an' we wasa talkin' 'long right peart 'bout crops an' th' weather an' such, when I says, says I, like a dumb ol' fool, 'How'd you like it downin Texas, Jim, when you was there that time?' I gonies! His jawshet with a click like he'd cocked a pistol, an' that look o'hisn, like he was a seein' plumb through you, come int' his eyes, an' he says, says he, quiet like, 'D' you reckon that rain over onJames yesterday raised th' river much?' An' 'fore I knowed it, Iwas a tellin' him how that ol' red bull o' mine treed th' Perkins'boys when they was a possum huntin'. "

Many stories of the Bald Knobber days, when the law of the landwas the law of rifle and rope, were drifting about the countryside, and always, when these tales were recited, the name of JimLane was whispered; while the bolder ones wondered beneath theirbreath where Jim went so much with that Wash Gibbs, whose daddywas killed by the Government. 

Mr. Lane was a tall man, well set up, with something in his faceand bearing that told of good breeding; southern blood, one wouldsay, by the dark skin, and the eyes, hair, and drooping mustacheof black. 

His companion, Wash Gibbs, was a gigantic man; taller and heavier, even, than the elder Matthews, but more loosely put together thanOld Matt; with coarse, heavy features, and, as Grandma Bowlessaid, "the look of a sheep killin' dog. " Grandma, being very nearher journey's end, could tell the truth even about Wash Gibbs, butothers spoke of the giant only in whispers, save when they spokein admiration of his physical powers. 

As the two men swung stiffly from their saddles, Sammy camerunning to greet her father with a kiss of welcome; this littleexhibition of affection between parent and child was one of themany things that marked the Lanes as different from the natives ofthat region. Your true backwoodsman carefully hides every sign ofhis love for either family or friends. Wash Gibbs stood looking onwith an expression upon his brutal face that had very little ofthe human in it. 

Releasing his daughter, Mr. Lane said, "Got anything to eat, honey? We're powerful hungry. Wash 'lowed we'd better tie up atthe river, but I knew you'd be watching for me. The horses areplumb beat. " And Gibbs broke in with a coarse laugh, "I wouldn'tmind killin' a hoss neither, if I was t' git what you do at th'end o' th' ride. "

To this, Jim made no reply; but began loosening the saddle girths, while Sammy only said, as she turned toward the house, "I'll havesupper ready for you directly, Daddy. "

While the host was busy caring for his tired horse, the big man, who did not remove the saddle from his mount, followed the girlinto the cabin. "Can't you even tell a feller, Howdy?" heexclaimed, as he entered the kitchen. 

"I did tell you, Howdy, " replied the girl sharply, stirring up thefire. 

"'Pears like you might o' been a grain warmer about hit, " growledthe other, seating himself where he could watch her. "If I'd beenYoung Matt er that skinny Ollie Stewart, you'd a' been keenenough. "

Sammy turned and faced him with angry eyes; "Look a here, WashGibbs, I done tol' you last Thursday when you come for Daddy thatyou'd better let me alone. I don't like you, and I don't aim toever have anything to do with you. You done fixed yourself with methat time at the Cove picnic. I'll tell Daddy about that if youdon't mind. I don't want to make no trouble, but you just got toquit pestering me. "

The big fellow sneered. "I 'lowed you might change your mind 'boutthat some day. Jim ain't goin' t' say nothin' t' me, an' if hedid, words don't break no bones. I'm a heap th' best man in thisneck o' th' woods, an' your Paw knows hit. You know it, too. "

Under his look, the blood rushed to the girl's face in a burningblush. In spite of her anger she dropped her eyes, and, withoutattempting a reply, turned to her work. 

A moment later, Mr. Lane entered the room; a single glance at hisdaughter's face, a quick look at Wash Gibbs, as the bully satfollowing with wolfish eyes every movement of the girl, and Jimstepped quietly in front of his guest. At the same moment, Sammyleft the house for a bucket of water, and Wash turned toward hishost with a start to find the dark faced man gazing at him with alook that few men could face with composure. Without a word, Jim'sright hand crept stealthily inside his hickory shirt, where abutton was missing. 

For a moment Gibbs tried to return the look. He failed. Somethinghe read in the dark face before him--some meaning light in thoseblack eyes--made him tremble and he felt, rather than saw, Jim'shand resting quietly now inside the hickory shirt near his leftarm pit. The big man's face went white beneath the tan, his eyeswavered and shifted, he hung his head and shuffled his feetuneasily, like an overgrown school-boy brought sharply to task bythe master. 

Then Jim, his hand still inside his shirt, drawled, softly, butwith a queer metallic ring in his voice, "Do you reckon it's agoin' t' storm again?"

At the commonplace question, the bully drew a long breath andlooked around. "We might have a spell o' weather, " he muttered;"but I don't guess it'll be t'night. "

Then Sammy returned and they had supper. 

Next to his daughter, Jim Lane loved his violin, and with goodreason, for the instrument had once belonged to his great-grandfather, who, tradition says, was a musician of no meanability. 

Preachin' Bill "'lowed there was a heap o' difference between aplayin' a violin an' jest fiddlin'. You wouldn't know some fellerswas a makin' music, if you didn't see 'em a pattin' their foot;but hit ain't that a way with Jim Lane. He sure do make music, real music. " As no one ever questioned Bill's judgment, it is safeto conclude that Mr. Lane inherited something of his great-grandfather's ability; along with his treasured instrument. 

When supper was over, and Wash Gibbs had gone on his way; Jim tookthe violin from its peg above the fireplace, and, tucking itlovingly under his chin, gave himself up to his favorite pastime, while Sammy moved busily about the cabin, putting things right forthe night. 

When her evening tasks were finished, the girl came and stoodbefore her father. At once the music ceased and the violin waslaid carefully aside. Sammy seated herself on her father's knee. 

"Law', child, but you're sure growin' up, " said Jim, with a mockgroan at her weight. 

"Yes, Daddy, I reckon I'm about growed; I'll be nineteen comeChristmas. "

"O shucks!" ejaculated the man. "It wasn't more'n last week thatyou was washin' doll clothes, down by the spring. "

The young woman laughed. "I didn't wash no doll clothes lastweek, " she said. Then her voice changed, and that wide, questioning look, the look that made one think so of her father, came into her eyes. "There's something I want to ask you, DaddyJim. You--you know--Ollie's goin' away, an'--an'--an' I wasthinkin' about it all day yesterday, an', Daddy, why ain't we gotno folks?"

Mr. Lane stirred uneasily. Sammy continued, "There's theMatthews's, they've got kin back in Illinois; Mandy Ford's gotuncles and aunts over on Lang Creek; Jed Holland's got a grandadand mam, and even Preachin' Bill talks about a pack o' kin folksover in Arkansaw. Why ain't we got no folks, Daddy?"

The man gazed long and thoughtfully at the fresh young face of hischild; and the black eyes looked into the brown eyes keenly, as heanswered her question with another question, "Do you reckon youlove him right smart, honey? Are you sure, dead sure you ain'tthinkin' of what he's got 'stead of what he is? I know it'll bemighty nice for you to be one of the fine folks and they're bigreasons why you ought, but it's goin' to take a mighty good man tomatch you--a mighty good man. And it's the man you've got to livewith, not his money. "

"Ollie's good, Daddy, " she returned in a low voice, her eyes fixedupon the floor. 

"I know, I know, " replied Jim. "He wouldn't do nobody no harm;he's good enough that way, and I ain't a faultin' him. But youought to have a MAN, a sure enough good man. "

"But tell me, Daddy, why ain't we got no folks?"

The faintest glimmer of a smile came into the dark face; "You'resure growed up, girl; you're sure growed up, girl; you sure are. An' I reckon you might as well know. " Then he told her. 

CHAPTER IX. 

SAMMY LANE'S FOLKS. 

It began on a big southern plantation, where there were severalbrothers and sisters, with a gentleman father of no little pride, and a lady mother of equal pride and great beauty. 

With much care for detail, Jim drew a picture of the big mansionwith its wide lawns, flower gardens and tree bordered walks; withits wealth of culture, its servants, and distinguished guests;for, said he, "When you get to be a fine lady, you ought to knowthat you got as good blood as the best of the thorough-breds. " AndSammy, interrupting his speech with a kiss, bade him go on withhis story. 

Then he told how the one black sheep of that proud southern flockhad been cast forth from the beautiful home while still hardlygrown; and how, with his horse, gun and violin, the wanderer hadcome into the heart of the Ozark wilderness, when the print ofmoccasin feet was still warm on the Old Trail. Jim sketchedbroadly here, and for some reason did not fully explain the causeof his banishment; neither did he comment in any way upon itsjustice or injustice. 

Time passed, and a strong, clear-eyed, clean-limbed, deep-bosomedmountain lass, with all the mastering passion of her kind, matedthe free, half wild, young hunter; and they settled in the cabinby the spring on the southern slope of Dewey. Then the little onecame, and in her veins there was mingled the blue blood of theproud southerners and the warm red life of her wilderness mother. 

Again Jim's story grew rich in detail. Holding his daughter atarm's length, and looking at her through half-closed eyes, hesaid, "You're like her, honey; you're mighty like her; same eyes, same hair, same mouth, same build, same way of movin', strong, butsmooth and free like. She could run clean to the top of Dewey, orsit a horse all day. Do you ever get tired, girl?"

Sammy laughed, and shook her head; "I've run from here to thesignal tree, lots of times, Daddy. "

"You're like the old folks, too, " mused Jim; "like them in whatyou think and say. "

"Tell me more, " said the girl. "Seems like I remember bein' in abig wagon, and there was a woman there too; was she my mother?"

Jim nodded, and unconsciously lowered his voice, as he said, "Itwas in the old Bald Knobber time. Things happened in them days, honey. Many's the night I've seen the top of old Dewey yonderblack with men. It was when things was broke up, that--that yourmother and me thought we could do better in Texas; so we went, "Jim was again sketching broadly. 

"Your mother left us there, girl. Seemed like she couldn't standit, bein' away from the hills or somethin', and she just give up. I never did rightly know how it was. We buried her out there, wayout on the big plains. "

"I remember her a little, " whispered Sammy. Jim continued; "Thenafter a time you and me come back to the old place. Your mothernamed you Samantha, girl, but bein' as there wasn't no boy, Ialways called you Sammy. It seems right enough that way now, foryou've sure been more'n a son to me since we've been alone; andthat's one reason why I learned you to ride and shoot with thebest of them. 

"There's them that says I ain't done right by you, bringing you upwithout ary woman about the place; and I don't know as I have, butsomehow I couldn't never think of no woman as I ought, afterliving with your mother. And then there was Aunt Mollie to learnyou how to cook and do things about the house. I counted a goodbit, too, on the old stock, and it sure showed up right. You'relike the old folks, girl, in the way you think, but you're likeyour mother in the way you look. "

Sammy's arms went around her father's neck, "You're a good man, Daddy Jim; the best Daddy a girl ever had; and if I ain't all bad, it's on account of you. " There was a queer look on the man's darkface. He had sketched some parts of his tale with a broad hand, indeed. 

The girl raised her head again; "But, Daddy, I wish you'd dosomething for me. I--I don't like Wash Gibbs to be a comin' here. I wish you'd quit ridin' with him, Daddy. I'm--I'm afeared of him;he looks at me so. He's a sure bad one--I know he is, Daddy. "

Jim laughed and again there was that odd metallic note in hisvoice; "I've knowed him a long time, honey. Me and his daddy was--was together when he died; and you used to sit on Wash's knee whenyou was a little tad. Not that he's so mighty much older than you, but he was a man's size at fifteen. You don't understand, girl, but I've got to go with him sometimes. But don't you fret; WashGibbs ain't goin' to hurt me, and he won't come here more'n I canhelp, either. " Then he changed the subject abruptly. "Tell me whatyou've been doin' while I was away. "

Sammy told of' her visit to their friends at the Matthews place, and of the stranger who had come into the neighborhood. As thegirl talked, her father questioned her carefully, and severaltimes the metallic note crept into his soft, drawling speech, while into his eyes came that peculiar, searching look, as if hewould draw from his daughter even more than she knew of theincident. Once he rose, and, going to the door, stood looking outinto the night. 

Sammy finished with her answer to Mandy Ford's opinion of thestranger; "You don't reckon a revenue would ask a blessin', doyou, Daddy? Seems like he just naturally wouldn't dast; God wouldmake the victuals stick in his throat and choke him sure. "

Jim laughed, as he replied, "I don't know, girl; I never heard ofa revenue's doin' such. But a feller can't tell. "

When Sammy left him to retire for the night, her father picked upthe violin again, and placed it beneath his chin as if to play;but he did not touch the strings, and soon hung the instrument inits place above the mantel. Then, going to the doorway, he lightedhis pipe, and, for a full hour, sat, looking up the Old Trailtoward the Matthews place, his right hand thrust into the bosom ofhis hickory shirt, where the button was missing. 

CHAPTER X. 

A FEAT OF STRENGTH AND A CHALLENGE. 

What the club is to the city man, and the general store orpostoffice to the citizens of the country village, the mill is tothe native of the backwoods. 

Made to saw the little rough lumber he needs in his primitivebuilding, or to grind his corn into the rough meal, that is hisstaff of life, the mill does more for the settler than this; itbrings together the scattered population, it is the news center, the heart of the social life, and the hub of the industrial wheel. 

On grinding day, the Ozark mountaineer goes to mill on horse-back, his grist in a sack behind the saddle, or, indeed, taking place ofthe saddle itself. The rule is, first come, first served. So, while waiting his turn, or waiting for a neighbor who will ride inthe same direction, the woodsman has time to contribute his shareto the gossip of the country side, or to take part in thediscussions that are of more or less vital interest. When the talkruns slow, there are games; pitching horse shoes, borrowed fromthe blacksmith shop--there is always a blacksmith shop near by;running or jumping contests, or wrestling or shooting matches. 

Fall Creek Mill, owned and operated by Mr. Matthews and his son, was located on Fall Creek in a deep, narrow valley, about a milefrom their home. 

A little old threshing engine, one of the very first to take theplace of the horse power, and itself in turn already pushed to thewall by improved competitors, rolled the saw or the burr. Thisengine, which had been rescued by Mr. Matthews from the scrap-pileof a Springfield machine shop, was accepted as evidence beyondquestion of the superior intelligence and genius of the Matthewsfamily. In fact, Fall Creek Mill gave the whole Mutton Hollowneighborhood such a tone of up-to-date enterprise, that folks fromthe Bend, or the mouth of the James, looked upon the Mutton Hollowpeople with no little envy and awe, not to say even jealousy. 

The settlers came to the Matthews mill from far up the creek, crossing and recrossing the little stream; from Iron Spring andfrom Gardner, beyond Sand Ridge, following faint, twisting bridlepaths through the forest; from the other side of Dewey Bald, alongthe Old Trail; from the Cove and from the Postoffice at the Forks, down the wagon road, through the pinery; and from Wolf Ridge andthe head of Indian Creek beyond, climbing the rough mountains. Even from the river bottoms they came, yellow and shaking withague, to swap tobacco and yarns, and to watch with never failinginterest the crazy old engine, as Young Matt patted, and coaxed, and flattered her into doing his will. 

They began coming early that grinding day, two weeks after Mr. Howitt had been installed at the ranch. But the young engineer wasready, with a good head of steam in the old patched boiler, andthe smoke was rising from the rusty stack, in a long, twistingline, above the motionless tree tops. 

It was a great day for Young Matt; great because he knew thatSammy Lane would be coming to mill; he would see her and talk withher; perhaps if he were quick enough, he might even lift her fromthe brown pony. 

It was a great day, too, because Ollie Stewart would be sayinggood-by, and before to-morrow would be on his way out of thehills. Not that it mattered whether Ollie went or not. It wassettled that Sammy was going to marry young Stewart; that was whatmattered. And Young Matt had given her up. And, as he had told hisfather in the barn that day, it was alright. But still--still itwas a great day, because Ollie would be saying good-by. 

It was a great day in Young Matt's life, too, because on that dayhe would issue his challenge to the acknowledged champion of thecountry-side, Wash Gibbs. But Young Matt did not know this untilafterwards, for it all came about in a very unexpected way. 

The company had been discussing the new arrival in theneighborhood, and speculating as to the probable length of Mr. Howitt's stay at the ranch, and while Young Matt was in the burr-house with his father, they had gone over yet again the familiarincidents of the ghost story; how "Budd Wilson seen her as closeas from here t' th' shop yonder. " How "Joe Gardner's mule had goneplumb hog-wild when he tried to ride past the ol' ruins near th'ranch. " And "how Lem Wheeler, while out hunting that roan steer o'hisn, had heard a moanin' an' a wailin' under the bluff. "

Upon Young Matthews returning to his engine, the conversation hadbeen skilfully changed, to Ollie Stewart and his remarkable goodfortune. From Ollie and his golden prospects, it was an easy wayto Sammy Lane and her coming marriage. 

Buck Thompson was just concluding a glowing tribute to the girl'sbeauty of face and form when Young Matt reached for an axe lyingnear the speaker. Said Buck, "Preachin' Bill 'lowed t'other dayhit didn't make no difference how much money th' ol' man leftOllie he'd be a poor sort of a man anyhow; an' that there's a heapbetter men than him right here in th' hills that Sammy could a'had fer th' askin'. "

"How 'bout that, Matt?" called a young fellow from the river. 

The big man's face flushed at the general laugh which followed, and he answered hotly, as he swung his axe, "You'd better ask WashGibbs; I hear he says he's the best man in these woods. "

"I reckin as how Wash can back his jedgment there, " said Joe. 

"Wash is a sure good man, " remarked Buck, "but there's another notso mighty far away that'll pretty nigh hold, him level. " He lookedsignificantly to where Young Matt was making the big chips fly. 

"Huh, " grunted Joe. "I tell you, gentlemen, that there man, Gibbs, is powerful; yes, sir, he sure is. Tell you what I seed him do. "Joe pulled a twist of tobacco from his hip pocket, and settleddown upon his heels, his back against a post. "Wash an' me was agoin' to th' settlement last fall, an' jest this side th' camphouse, on Wilderness Road, we struck a threshin' crew stuck in th'mud with their engine. Had a break down o' some kind. Somethin'th' matter with th' hind wheel. And jest as Wash an' me drove up, th' boss of th' outfit was a tellin' 'em t' cut a big pole for apry t' lift th' hind ex, so's they could block it up, an' fix th'wheel. 

"Wash he looked at 'em a minute an' then says, says he, 'Hold on, boys; you don't need ary pole. '

"'What do you know 'bout an engine, you darned hill billy, ' saysth' old man, kind o' short. 

"'Don't know nothin' 'bout an engine, you prairie hopper, ' saysWash, 'but I know you don't need no pole t' lift that thing. '

"'How'd you lift it then?' says t'other. 

"'Why I'd jest catch holt an' lift, ' says Wash. 

"The gang like t' bust themselves laughin'. 'Why you blame fool, 'says the boas; 'do you know what that engine'll weigh?"

"'Don't care a cuss WHAT she'll weigh, ' says Wash. 'She ain'tPLANTED there, is she?' An' with that he climbs down from th'wagon, an' dad burn me if he didn't take holt o' that hind ex an'lift one whole side o' that there engine clean off th' ground. Them fellers jest stood 'round an' looked at him t' beat th' stir. 'Well, ' says Wash, still a keepin' his holt; slide a block underher an' I'll mosey along!

"That boss didn't say a word 'till he'd got a bottle from a box onth' wagon an' handed, hit t' Wash; then he says kind o' scaredlike, 'Where in hell are you from, Mister?'

"'Oh, I'm jest a kid from over on Roark, ' says Wash, handin' th'bottle t' me. 'You ought t' see some o' th' MEN in myneighborhood!' Then we went on. "

When the speaker had finished, there was quiet for a little; thenthe young man from the river drawled, "How much did you say thatthere engine 'd weigh, Joe?"

There was a general laugh at this, which the admirer of Gibbs tookgood naturedly; "Don't know what she'd weigh but she was 'bout thesize o' that one there, " he answered. 

With one accord everyone turned to inspect the mill engine. "Pretty good lift, Joe. Let's you an' me take a pull at her, Budd, " remarked Lem Wheeler. 

The two men lifted and strained at the wheel. Then another joinedthem, and, amid the laughter and good natured raillery of thecrowd, the three tried in vain to lift one of the wheels; whileMr. Matthews, seeing some unusual movement, came into the shed andstood with his son, an amused witness of their efforts. 

"Sure this engine ain't bigger'n t'other, Joe?" asked one of thegroup. 

"Don't believe she weighs a pound more, " replied the mountaineerwith conviction. "I tell you, gentlemen, that man Gibbs is awonder, he sure is. "

Old Matt and his son glanced quickly at each other, and the boyshook his head with a smile. This little by-play was lost on themen who were interested in the efforts of different ones, ingroups of three, to move the wheel. When they had at last given itup, the young man from the river drawled, "You're right sure hitweren't after th' boas give you that bottle that Wash lifted her, are you Joe? Or wasn't hit on th' way home from th' settlement?"

When the laugh at this insinuation had died out, Buck saidthoughtfully, "Tell you what, boys; I'd like t' see Young Matt trythat lift. "

Mr. Matthews, who was just starting back to the burr-house, pausedin the doorway. All eyes were fixed upon his son. "Try her, Matt. Show us what you can do, " called the men in chorus. But the youngman shook his head, and found something that needed his immediateattention. 

All that morning at intervals the mountaineers urged the bigfellow to attempt the feat, but he always put them off with someevasive reply, or was too busy to gratify them. 

But after dinner, while the men were pitching horse shoes in frontof the blacksmith shop, Buck Thompson approached the youngengineer alone. "Look a here, Matt, " he said, "why don't you trythat lift? Durned me if I don't believe you'd fetch her. "

The young giant looked around; "I know I can, Buck; I lifted heryesterday while Dad fixed the blockin'; I always do it that way. "

Buck looked at him in amazement. "Well, why in thunder don't youshow th' boys, then?" he burst forth at last. 

"'Cause if I do Wash Gibbs'll hear of it sure, and I'll have tofight him to settle which is th' best man. "

"Good Lord!" ejaculated Buck, with a groan. "If you're afraid o'Wash Gibbs, it's th' first thing I ever knowed you t' be scaredo'. "

Young Matt looked his friend steadily in the eyes, as he replied;"I ain't afraid of Wash Gibbs; I'm afraid of myself. Mr. Howittsays, 'No man needn't be afraid of nobody but himself. ' I've beena thinkin' lately, Buck, an' I see some things that I never seebefore. I figure it that if I fight Wash Gibbs or anybody elsejust to see which is th' best man, I ain't no better'n he is. Ireckon I'll have to whip him some day, alright, an' I ain't acarin' much how soon it comes; but I ain't a goin' to hurt nobodyfor nothin' just because I can. "

Buck made no reply to this. Such sentiment was a little too muchfor his primitive notions. He went back to the men by theblacksmith shop. 

It was not long, however, until the players left their game, togather once more about the engine. Lem Wheeler approached YoungMatt with a serious air; "Look a here, " he said; "we all want t'see you try that lift. "

"I ain't got no time for foolin', " replied the young man; "Dad'sjust pushin' to get done before dark. "

"Shucks!" retorted the other; "Hit won't take a minute t' try. Jest catch hold an' show us what you can do. "

"What are you all so keen about my liftin' for, anyhow?" demandedthe big fellow, suspiciously. "I ain't never set up as the strongman of this country. "

"Well, you see it's this way; Buck done bet me his mule colt aginmine that you could lift her; an' we want you to settle th' bet!"exclaimed Lem. 

Young Matthews shot a glance at the mountaineer, who grinnedjoyously. "Yep, " said Buck, "that's how it is; I'm a backin' you. Don't want you t' hurt yourself for me, but I sure do need thatcolt o' Lem's; hit's a dead match for mine. "

The giant looked at his friend a moment in silence, then burstinto a laugh of appreciation at Buck's hint. "Seein' as how you'rebackin' me, Buck, I'll have t' get you that mule if I can. "

He shut off steam, and, as the engine came to a stop, stooped, and, with apparent ease, lifted the rear wheel a full four inchesfrom the ground. 

Loud exclamations of admiration came from the little group of menin the shed. Lem turned with a long face, "Them colts 'll make afine team, Buck;" he said. 

"You bet; come over an' hep me break 'em, " replied Buck, withanother grin of delight. 

"Wait 'till Wash Gibbs hears 'bout this, an' he'll sure be forbreakin' Young Matt, " put in another. 

"Better get your fightin' clothes on, Matt; Wash'll never resteasy until you've done showed him. " These and similar remarksrevealed the general view of the situation. 

While the men were discussing the matter, a thin, high-pitchedvoice from the edge of the crowd, broke in, "That there's a goodlift alright, but hit ain't nothin' t' what I seed when I was t'th' circus in th' city. "

Young Matt, who had started the engine again, turned quickly. Ollie Stewart was sitting on a horse near by, and at his side, onthe brown pony, was Miss Sammy Lane. They had evidently ridden upjust in time to witness the exhibition of the giant's strength. 

CHAPTER XI. 

OLLIE STEWART'S GOOD-BY. 

Beside the splendidly developed young woman, Ollie Stewartappeared but a weakling. His shoulders were too narrow and hestooped; his limbs were thin; his hair black and straight; and hiseyes dull. 

As Young Matt stepped forward, Ollie dismounted quickly, but thebig fellow was first at the brown pony's side. Sammy's eyes shonewith admiration, and, as the strong man felt their light, he wasnot at all sorry that he had won the mule colt for Buck. 

"No, " she said, declining his offered assistance; she did not wishto get down; they were going to the postoffice and would call forthe meal on their way home. 

Young Matt lifted the sack of corn from Brownie's back and carriedit into the shed. When he returned to the group, Ollie was sayingin his thin voice, "In th' circus I seen in the city there was afeller that lifted a man, big as Jed here, clean above his headwith one hand. "

Buck turned to his big friend. His look was met by a grim smilethat just touched the corners of the lad's mouth, and there was agleam in the blue eyes that betrayed the spirit within. The leanmountaineer again turned to the company, while the boy glanced atSammy. The girl was watching him and had caught the silentexchange between the two friends. 

"Shucks!" said Buck; "Matt could do that easy. " "Try it, Matt. ""Try Jed here. " "Try hit once, " called the chorus. 

This time the big fellow needed no urging. With Sammy looking on, he could not resist the opportunity which Ollie himself hadpresented. Without a word, but with a quick tightening of thelips, he stepped forward and caught Jed by the belt with his righthand; and then, before anyone could guess his purpose, he reachedout with his other hand, and grasped Ollie himself in the samemanner. There was a short step forward, a quick upward swing, andthe giant held a man in each hand at full arm's length above hishead. Amid the shouts of the crowd, still holding the men, hewalked deliberately to the blacksmith shop and back; then loweringthem easily to their feet, turned to his engine. 

Ollie and Sammy rode away together, up the green arched road, andthe little company in the mill shed stood watching them. As thefinely formed young woman and her inferior escort passed fromsight, a tall mountaineer, from the other side of Compton Ridge, remarked, "I done heard Preachin' Bill say t'other day, that'mighty nigh all this here gee-hawin', balkin', and kickin''mongst th' married folks comes 'cause th' teams ain't matched upright. ' Bill he 'lowed God 'lmighty 'd fixed hit somehow so th'birds an' varmints don't make no mistake, but left hit plumb easyfor men an' women t' make durned fools o' theirselves. "

Everybody grinned in appreciation, and another spoke up;"According t' that, I'll bet four bits if them two yonder ever doget into double harness, there'll be pieces o' th' outfit strungfrom th' parson's clean t' th' buryin' ground. "

When the laughter had subsided, Buck turned to see Young Mattstanding just outside the shed, ostensibly doing something withthe belt that led to the burr, but in reality looking up thecreek. 

"Law!" ejaculated Buck, under his breath; "what a team THEY'Dmake!"

"Who?" said Lem, who was standing near by. 

"Them mule colts, " returned Buck with a grin. 

"They sure will, Buck. There ain't two better in the country;they're a dead match. I'll come over an' hep you break 'em whenthey're big 'nough. " And then he wondered why Buck swore with suchevident delight. 

One by one the natives received their meal, and, singly, or ingroups of two or three, were swallowed up by the great forest. Already the little valley was in the shadow of the mountain, though the sun still shone brightly on the tree tops higher up, when Ollie and Sammy returned from the Forks. Mr. Matthews hadclimbed the hill when the last grist was ground, leaving his sonto cool down the engine and put things right about the mill. 

"Come on, Matt, " said Ollie, as the big fellow brought out themeal; "It's time you was a goin' home. "

The young giant hung back, saying, "You folks better go on ahead. I'll get home alright. "

"Didn't think nothin' would get you, " laughed Ollie. "Come on, youmight as well go 'long with us. "

The other muttered something about being in the way, and startedback into the shed. 

"Hurry up, " called Sammy, "we're waitin'. "

After this there was nothing else for the young man to do but jointhem. And the three were soon making their way up the steepmountain road together. 

For a time they talked of commonplace things, then Young Mattopened the subject that was on all their hearts. "I reckon, Ollie, this is the last time that you'll ever be a climbin' this oldroad. " As he spoke he was really thinking of the time to come whenSammy would climb the road for the last time. 

"Yes, " returned Stewart; "I go to-morrow 'fore sun up. "

The other continued; "It'll sure be fine for you to live in thecity and get your schoolin' and all that. Us folks here in thewoods don't know nothin'. We ain't got no chance to learn. You'llbe forgettin' us all mighty quick, I reckon, once you get tolivin' with your rich kin. "

"'Deed, I won't!" returned Ollie warmly. "Sammy an' me was atalkin' 'bout that this evenin'. We aim t' always come back t'Mutton Holler onct a year, an' be just like other folks; don't we, Sammy?"

The brown pony, stepping on a loose stone, stumbled toward the manwalking by his side. And the big fellow put out his hand quicklyto the little horse's neck. For an instant, the girl's hand restedon the giant's shoulder, and her face was close to his. ThenBrownie recovered his footing, and Young Matt drew farther away. 

Ollie continued; "We aim t' have you come t' th' city after awhile. I'm goin' t' get Uncle Dan t' give you a job in th' shops, an' you can get out o' these hills an' be somebody like we'uns. "

The tone was unmistakably patronizing. The big mountaineer liftedhis head proudly, and turned toward the speaker; but before hecould reply, Sammy broke in eagerly, "Law! but that would sure befine, wouldn't it, Matt? I'd know you'd do somethin' big if youonly had the chance. I just know you would. You're so--so kind o'big every way, " she laughed. "It's a plumb shame for you to beburied alive in these hills. "

There was nothing said after this, until, coming to the top of theridge, they stopped. From here Ollie and Sammy would take the OldTrail to the girl's home. Then, with his eyes on the vast sweep offorest-clad hills and valleys, over which the blue haze was fastchanging to purple in the level rays of the sun, Young Matt spoke. 

"I don't guess you'd better figure on that. Some folks are made tolive in the city, and some ain't. I reckon I was built to live inthese hills. I don't somehow feel like I could get along withoutthem; and besides, I'd always be knockin' against somethin'there. " He laughed grimly, and stretched out his huge arms. "I'vegot to have room. Then there's the folks yonder. " He turned hisface toward the log house, just showing through the trees. "Youknow how it is, me bein' the only one left, and Dad gettin' old. No, I don't guess you need to count on me bein' more than I am. "

Then suddenly he wheeled about and looked from one face to theother; and there was a faint hint of defiance in his voice, as hefinished; "I got an idea, too, that the backwoods needs men sameas the cities. I don't see how there ever could BE a city even, ifit wasn't for the men what cleared the brush. Somebody's got tolick Wash Gibbs some day, or there just naturally won't be nodecent livin' in the neighborhood ever. "

He held up his big hand to the man on the horse; "Good-by, andgood luck to you, Ollie. " The horses turned down the Old Trail andwith their riders, passed from sight. 

That night Sammy Lane said farewell to her lover, and, with manypromises for the future, Ollie rode away to his cabin home, toleave the next morning for that world that lies so far--so faraway from the world of Young Matt and his friends, the world thatis so easy to get into after all, and so impossible to get out ofever. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE SHEPHERD AND HIS FLOCK. 

All that spring and summer things went smoothly in the MuttonHollow neighborhood. The corn was ready to gather, and nothing hadhappened at the ranch since Mr. Howitt took charge, while the man, who had appeared so strangely in their midst, had made a largeplace for himself in the hearts of the simple mountaineers. 

At first they were disposed to regard him with some distrust, asone apart; he was so unlike themselves. But when he had changedhis dress for the rough garb of the hillsman, and, meeting themkindly upon their own ground, had entered so readily into theirlife, the people by common consent dropped the distinguishingtitle "Mister" for the more familiar one of the backwoods, "Dad. "Not that they lacked in respect or courtesy; it was only theirway. And the quiet shepherd accepted the title with a pleasedsmile, seeming to find in the change an honor to be received notlightly. But while showing such interest in all that made up theirworld, the man never opened the door for anyone to enter his past. They knew no more of his history than the hints he had given Mr. Matthews the night he came out of the mists. 

At the occasional religious meetings in the school house at theForks, Mr. Howitt was always present, an attentive listener to thesermons of the backwoods preacher. And then, seeing his interest, they asked him to talk to them one day when Parson Bigelow failedto make his appointment. "He don't holler so much as a regularparson, " said Uncle Josh Hensley, "but he sure talks so we'uns canunderstand. " From that time they always called upon him at theirpublic gatherings. 

So the scholar from the world beyond the ridges slipped quietlyinto the life of the mountain folk, and took firm root in theiraffections. And in his face, so "Preachin' Bill" said, was thelook of one who had "done fought his fight to a finish, an' wartoo dead beat t' even be glad it war all over. "

Between the giant Mr. Matthews and his shepherd, the friendship, begun that night, grew always stronger. In spite of the differencein education and training, they found much in common. Some bond offellowship, unknown to the mountaineer, at least, drew them close, and the two men spent many evenings upon the front porch of thelog house in quiet talk, while the shadows crept over the valleybelow; and the light went from the sky back of the clump of pines. 

From the first Young Matt was strongly drawn to the stranger, whowas to have such influence over his life, and Pete--Pete said that"God lived with Dad Howitt in Mutton Hollow. "

Pete somehow knew a great deal about God these days. A strangecomradeship had come to be between the thoughtful gentleman, whocared for the sheep, and the ignorant, sorely afflicted, andnameless backwoods boy. The two were always together, out on thehillside and in the little glens and valleys, during the day withthe sheep, or at the ranch in the Hollow, when the flock wassafely folded and the night slipped quietly over the timberedridges. Mr. Howitt had fixed a bunk in his cabin for the boy, sothat he could come and go at will. Often the shepherd awoke in themorning to find that some time during the night his strange friendhad come in from his roving. Again, after seeing the boy soundlysleeping, the shepherd would arise in the morning to find the bunkempty. 

Sammy Lane, too, had fallen under the charm of the man with thewhite hair and poet's face. 

Sammy was not so often at the Matthews place after Ollie had goneto the city. The girl could not have told why. She had a vaguefeeling that it was better to stay away. But this feeling did notprevent her climbing the Old Trail to the Lookout on the shoulderof Dewey, and she spent hours at the big rock, looking over thevalley to where the smoke from Aunt Mollie's kitchen curled abovethe trees. And sometimes, against the sky, she could see a man anda team moving slowly to and fro in the field back of the house. When this happened, Sammy always turned quickly away to where thefar off line of hills lay like a long, low cloud against the sky. 

Every week the girl rode her brown pony to the Postoffice at theForks; and when she had a letter, things were different. Shealways stopped then at the Matthews home. 

One day when this happened, Dad and Pete were on the ridge abovethe Old Trail, just where the north slope of Dewey shades into therim of the Hollow. The elder man was seated on the ground in theshade of an oak, with his back against the trunk of the tree, while the boy lay full length on the soft grass, looking up intothe green depths of foliage where a tiny brown bird flitted frombough to bough. In his quaint way, Pete was carrying on aconversation with his little friend in the tree top, translatingfreely the while for his less gifted, but deeply interested, companion on the ground below, when Brave, the shepherd dog, lyingnear, interrupted the talk by a short bark. Looking up, they sawYoung Matt riding along the summit of the ridge. 

The young man paused when he heard the dog, and caught sight ofthe two under the tree; then he came to them, and seated himselfon the grass at Pete's side. He spoke no word of greeting, and thelook on his face was not good to see. 

Pete's eyes went wide with fear at the manner of his big friend, and he drew back as if to run, but when Young Matt, throwinghimself over on the grass, had hidden his face, a half sad, halfknowing look came into the lad's delicate features; reaching fortha hand, as slim as a girl's, he stroked the shaggy, red brownhead, as he murmured softly, "Poor Matt. Poor Matt. Does it hurt?Is Matt hurt? It'll be better by-and-by. "

The great form on the grass stirred impatiently. The shepherdspoke no word. Pete continued, stroking the big head, and talkingin low, soothing tones, as one would hush a child, "Pete don'tknow what's a hurtin' Young Matt, but it'll be alright, some day. It'll sure grow over after awhile. Ain't nothing won't grow overafter awhile; 'cause God he says so. "

Still the older man was silent. Then the giant burst forth incurses, and the shepherd spoke, "Don't do that, Grant. It's notlike you, lad. You cannot help your trouble that way. "

Young Matt turned over to face his friend; "I know it, Dad;" hegrowled defiantly; "but I just got to say somethin'; I ain'tmeanin' no disrespect to God 'lmighty, and I reckon He ought toknow it; but--" he broke forth again. 

Pete drew back in alarm. "Look your trouble in the face, lad, "said the shepherd; "don't let it get you down like this. "

"Look it in the face!" roared the other. "Good God! that's justit! ain't I a lookin' it in the face every day? You don't knowabout it, Dad. If you did, you--you'd cuss too. " He started inagain. 

"I know more than you think, Grant, " said the other, when the bigfellow had stopped swearing to get his breath. While he spoke, theshepherd was looking away along the Old Trail. "There comes yourtrouble now, " he added, pointing to a girl on a brown pony, comingslowly out of the timber near the deer lick. The young man made noreply. Pete, at sight of the girl, started to his feet, but thebig fellow pulled him down again, and made the boy understand thathe must not betray their position. 

When Sammy reached the sheep, she checked her pony, and searchedthe hillside with her eyes, while her clear call went over themountain, "Oh--h--h--Dad!"

Young Matt shook his head savagely at his companion, and evenBrave was held silent by a low "Be still" from his master. 

Again Sammy looked carefully on every side, but lying on thehigher ground, and partly hidden by the trees, the little groupcould not be seen. When there was no answer to her second call, the girl drew a letter from her pocket, and, permitting the ponyto roam at will, proceeded to read. 

The big man, looking on, cursed again beneath his breath. "It'sfrom Ollie, " he whispered to his companions. "She stopped at thehouse. He says his uncle will give me a job in the shops, and thatit'll be fine for me, 'cause Ollie will be my boss himself. He myboss! Why, dad burn his sneakin' little soul, I could crunch himwith one hand. I'd see him in hell before I'd take orders fromhim. I told her so, too, " he finished savagely. 

"And what did she say?" asked the shepherd quietly, his eyes onthe girl below. 

"Just said, kind o' short like, that she reckoned I could. Then Icome away. "

The girl finished her letter, and, after another long call forDad, moved on over the shoulder of the mountain. Pete, who hadwithdrawn a little way from his companions, was busily talking inhis strange manner to his unseen friends. 

Then Young Matt opened his heart to the shepherd and told him all. It was the old, old story; and, as Mr. Howitt listened, dreamsthat he had thought dead with the death of his only son, stirredagain in his heart, and his deep voice was vibrant with emotion ashe sought to comfort the lad who had come to him. 

While they talked, the sun dropped until its lower edge touchedthe top of the tallest pine on Wolf Ridge, and the long shadowslay over the valley below. "I'm mighty sorry I let go and cuss, Dad, " finished, the boy. "But I keep a holdin' in, and a holdin'in, 'til I'm plumb wild; then something happens like that letter, and I go out on the range and bust. I've often wished you knowed. Seems like your just knowin' about it will help me to hold on. Iget scared at myself sometimes, Dad, I do, honest. "

"I'm glad, too, that you have told me, Grant. It means more to methan you can guess. I--I had a boy once, you know. He was likeyou. He would have come to me this way, if he had lived. "

The sheep had begun working toward the lower ground. The shepherdrose to his feet. "Take them home, Brave. Come on, boys, you musteat with me at the ranch, to-night. " Then the three friends, thegiant mountaineer, the strangely afflicted youth, and the oldscholar went down the mountain side together. 

As they disappeared in the timber on the lower level, the bushes, near which they had been sitting, parted silently, and a man'shead and shoulders appeared from behind a big rook. The manwatched the strange companions out of sight. Then the bushesswayed together, and the mountain seemed to have swallowed him up. 

The three friends had just finished their supper when Pete sawSammy entering the ranch clearing. Young Matt caught up his hat. At the rear door he paused. "I've got to go now, Dad, " he saidawkwardly. "I can't see her any more to-day. But if you'll let me, I'll come again when things get too hot. "

The shepherd held out his hand, "I understand. Come always, myboy. "

The big fellow, with Pete, skipped away into the timber at therear of the cabin, a moment before Sammy appeared at the open doorin front. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

SAMMY LANE'S AMBITION. 

"Law sakes!" cried Sammy, looking at the table. "You don't use allthem dishes, do you, Dad? You sure must eat a lot. "

"Oh, I eat enough, " laughed Mr. Howitt; "but it happens that I hadcompany this evening. Young Matt and Pete were here for supper. "He brought two chairs outside the cabin. 

"Shucks!" exclaimed Sammy, as she seated herself, and removed hersunbonnet; "they must've eat and run. Wish'd I'd got here sooner. Young Matt run away from me this afternoon. And I wanted to seehim 'bout Mandy Ford's party next week. I done promised Mandy thatI'd bring him. I reckon he'd go with me if I asked him. "

"There is not the least doubt about that, " observed the man; "I'msure anyone would be glad for such charming company. "

The girl looked up suspiciously; "Are you a jokin'?" she said. 

"Indeed, I am not; I am very much in earnest. " Then, taking a cobpipe from his pocket, he added, politely, "May I smoke?"

"Heh? O law! yes. What you ask me for?" She watched him curiously, as he filled and lighted the pipe. "I reckon that's because youwas raised in the city, " he added slowly; "is that the way folksdo there?"

"Folks smoke here, sometimes, do they not?" he returned betweenpuffs. 

"I don't mean that. Course they smoke and chew, too. And the womendip snuff, some of 'em. Aunt Mollie Matthews don't, though, and Iain't never goin' to, 'cause she don't. But nobody don't asknobody else if they can. They just go ahead. That ain't the onlyway you're different from us, though, " she continued, looking atMr. Howitt, with that wide questioning gaze. "You're different ina heap o' ways. 'Tain't that you wear different clothes, for youdon't, no more. Nor, 'taint that you act like you were anybetter'n us. I don't know what it is, but it's somethin'. Takeyour stayin' here in Mutton Hollow, now; honest, Dad, ain't youafear'd to stay here all alone at nights?"

"Afraid? afraid of what?" he looked at her curiously. 

"Hants, " said the girl, lowering her voice; "down there. " Shepointed toward the old ruined cabin under the bluff. "SHE'S surebeen seen there. What if HE was to come, too? Don't you believe inhants?"

The shepherd's face was troubled, as he answered, "I don't know, Sammy. I scarcely know what I believe. Some marvelous experiencesare related by apparently reliable authorities; but I have alwayssaid that I could not accept the belief. I--I am not so sure now. After all, the unseen world is not so very far away. Strangeforces, of which we know nothing, are about us everywhere. I darenot say that I do not believe. "

"But you ain't scared?"

"Why should I fear?"

Sammy shook her head. "Ain't 'nother man or woman in the wholecountry would dast spend the night here, Dad; except Pete, ofcourse. Not even Young Matt, nor my Daddy would do it; and I don'tguess they're afraid of anything--anything that's alive, I mean. You're sure different, Dad; plumb different. I reckon it must bethe city that does it. And that's what I've come to see you aboutthis evenin'. You see Ollie's been a tellin' me a lot about folksand things way over there. " She waived her hand toward the ridgesthat shut in the Hollow. "And Ollie he's changed a heap himselfsince he went there to live. I got a letter to-day, and, when Iwent home, I hunted up the first one he wrote, and I can tellthere's a right smart difference already. You know all about Ollieand me goin' to get married, I reckon?"

Mr. Howitt admitted that he had heard something of that nature;and Sammy nodded, "I 'lowed you'd know. But you don't know howmighty proud and particular Ollie always is. I figure that bein'in the city with all them one folks ain't goin' to make him anyless that way than he was. And if he stays there and keeps on achangin', and I stay here, and don't change none, why it might bethat I--I--" She faltered and came to a dead stop, twisting herbonnet strings nervously in her confusion. "Ollie he ain't likeYoung Matt, nohow, " she said again. "Such as that wouldn't make nodifference with him. But Ollie--well you see--"

There was a twinkle, now, in the shepherd's eye, as he answered;"Yes, I see; I am quite sure that I see. "

The girl continued; "You know all about these things, Dad. Andthere ain't nobody else here that does. Will you learn me to be asure 'nough lady, so as Ollie won't--so he won't--" Again shepaused in confusion. It was evident, from the look on Mr. Howitt'sface, that, whatever he saw, it was not this. 

"I feel somehow like I could do it, if I had a chance, " shemurmured. 

There was no answer. After a time, Sammy stole a look at her quietcompanion. What could the man in the chair be thinking about? Hispipe was neglected; his gray head bowed. 

"Course, " said the young woman, with just a little lifting of herchin; "Course, if I couldn't never learn, there ain't no use totry. "

The old scholar raised his head and looked long at the girl. Hersplendid form, glowing with the rich life and strength of thewilderness, showed in every line the proud old southern blood. Could she learn to be a fine lady? Mr. Howitt thought of the womenof the cities, pale, sickly, colorless, hot-house posies, besidethis mountain flower. What would this beautiful creature be, hadshe their training? What would she gain? What might she not lose?Aloud he said, "My dear child, do you know what it is that youask?"

Sammy hung her head, abashed at his serious tone. "I 'lowed itwould be right smart trouble for you, " she said. "But I could letyou have Brownie in pay; he ain't only five year old, and is assound as a button. He's all I've got, Mr. Howitt. But I'd bemighty proud to swap him to you. "

"My girl, my girl, " said the shepherd, "you misunderstand me. Idid not mean that. It would be a pleasure to teach you. I wasthinking how little you realized what the real life of the city islike, and how much you have that the 'fine ladies, ' as you callthem, would give fortunes for, and how little they have after allthat could add one ray of brightness to your life. "

Sammy laughed aloud, as she cried, "Me got anything that anybodywould want? Why, Dad, I ain't got nothin' but Brownie, and mysaddle, and--and that's all. I sure ain't got nothing to lose. "

The man smiled in sympathy. Then slowly a purpose formed in hismind. "And if you should lose, you will never blame me?" he saidat last. 

"Never, never, " she promised eagerly. 

"Alright, it is a bargain. I will help you. "

The girl sprang to her feet. "I knew you would. I knew you would. I was plumb sure you would, " she cried, fairly quivering with lifeand excitement. "It's got to be a sure 'nough lady, Dad. I want tobe a really truly fine lady, like them Ollie tells about in hisletters, you know. "

"Yes, Sammy. I understand, a 'sure enough' lady, and we will doit, I am sure. But it will take a great deal of hard work on yourpart, though. "

"I reckon it will, " she returned soberly, coming back to her seat. Then drawing her chair a little closer, she leaned toward herteacher, "Begin now, " she commanded. "Tell me what I must dofirst. "

Mr. Howitt carefully searched his pockets for a match, and lightedhis pipe again, before he said, "First you must know what a 'sureenough' lady is. You see, Sammy, there are several kinds of womenwho call themselves ladies, but are not real ladies after all; andthey all look very much like the 'sure enough' kind; that is, theylook like them to most people. "

Sammy nodded, "Just like them Thompsons down by Flat Rock. They'reall mighty proud, 'cause they come from Illinois the same as theMatthews's. You'd think to hear 'em that Old Matt couldn't nearrun the ranch without 'em, and some folks, strangers like, mightbelieve it. But we all know they ain't nothing but just low downtrash, all the time, and no better than some of them folks over onthe Bend. "

The shepherd smiled, "Something like that. I see you understand. Now a real lady, Sammy, is a lady in three ways: First, in herheart; I mean just to herself, in the things that no one but shecould ever know. A 'sure enough' lady does not PRETEND to be; sheIS. "

Again the girl broke in eagerly, "That's just like Aunt Mollie, ain't it? Couldn't no one ever have a finer lady heart than her. "

"Indeed, you are right, " agreed the teacher heartily. "And that isthe thing that lies at the bottom of it all, Sammy. The lady heartcomes first. "

"I won't never forget that, " she returned. "I couldn't forget AuntMollie, nohow. Tell me more, Dad. "

"Next, the 'sure enough' lady must have a lady mind. She must knowhow to think and talk about the things that really matter. All thefine dresses and jewels in the world can't make a real lady, ifshe does not think, or if she thinks only of things that are of novalue. Do you see?"

Again the girl nodded, and, with a knowing smile, answeredquickly, "I know a man like that. And I see now that that is whatmakes him so different from other folks. It's the things he thinksabout all to himself that does it. But I've got a heap to learn, Isure have. I could read alright, if I had something to read, and Ireckon I could learn to talk like you if I tried hard enough. Whatelse is there?"

Then, continued the shepherd, "A lady will keep her body as strongand as beautiful as she can, for this is one way that sheexpresses her heart and mind. Do you see what I mean?"

Sammy answered slowly, "I reckon I do. You mean I mustn't getstooped over and thin chested, and go slouching around, like somany of the girls and women around here do, and I mustn't let myclothes go without buttons, 'cause I am in a hurry, and I mustalways comb my hair, and keep my hands as white as I can. Is thatit?"

"That's the idea, " said the shepherd. 

Sammy gazed ruefully at a large rent in her skirt, and at a shoehalf laced. Then she put up a hand to her tumbled hair. "I--Ididn't think it made any difference, when only home folks wasaround, " she said. 

"That's just it, my child, " said the old man gently. "I think a'sure enough' lady would look after these things whether there wasanyone to see her or not; just for herself, you know. And this iswhere you can begin. I will send for some books right away, andwhen they come we will begin to train your mind. "

"But the heart, how'll I get a lady heart, Dad?"

"How does the violet get its perfume, Sammy? Where does the roseget its color? How does the bird learn to sing its song?"

For a moment she was puzzled. Then her face lighted; "I see!" sheexclaimed. "I'm just to catch it from folks like Aunt Mollie, and--andsomeone else I know. I'm just to BE, not to make believe or let onlike I was, but to BE a real lady inside. And then I'm to learn how totalk and look, like I know myself to be. " She drew a long breath asshe rose to go. "It'll be mighty hard, Dad, in some ways; but it'llsure be worth it all when I get out 'mong the folks. I'm mightythankful to you, I sure am. And I hope you won't never be sorry youpromised to help me. "

As the girl walked swiftly away through the thickening dusk of theevening, the shepherd watched her out of sight; then turned towardthe corral for a last look at the sheep, to see that all was rightfor the night. "Brave, old fellow, " he said to the dog who trottedby his side; "are we going to make another mistake, do you think?We have made so many, so many, you know. " Brave looked up into themaster's face, and answered with his low bark, as though todeclare his confidence. "Well, well, old dog, I hope you areright. The child has a quick mind, and a good heart; and, if I amnot mistaken, good blood. We shall see. We shall see. "

Suddenly the dog whirled about, the hair on his back bristling ashe gave a threatening growl. A man on a dun colored mule wascoming up the road. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE COMMON YELLER KIND. 

Mr. Howitt stood quietly by the corral gate when the horseman rodeup. It was Wash Gibbs, on his way home from an all day visit withfriends on the river. 

When the big mountaineer took the short cut through Mutton Hollow, he thought to get well past the ranch before the light failed. Nomatter how well fortified with the courage distilled by hisfriend, Jennings, the big man would never have taken the trail bythe old ruined cabin alone after dark. He had evidently beenriding at a good pace, for his mule's neck and flanks were wetwith sweat. Gibbs, himself, seemed greatly excited, and one handrested on the pistol at his hip, as he pulled up in front of theshepherd. 

Without returning Mr. Howitt's greeting, he pointed toward the twoempty chairs in front of the house, demanding roughly, "Who wasthat with you before you heard me comin'?"

"Sammy Lane was here a few minutes ago, " replied the shepherd. 

Gibbs uttered an oath, "She was, was she? Well, who was th' man?"

"There was no man, " returned the other. "Young Matt and Pete werehere for supper, but they went as soon as the meal was finished, before Sammy came. "

"Don't you try to lie to me!" exclaimed the big man, with anotherburst of language, and a threatening movement with the hand thatrested on the pistol. 

Mr. Howitt was startled. Never in his life before had such wordsbeen addressed to him. He managed to reply with quiet dignity, "Ihave no reason for deceiving you, or anyone else, Mr. Gibbs. Therehas been no man here but myself, since Matt and Pete left aftersupper. " The shepherd's manner carried conviction, and Gibbshesitated, evidently greatly perplexed. During the pause, Bravegrowled again, and faced toward the cliff below the corral, hishair bristling. 

"What's th' matter with that dog?" said Gibbs, turning uneasily inhis saddle, to face in the direction the animal was looking. 

"What is it, Brave?" said Mr. Howitt. The only answer was anuneasy whine, followed by another growl, all of which saidplainly, in dog talk, "I don't know what it is, but there issomething over there on that cliff that I don't like. "

"It must be some animal, " said the shepherd. 

"Ain't no animal that makes a dog act like that. Did any body passwhile you was a sittin' there, jest before I come in sight?"

"Not a soul, " answered the other. "Did you meet someone down theroad?"

The big man looked at the shepherd hard before he answered, in ahalf-frightened, half-bullying tone, "I seed something in th' roadyonder, an' hit disappeared right by th' old shack under th'bluffs. " He twisted around in his saddle again, facing the cliffwith its dense shadows and dim twilight forms, as he muttered, "IfI was only right sure, I--" Then swinging back he leaned towardthe man on the ground; "Look a here, Mister. There's them that'lows there's things in this here Holler t' be afeared of, an' Ireckon hit's so. There's sure been hell t' pay at that there cabindown yonder. I ain't a sayin' what hit was I seed, but if hit waranywhere else, I'd a said hit was a man; but if hit was a man, Idon't know why you didn't see him when he come past; er elseyou're a lyin'. I jest want t' tell you, you're right smart of astranger in these here parts, even if you have been a workin' ferOl' Matt all summer. You're too blame careful 'bout talkin' 'boutyourself, or tellin' whar you come from, t' suit some folks. Somestrangers are alright, an' again some ain't. But we don't aim t'have nobody in this here neighborhood what jumps into th' brushwhen they see an honest man a comin'. "

As he finished speaking, Gibbs straightened himself in the saddle, and before Mr. Howitt could reply, the dun mule, at a touch of thespur, had dashed away up the road in the direction taken by SammyLane. 

It was quite dark in the heavy timber of the Hollow by the timeSammy had reached the edge of the open ground on the hill side, but once on the higher level, clear of the trees, the strong glowof the western sky still lighted the way. From here it was not farto the girl's home, and, as she climbed a spur of Dewey, Sammy sawthe cabin, and heard distinctly the sweet strain's of her father'sviolin. On top of the rise, the young woman paused a moment toenjoy the beauties of the evening, which seemed to come to herwith a new meaning that night. As she stood there, her strongyoung figure was clearly outlined against the sky to the man whowas riding swiftly along the road over which she had just passed. 

Sammy turned when she heard the quick beating of the mule's feet;then, recognizing the huge form of the horseman, as he came out ofthe woods into the light, she started quickly away towards herhome; but the mule and its rider were soon beside her. 

"Howdy, Sammy. " Gibbs leaped from the saddle, and, with the bridlerein over his arm, came close to the girl. "Fine evening for awalk. "

"Howdy, " returned the young woman, coolly, quickening her pace. 

"You needn't t' be in such a powerful hurry, " growled Wash. "Ifyou've got time t' talk t' that old cuss at th' ranch, you suregot time t' talk t' me. "

Sammy turned angrily. "You'd better get back on your mule, and goabout your business, Wash Gibbs. When I want you to walk with me, I'll let you know. "

"That's alright, honey, " exclaimed the other insolently. "I'm agoin' your way just th' same; an' we'll mosey 'long t'gether. Iwas a goin' home, but I've got business with your paw now. "

"Worse thing for Daddy, too, " flashed the girl. "I wish you'd stayaway from him. "

Wash laughed; "Your daddy couldn't keep house 'thout me, nohow. Who was that feller talkin' with you an' th' old man down yonder?"

"There wasn't nobody talkin' to us, " replied Sammy shortly. 

"That's what he said, too, " growled Gibbs; "but I sure seedsomebody a sneakin' into th' brush when I rode up. I thought whenI was down there hit might o' been a hant; but I know hit was aman, now. There's somethin' mighty funny a goin' on around here, since that feller come int' th' neighborhood; an' he'll sure findsomethin' in Mutton Holler more alive than Ol' Matt's gal if heain't careful. "

The girl caught her breath quickly. She knew the big ruffian'smethods, and with good reason feared for her old friend, should heeven unconsciously incur the giant's displeasure. 

As they drew near the house, Wash continued, "Young Matt he wasthere too. Let me tell you I ain't forgot 'bout his big show atth' mill last spring; he'll have t' do a heap better'n he donethen, when I get 'round t' him. "

Sammy laughed scornfully, "'Pears like you ain't been in no hurryt' try it on. I ain't heard tell of Young Matt's leaving th'country yet. You'd better stay away from Jennings' still though, when you do try it. " Then, while the man was tying his mule to thefence, she ran into the cabin to greet her father with ahysterical sob that greatly astonished Jim. Before explanationscould be made, a step was heard approaching the door, and Sammyhad just time to say, "Wash Gibbs, " in answer to her father'sinquiring look, when the big man entered. Mr. Lane arose to hanghis violin on its peg. 

"Don't stop fer me, Jim, " said the newcomer. "Jest let her go. Mean' Sammy's been havin' a nice little walk, an' some right peartmusic would sound mighty fine. " Gibbs was angered beyond reason atSammy's last words, or he would have exercised greater care. 

Sammy's father made no reply until the girl had left the room, butwhatever it was that his keen eye read in his daughter's face, itmade him turn to his guest with anything but a cordial manner, andthere was that in his voice that should have warned the other. 

"So you and Sammy went for a walk, did you?"

"She was comin' home from th' sheep ranch, an' I caught up withher, " explained Gibbs. "I 'lowed as how she needed company, so Icome 'long. I seemed t' be 'bout as welcome as usual, " he addedwith an ugly grin. 

"Meanin' that my girl don't want your company, and told you so?"asked the other softly. 

Wash answered with a scowl; "Sammy's gettin' too dad burned goodfer me since Ollie's uncle took him in. An' now, this here old manfrom nowhere has come, it's worse than ever. She'll put a rope'round our necks th' first thing you know. "

Jim's right hand slipped quietly inside his hickory shirt, wherethe button was missing, as he drawled, "My girl always was toogood for some folks. And it's about time you was a findin' it out. She can't help it. She was born that way. She's got mighty goodblood in her veins, that girl has; and I don't aim to ever let itbe mixed up with none of the low down common yeller kind. "

The deliberate purpose of the speaker was too evident to bemistaken. The other man's hand flew to his hip almost before Mr. Lane had finished his sentence. But Wash was not quick enough. Like a flash Jim's hand was withdrawn from inside the hickoryshirt, and the giant looked squarely into the muzzle of Jim Lane'sever ready, murderous weapon. 

In the same even voice, without the slightest allusion to theunfinished movement of the other, Mr. Lane continued, "I done toldyou before that my girl would pick her own company, and I ain'tnever feared for a minute that she'd take up with such as you. Ollie Stewart ain't so mighty much of a man, maybe, but he'sclean, he is, and the stock's pretty good. Now you can just listento me, or you can mosey out of that door, and the next time wemeet, we will settle it for good, without any furtherarrangement. "

As Sammy's father talked, the big figure of his visitor relaxed, and when Jim had finished his slow speech, Wash was leaningforward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front. "We ain't got no call t' fight, now, Jim, " he said in a tone ofrespect. "We got something else t' think about; an' that's what Icome here fer t'night. I didn't aim t', 'til I seed what I did atth' ranch down yonder. I tell you hit's time we was a doin'somethin'. "

At this, Mr. Lane's face and manner changed quickly. He put up hisweapon, and the two men drew their chairs close together, asthough Death had not a moment before stretched forth his hand tothem. 

For an hour they sat talking in low tones. Sammy in the next roomhad heard the conversation up to this point, but now only anoccasional word reached her ears. Gibbs seemed to be urging someaction, and her father was as vigorously protesting. "I tell you, Jim, hit's th' only safe way. You didn't use t' be so squeamish. "Several times the old shepherd was mentioned, and also thestranger whom Wash had seen that evening. And once, the tremblinggirl heard Young Matt's name. At length the guest rose to go, andMr. Lane walked with him to the gate. Even after the big man wasmounted, the conversation still continued; Wash still urging andJim still protesting. 

When his visitor was gone, Mr. Lane came slowly back to the house. Extinguishing the light, he seated himself in the open doorway, and filled his pipe. Sammy caught the odor of tobacco, and amoment later Jim heard a light, quick step on the floor behindhim. Then two arms went around his neck; "What is it, Daddy? Whatis it? Why don't you drive that man away?"

"Did you hear us talkin'?" asked the man, an anxious note in hisvoice. 

"I heard you talkin' to him about pesterin' me, but after that, you didn't talk so loud. What is the matter, Daddy, that he couldstay and be so thick with you after the things you said? I wassure he'd make you kill him. "

Jim laughed softly; "You're just like your mother, girl. Just likeher, with the old blood a backin' you up. " Then he asked a numberof questions about Mr. Howitt, and her visit to the ranch thatevening. 

As Sammy told him of her ambition to fit herself for the placethat would be hers, when she married, and repeating the thingsthat Mr. Howitt had told her, explained how the shepherd hadpromised to help, Jim expressed his satisfaction and delight. "Iknowed you was a studyin' about something, girl, " he said, "but Ididn't say nothin', 'cause I 'lowed you'd tell me when you gotready. "

"I didn't want to say nothing 'til I was sure, you see, " repliedthe daughter. "I aimed to tell you as soon as I got home to-night, but Wash Gibbs didn't give me no chance. "

The man held her close "Dad Howitt sure puts the thing just right, Sammy. It'll be old times come back, when you're a lady in yourown house with all your fine friends around; and you'll do it, girl; you sure will. Don't never be afraid to bank on the oldblood. It'll see you through. " Then his voice broke; "You won'tnever be learned away from your old Daddy, will you, honey? Willyou always stand by Daddy, like you do now? Will you let me andYoung Matt slip 'round once in a while, just to look at, you, allso fine?"

"Daddy Jim, if you don't--hush--I'll--I'll--" she hid her face onhis shoulder. 

"There, there, honey; I was only funnin'. You'll always be mySammy; the only boy I ever had. You just naturally couldn't benothin' else. "

Long after his daughter had gone to her room and to her bed, themountaineer sat in the doorway, looking into the dark. He heardthe short bark of a fox in the brush back of the stable; and thewild cry of a catamount from a cliff farther down the mountain wasanswered by another from the timber below the spring. He saw thegreat hills heaving their dark forms into the sky, and in his soulhe felt the spirit of the wilderness and the mystery of the hour. At last he went into the house to close and bar the door. 

Away down in Mutton Hollow a dog barked, and high up on Old Deweynear Sammy's Lookout, a spot of light showed for a moment, thenvanished. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE PARTY AT FORD'S. 

Young Matt would have found some excuse for staying at home thenight of the party at Ford's, but the shepherd said he must go. 

The boy felt that the long evening with Sammy would only hurt. Hereasoned with himself that it would be better for him to see aslittle as possible of the girl who was to marry Ollie Stewart. Nevertheless, he was singing as he saddled the big white facedsorrel to ride once more over the trail that is nobody knows howold. 

Mr. Lane was leading the brown pony from the stable as Young Mattrode up to the gate; and from the doorway of the cabin Sammycalled to say that she would be ready in a minute. 

"Ain't seen you for a coon's age, boy, " said Jim, while they werewaiting for the girl. "Why don't you never come down the Old Trailno more?"

The big fellow's face reddened, as he answered, "I ain't beennowhere, Jim. 'Pears like I just can't get away from the place nomore; we're that busy. "

Sammy's father looked his young neighbor squarely in the eye withthat peculiar searching gaze; "Look a here, Grant. I've knowed youever since you was born, and you ought to know me a little. 'Tain't your way to dodge, and 'tain't mine. I reckon you knowyou're welcome, same as always, don't you?"

Young Matt returned the other's look fairly; "I ain't neverdoubted it, Jim. But things is a heap different now, since it'sall done and settled, with Ollie gone. "

The two understood each other perfectly. Said Jim, drawing a longbreath, "Well I wish you'd come over just the same, anyway. Itcan't do nobody no harm as I can see. "

"It wouldn't do me no good, " replied the young man. 

"Maybe not, " assented Jim. "But I'd like mighty well to have youcome just the same. " Then he drew closer to his young friend;"I've been aimin' to ride over and see you, Matt; but Sammy saidyou was a comin' this evenin', and I 'lowed this would be soonenough. I reckon you know what Wash Gibbs is tellin' he aims to dofirst chance he gets. "

The giant drew himself up with a grim smile, "I've heard a goodbit, Jim. But you don't need to mind about me; I know I ain'tquite growed, but I am a growin'. "

The older man surveyed the great form of the other with a criticaleye, as he returned, "Durned if I don't believe you'd push himmighty close, if he'd only play fair. But--but I 'lowed you oughtto know it was a comin'. "

"I have knowed it for a long time, " said the other cheerfully;"but I heard 'Preachin' Bill' say once, that if a feller don'tfuss about what he knows for sure, the things he don't know ain'tapt to bother him none. It's this here guessin' that sure gets aman down. "

"'Preachin' Bill' hits it every pop, don't he?" exclaimed Jim, admiringly. "But there's somethin' else you ought to know, too, Matt. Wash has done made his threats agin the old man down there. "

"You mean Dad Howitt?" said Young Matt, sharply. "What's Wash gotagin Dad, Jim?"

Mr. Lane shifted uneasily, "Some fool notion of hisn. You mind oldman Lewis, I reckon?"

The big man's muscles tightened. "Dad told us about his stoppin'at the ranch the other night. Wash Gibbs better keep his hands offMr. Howitt. "

"I ain't told nobody about this, Grant, and you can do as you likeabout tellin' your father, and the old man. But if anythinghappens, get word to me, quick. "

Before more could be said, Sammy appeared in the doorway, and soonthe two young people were riding on their way. Long after they hadpassed from sight in the depth of the forest, the dark mountaineerstood at the big gate, looking in the direction they had gone. 

Young Matt was like a captive, tugging at his bonds. Mr. Lane'swords had stirred the fire, and the girl's presence by his sideadded fuel to the flame. He could not speak. He dared not evenlook at her, but rode with his eyes fixed upon the ground, wherethe sunlight fell in long bars of gold. Sammy, too, was silent. She felt something that was strangely like fear, when she foundherself alone with her big neighbor. Now and then she glancedtimidly up at him and tried to find some word with which to breakthe silence. She half wished that she had not come. So they rodetogether through the lights and shadows down into the valley, theonly creatures in all the free life of the forest who were notfree. 

At last the girl spoke, "It's mighty good of you to take me overto Mandy's to-night. There ain't no one else I could o' gonewith. " There was no reply, and Sammy, seeming not to notice, continued talking in a matter-of-fact tone that soon--for such isthe way of a woman--won him from his mood, and the two chattedaway like the good comrades they had always been. 

Just after they had crossed Fall Creek at Slick Rock Ford, sometwo miles below the mill, Young Matt leaned from his saddle, andfor a little way studied the ground carefully. When he sat erectagain, he remarked, with the air of one who had reached aconclusion, "Wouldn't wonder but there'll be doin's at Ford's to-night, sure enough. "

"There's sure to be, " returned the girl; "everybody'll be there. Mandy's folks from over on Long Creek are comin', and some fromthe mouth of the James. Mandy wanted Daddy to play for 'em, but hesays he can't play for parties no more, and they got that oldfiddlin' Jake from the Flag neighborhood, I guess. "

"There'll be somethin' a heap more excitin' than fiddlin' anddancin', accordin' to my guess, " returned Young Matt. 

"What do you mean?" asked Sammy. 

Her escort pointed to the print of a mule's shoe in the soft soilof the low bottom land. "That there's Wash Gibbs's dun mule, andhe's headed down the creek for Jennings's still. Wash'll meet alot of his gang from over on the river, and like's not they'll gofrom there to the party. I wish your dad was goin' to do theplayin' to-night. "

It was full dark before they reached the Ford clearing. The faint, far away sound of a violin, seeming strange and out of place inthe gloomy solitude of the great woods, first told them that otherguests had already arrived. Then as they drew nearer and the tonesof the instrument grew louder, they could hear the rhythmic swingand beat of heavily shod feet upon the rough board floors, withthe shrill cries of the caller, and the half savage, half patheticsing-song of the backwoods dancers, singing, "Missouri Gal. "

Reaching the edge of the clearing, they involuntarily checkedtheir horses, stopping just within the shadow of the timber. Herethe sound of the squeaking fiddle, the shouting caller, thestamping feet, and the swinging dancers came with full force; and, through the open door and windows of the log house, they could seethe wheeling, swaying figures of coatless men and calico gownedwomen, while the light, streaming out, opened long lanes in thedusk. About them in the forest's edge, standing in groups underthe trees, were the shadowy forms of saddle horses and mules, tiedby their bridle reins to the lower branches; and nearer to thecabin, two or three teams, tied to the rail-fence, stood hitchedto big wagons in which were splint-bottom chairs for extra seats. 

During the evening, the men tried in their rough, good naturedway, to joke Young Matt about taking advantage of Ollie Stewart'sabsence, but they very soon learned that, while the big fellow wasready to enter heartily into all the fun of the occasion, he wouldnot receive as a jest any allusion to his relation to the girl, whom he had escorted to the party. Sammy, too, when her bigcompanion was not near, suffered from the crude wit of herfriends. 

"Ollie Stewart don't own me yet, " she declared with a toss of thehead, when someone threatened to write her absent lover. 

"No, " replied one of her tormentors, "but you ain't aimin' to missyour chance o' goin' t' th' city t' live with them big-bugs. "

In the laugh that followed, Sammy was claimed by a tall woodsmanfor the next dance, and escaped to take her place on the floor. 

"Well, Ollie'll sure make a good man for her, " remarked anotherjoker; "if he don't walk th' chalk, she can take him 'cross herknee an' wallop him. "

"She'll surely marry him, alright, " said the first, "'cause he'sgot th' money, but she's goin' t' have a heap o' fun makin' YoungMatt play th' fool before she leaves th' woods. He ain't took hiseyes off her t'night. Everybody's laughin' at him. "

"I notice they take mighty good care t' laugh behind his back, "flashed little black-eyed Annie Brooke from the Cove neighborhood. 

Young Matt, who had been dancing with Mandy Ford, came up behindthe group just in time to hear their remarks. Two or three who sawhim within hearing tried to warn the speakers, but while everybodyaround them saw the situation, the two men caught the franticsignals of their friends too late. The music suddenly stopped. Thedancers were still. By instinct every eye in the room was fixedupon the little group, as the jokers turned to face the object oftheir jests. 

The big mountaineer took one long step toward the two who hadspoken, his brow dark with rage, his huge fists clenched. But, even as his powerful muscles contracted for the expected blow, thegiant came to a dead stop. Slowly his arm relaxed. His handdropped to his side. Then, turning deliberately, he walked to thedoor, the silent crowd parting to give him way. 

As the big man stepped from the room, a gasp of astonishmentescaped from the company, and the two jokers, with frightenedfaces, broke into a shrill, nervous laughter. Then a buzz of talkwent round; the fiddlers struck up again; the callers shouted; thedancers stamped, and bowed, and swung their partners as they sang. 

And out in the night under the trees, at the edge of the gloomyforest, the strongest man in the hills was saying over and over tothe big, white faced sorrel, "I don't dare do it. I don't dare. Dad Howitt wouldn't. He sure wouldn't. "

Very soon two figures left the house, and hurried toward a bunchof saddle horses near by. They had untied their animals, and wereabout to mount, when suddenly a huge form stepped from the shadowsto their horses' heads. "Put up your guns, boys, " said Young Mattcalmly. "I reckon you know that if I'd wanted trouble, it would o'been all over before this. "

The weapons were not drawn, and the big man continued, "Dad Howittsays a feller always whips himself every time he fights when thereain't no--no principle evolved. I don't guess Dad would see aryprinciple in this, 'cause there might be some truth in what youboys said. I reckon I am somethin' at playin' a fool, but it wouldo' been a heap safer for you to let folks find it out forthemselves. "

"We all were jest a foolin', Matt, " muttered one. 

"That's alright, " returned the big fellow; "But you'd better tieup again and go back into the house and dance a while longer. Folks might think you was scared if you was to leave so soon. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

ON THE WAY HOME. 

Not until the party was breaking up, and he saw Sammy in thedoorway, did Young Matt go back to the house. 

When they had ridden again out of the circle of light, and thelaughter and shouting of the guests was no longer heard, Sammytried in vain to arouse her silent escort, chatting gaily aboutthe pleasures of the evening. But all the young man's reserve hadreturned. When she did force him to speak, his responses were soshort and cold that at last the girl, too, was silent. Then, man-like, he wished she would continue talking. 

By the time they reached Compton Ridge the moon was well up. Forthe last two miles Sammy had been watching the wavering shafts oflight that slipped through tremulous leaves and swaying branches. As they rode, a thousand fantastic shapes appeared and vanishedalong the way, and now and then as the sound of their horses' feetechoed through the silent forest, some wild thing in theunderbrush leaped away into the gloomy depth. 

Coming out on top of the narrow ridge, the brown pony crowdedcloser to the big, white faced sorrel, and the girl, stirred bythe weird loveliness of the scene, broke the silence with anexclamation, "O Matt! Ain't it fine? Look there!" She pointed tothe viewahead. "Makes me feel like I could keep on a goin', and goin', andnever stop. "

The man, too, felt the witchery of the night. The horses werecrowdingmore closely together now, and, leaning forward, the girl lookedup into his face; "What'sthe matter, Matt? Why don't you talk to me? You know it ain't truewhat them folks said back there. "

The sorrel was jerked farther away. "It's true enough, so far asit touches me, " returned the man shortly. "When are you goin' tothe city?"

"I don't know, " she replied. "Let's don't talk about that to-night. I don't want even to think about it, not to-night. You--youdon't believe what they was a sayin', Matt; you know you don't. You mustn't ever believe such as that. I--I never could get alongwithout you and Aunt Mollie and Uncle Matt, nohow. " The brown ponywas again crowding closer to his mate. The girl laid a hand on hercompanion's arm. "Say you don't blame me for what they said, Matt. You know I wouldn't do no such a thing even if I could. Theremustn't anything ever come between you and me; never--never. I--Iwant us always to be like we are now. You've been so good to meever since I was a little trick, and you whipped big Lem Wheelerfor teasin' me. I--I don't guess I could get along without knowin'you was around somewhere. " She finished with a half sob. 

It was almost too much. The man swung around in his saddle, andthe horses, apparently of their own accord, stopped. Without aword, the big fellow stretched forth his arms, and the girl, as ifswept by a force beyond her control, felt herself swaying towardhim. 

The spell was broken by the trampling of horses and the sound ofloud voices. For a moment they held their places, motionless, asif rudely awakened from a dream. The sound was coming nearer. ThenYoung Matt spoke, "It's Wash Gibbs and his crowd from the still. Ride into the brush quick. "

There was no time for flight. In the bright moonlight, they wouldhave been easily recognized, and a wild chase would have followed. Leaving the road, they forced their horses into a thick clump ofbushes, where they dismounted, to hold the animals by their heads. Scarcely had they gained this position when the first of the crowdreached the spot where they had been a moment before. Wash Gibbswas easily distinguished by his gigantic form, and with him wereten others, riding two and two, several of whom were known toYoung Matt as the most lawless characters in the country. All werefired by drink and were laughing and talking, with now and then aburst of song, or a vulgar jest. 

"I say, Wash, " called one, "What'll you do if Young Matt's there?"The unseen listeners could not hear the leader's reply; but thoseabout the speaker laughed and shouted with great glee. Then thetwo in the bushes distinctly heard the last man in the line askhis companion, "Do you reckon he'll put up a fight?" and as theypassed from sight, the other answered, "Wash don't aim t' give himno show. "

When the sounds had died away; Young Matt turned to the girl;"Come on; we've got to keep 'em in sight. "

But Sammy held back. "Oh, Matt, don't go yet. We must not. Didn'tyou hear what that man said? It's you they're after. Let's waithere until they're clean gone. "

"No, 'tain't; they ain't a wantin' me, " the big fellow replied. And before the young woman could protest further, he lifted her tothe saddle as easily as if she were a child. Then, springing tothe back of his own horse, he led the way at a pace that wouldkeep them within hearing of the company of men. 

"Who is it, Matt? Who is it, if it ain't you?" asked the girl. 

"Don't know for sure yet, but I'll tell you pretty soon. "

They had not gone far when Young Matt stopped the horse to listenintently; and soon by the sound he could tell that the party aheadhad turned off the ridge road and were following the trail thatleads down the eastern side of the mountain. A moment longer themountaineer listened, as if to make sure; then he spoke; "Themdevils are goin' to the ranch after Dad Howitt. Sammy, you've gotto ride hard to-night. They won't hear you now, and they'regetting farther off every minute. There ain't no other way, and, Iknow you'll do it for the old man. Get home as quick as you canand tell Jim what's up. Tell him I'll hold 'em until he getsthere. " Even as he spoke, he sprang from his horse and beganloosening the saddle girths. 

"But, Matt, " protested the girl; "how can you? You can't get bythem. How're you goin' to get there in time?"

"Down the mountain; short cut;" he answered as he jerked the heavysaddle from his horse and threw it under some nearby bushes. 

"But they'll kill you. You can't never face that whole crowdalone. "

"I can do it better'n Dad, and him not a lookin' for them. "

Slipping the bridle from the sorrel, he turned the animal loose, and, removing his coat and hat, laid them with the saddle. Then tothe girl on the pony he said sharply, "Go on, Sammy. Why don't yougo on? Don't you see how you're losin' time? Them devils will dofor Dad Howitt like they done for old man Lewis. Your father's theonly man can stop 'em now. Ride hard, girl, and tell Jim to hurry. And--and, good-by, Sammy. " As he finished, he spoke to her horseand struck him such a blow that the animal sprang away. 

For a moment Sammy attempted to pull up her startled pony. ThenYoung Matt saw her lean forward in the saddle, and urge the littlehorse to even greater speed. As they disappeared down the road, the giant turned and ran crashing through the brush down the steepside of the mountain. There was no path to follow. And with deepravines to cross, rocky bluffs to descend or scale, and, inplaces, wild tangles of vines and brush and fallen trees, the tripbefore him would have been a hard one even in the full light ofday. At night, it was almost impossible, and he must go like abuck with the dogs in full cry. 

When Sammy came in sight of her home, she began calling to herfather, and, as the almost exhausted horse dashed up to the biggate, the door of the cabin opened, and Jim came running out. Lifting his daughter from the trembling pony, he helped her intothe house, where she sobbed out her message. 

At the first word, "Wash Gibbs, " Jim reached for a cartridge belt, and, by the time Sammy had finished, he had taken his Winchesterfrom its brackets over the fireplace. Slipping a bridle on hishorse that was feeding in the yard, he sprang upon the animal'sback without waiting for a saddle. "Stay in the cabin, girl, putout the light, and don't open the door until I come, " he said andhe was gone. 

As Sammy turned back into the house, from away down in MuttonHollow, on the night wind, came the sound of guns. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE RANCH. 

It was after midnight when Mr. Howitt was rudely awakened. Thebright moon shining through the windows lit up the interior of thecabin and he easily recognized Young Matt standing by the bed, with Pete, who was sleeping at the ranch that night, near by. 

"Why, Matt, what is the matter?" exclaimed the shepherd, sittingup. He could not see that the big fellow's clothing was torn, thathis hat was gone, and that he was dripping with perspiration; buthe could hear his labored breathing. Strong as he was, the younggiant was nearly exhausted by the strain of his race over themountains. 

"Get up quick, Dad; I'll tell you while you're puttin' on yourclothes, " the woodsman answered; and while the shepherd dressed, he told him in a few words, finishing with, "Call Brave inside, and get your gun, with all the shells you can find. Don't show alight for a minute. They'll be here any time now, and it'll be agood bit yet before Sammy can get home. " He began fastening thefront door. 

The peaceful minded scholar could not grasp the meaning of themessage; it was to him an impossible thought; "You must bemistaken, Grant, " he said. "Surely you are excited and undulyalarmed. Wash Gibbs has no reason to attack me. "

Young Matt replied gruffly, "I ain't makin' no mistake in thewoods, Dad. You ain't in the city now, and there ain't no one canhear you holler. Don't think I am scared neither, if that's whatyou mean. But there's ten of them in that bunch, and they're badones. You'd better call Brave, sir. He'll be some help when itcomes to the rush. "

But the other persisted, "You must be mistaken, lad. Why shouldany one wish to harm me? Those men are only out fox hunting, orsomething like that. If they should be coming here, it is all amistake; I can easily explain. "

"Explain, hell!" ejaculated the mountaineer. "I ask your pardon, Dad; but you don't know, not being raised in these woods like me. Old man Lewis hadn't done nothing neither, and he explained, too;only he never got through explainin'. They ain't got no reason. They're drunk. You've never seen Wash Gibbs drunk, and to-nighthe's got his whole gang with him. I don't know why he's comin'after you, but, from what you told me 'bout his stoppin' here thatevenin', and what I've heard lately, I can guess. I know whathe'll do when he gets here, if we don't stop him. It'll be all thesame to you whether he's right or wrong. "

Brave came trotting into the cabin through the rear door, and laydown in his corner by the fireplace. "That's mighty funny, " saidYoung Matt. Then, as he glanced quickly around, "Where's Pete?"

The boy had slipped away while the two men were talking. Steppingoutside they called several times; but, save the "Wh-w-h-o--w-h-o-o-o" of an owl in a big tree near the corral, there was no answer. 

"The boy's alright, anyway, " said the young man; "nothin' in thewoods ever hurts Pete. He's safer there than he would be here, andI'm glad he's gone. "

The shepherd did not reply. He seemed not to hear, but stood asthough fascinated by the scene. He still could not grasp the truthof the situation, but the beauty of the hour moved him deeply. "What a marvelous, what a wonderful sight!" he said at last in alow tone. "I do not wonder the boy loves to roam the hills a nightlike this. Look, Grant! See how soft the moonlight falls on thatpatch of grass this side of the old tree yonder, and how black theshadow is under that bush, like the mouth of a cave, a witch'scave. I am sure there are ghosts and goblins in there, withfairies and gnomes, and perhaps a dragon or two. And see, lad, howthe great hills rise into the sky. How grand, how beautiful theworld is! It is good to live, Matt, though life be sometimes hard, still--still it is good to live. "

At the old scholar's words and manner, the mountaineer, too, forgot for a moment the thing that had brought him there, and alook of awe and wonder came over his rugged features, as theshepherd, with his face turned upward and his deep voice full ofemotion, repeated, "The heavens declare the glory of God; and thefirmament showeth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, andnight unto night showeth knowledge. "

The owl left his place in the old tree and flew across the moonlitclearing into the deeper gloom of the woods. Inside the cabin thedog barked, and through the still night, from down the valley, where the ranch trail crosses the creek, came the rattle ofhorses' feet on the rocky floor of the little stream, and thefaint sound of voices. Young Matt started, and again the man ofthe wilderness was master of the situation. "They're comin', Dad. We ain't got no time to lose. "

Re-entering the cabin, Mr. Howitt quieted the dog, while hiscompanion fastened the rear door, and, in the silence, while theywaited, a cricket under the corner of the house sang his plaintivesong. The sound of voices grew louder as the horses drew nearer. Brave growled and would have barked again, but was quieted by theshepherd, who crouched at his side, with one hand on the dog'sneck. 

The older man smiled to himself. It all seemed to him so like achild's game. He had watched the mountaineer's preparation withamused interest, and had followed the young woodsman's directions, even to the loaded shotgun in his hand, as one would humor a boyin his play. The scholar's mind, trained to consider the problemsof civilization, and to recognize the dangers of the city, refusedto entertain seriously the thought that there, in the peacefulwoods, in the dead of night, a company of ruffians was seeking todo him harm. 

The voices had ceased, and the listeners heard only the sound ofthe horses' feet, as the party passed the ruined cabin under thebluff. A moment or two later the riders stopped in front of theranch house. Brave growled again, but was silenced by the hand onhis neck. 

Young Matt was at the window. "I see them, " he whispered. "They'regettin' off their horses, and tyin' them to the corral fence. " Thesmile on the shepherd's face vanished, and he experienced a queersensation; it was as though something gripped his heart. 

The other continued his whispered report; "They're bunchin' up nowunder the old tree, talkin' things over. Don't know what to makeof the dog not bein' around, I reckon. Now they're takin' a drink. It takes a lot of whiskey to help ten men jump onto one old man, and him a stranger in the Woods. Now Wash is sendin' two of themaround to the back, so you can't slip out into the brush. Sh--h--h, here comes a couple more to try the front door. " He slippedquietly across the room to the shepherd's side. The visitors camesoftly up to the front door, and tried it gently. A moment laterthe rear door was tried in the same way. 

"Let Brave speak to them, " whispered Young Matt; and the dog, feeling the restraining hand removed, barked fiercely. 

Mr. Howitt, following his companion's whispered instructions, spoke aloud, "What's the matter, Brave?"

A bold knock at the front door caused the dog to redouble hisefforts, until his master commanded him to be still. "Who isthere?" called the shepherd. 

"Young Matt's took powerful bad, " answered a voice; "an' they wantyou t' come up t' th' house, an' doctor him. " A drunken laugh camefrom the old tree, followed by a smothered oath. 

The giant at Mr. Howitt's side growled under his breath, "Oh, I'msick, am I? There's them that'll be a heap sicker before mornin'. Keep on a talkin', Dad. We've got to make all the time we can, so's Jim can get here. "

The shepherd called again, "I do not recognize your voice. Youmust tell me who you are. "

Outside there was a short consultation, followed by a still louderknock; "Open up. Why don't you open up an' see who we are?" whilefrom under the tree came a call, "Quit your foolin' an' bring himout o' there, you fellers. " This command was followed by a stillmore vigorous hammering at the door, and the threats, "Open up ol'man. Open up, or we'll sure bust her in. "

Mr. Howitt whispered to his companion, "Let me open the door andtalk to them, Grant. Surely they will listen to reason. "

But the woodsman returned, "Talk to a nest of rattlers! Jim Lane'sthe only man that can talk to them now. We've got to stand themoff as long as we can. " As he spoke he raised his revolver, andwas about to fire a shot through the door, when a slight noise atone side of the room attracted his attention. He turned just intime to catch a glimpse of a face as it was withdrawn from one ofthe little windows. The noise at the door ceased suddenly, andthey heard the two men running to join the group under the tree. 

"They've found you ain't alone, " whispered the big fellow, springingto the window again. And, as a wild drunken yell came from thevisitors, he added, "Seems like they're some excited about it, too. They're holdin' a regular pow-wow. What do you reckon they'rethinkin'? Hope they'll keep it up 'till Jim--Sh--h--h Here comesanother. It's that ornery Jim Bowles from the mouth of Indian Creek. "

The man approached the cabin, but stopped some distance away andcalled, "Hello, ol' man!"

"Well, what do you want?" answered Mr. Howitt. 

"Who's that there feller you got with you?"

"A friend. "

"Yes! We all 'lowed hit war a friend, an' we all want t' see himpowerful bad. Can't he come out an' play with us, Mister?" Anotherlaugh came from the group under the tree. 

Young Matt whispered, "Keep him a talkin', Dad;" and Mr. Howittcalled, "He doesn't feel like playing to-night. Come back to-morrow. "

At this the spokesman dropped his bantering tone, "Look a here, ol' man. We'uns ain't got no time t' be a foolin' here. We knowwho that feller is, an' we're a goin' t' have him. He's been asneakin' 'round this here neighborhood long enough. As fer you, Mister, we 'low your health'll be some better back where you comefrom; an' we aim t' hep you leave this neck o' th' woods rightsudden. Open up, now, an' turn that there feller over t' us; an'we'll let you off easy like. If you don't, we'll bust in th' door, an' make you both dance t' th' same tune. There won't be ary thingunder you t' dance on, nuther. "

The old shepherd was replying kindly, when his speech wasinterrupted by a pistol shot, and a command from the leader, atwhich the entire gang charged toward the cabin, firing as theycame, and making the little valley hideous with their drunkenoaths and yells. 

From his window, Young Matt coolly emptied his revolver, but evenas the crowd faltered, there came from their leader another volleyof oaths. "Go on, go on, " yelled Wash. "Their guns are empty, now. Fetch 'em out 'fore they can load again. " With an answering yell, the others responded. Carrying a small log they made for the cabinat full speed. One crashing blow--the door flew from its hinges, and the opening was filled with the drunken, sweating, swearingcrew. The same instant, Young Matt dropped his useless revolver, and, springing forward, met them on the threshold. The oldshepherd--who had not fired a shot--could scarcely believe hiseyes, as he saw the giant catch the nearest man by the shoulderand waist, and, lifting him high above his head, fling him withterrific force full into the faces of his bewildered companions. 

Those who were not knocked down by the strange weapon scattered inevery direction, crouching low. For a moment the big fellow wasmaster of the situation, and, standing alone in the doorway, inthe full light of the moon, was easily recognized. 

"Hell, boys! Hit's Young Matt hisself!" yelled the one who hadraised a laugh, by saying that Young Matt was sick and theshepherd was wanted to doctor. 

"Yes! It's me, Bill Simpson. I'm sure ailin' to-night. I needsomebody to go for a doctor powerful bad, " returned the younggiant. 

"We never knowed it war you, " whined the other carefullylengthening the distance between the big man on the doorstep andhimself. 

"No, I reckon not. You all played to find an old man alone, and dofor him like you've done for others. A fine lot you are, ten toone, and him not knowin' the woods. "

While he was speaking, the men slowly retreated, to gather abouttheir big leader under the tree, two of them being assisted bytheir companions, and one other limping painfully. Young Mattraised his voice, "I know you, Wash Gibbs, and I know this here isyour dirty work. You've been a braggin' what you'd do when you metup with me. I'm here now. Why don't you come up like a man? Comeout here into the light and let's you and me settle this thingright now. You all--" CRACK! A jet of flame leaped out of theshadow, and the speaker dropped like a log. 

With a cry the shepherd ran to the side of his friend; but in amoment the crowd had again reached the cabin, and the old man wasdragged from his fallen companion. With all his strength, Mr. Howitt struggled with his captors, begging them to let him go tothe boy. But his hands were bound tightly behind his back, andwhen he still plead with those who held him, Wash Gibbs struck himfull in the mouth, a blow that brought the blood. 

They were leading the stunned and helpless old man away, whensomeone, who was bending over Young Matt, exclaimed, "You missedhim, Wash! Jest raked him. He'll be up in a minute. An' hell 'llbe to pay in th' wilderness if he ain't tied. Better fix himquick. "

The big fellow already showed signs of returning consciousness, and, by the time they had tied his arms, he was able to struggleto his feet. For a moment he looked dizzily around, his eyesturning from one evil, triumphant face to another, until theyrested upon the bleeding countenance of his old friend. Theshepherd's eyes smiled back a message of cheer, and the kind oldman tried to speak, when Wash Gibbs made another threateningmotion, with his clenched fist. 

At this, a cry like the roar of a mad bull came from the younggiant. In his rage, he seemed suddenly endowed with almostsuperhuman strength. Before a man of the startled company could domore than gasp with astonishment, he had shaken himself free fromthose who held him, and, breaking the rope with which he wasbound, as though it were twine, had leaped to the shepherd's side. 

But it was useless. For a moment, no one moved. Then a crashingblow, from the butt of a rifle in the hands of a man in the rearof the two prisoners, sent Young Matt once more to the ground. When he again regained consciousness, he was so securely bound, that, even with his great strength, he was helpless. 

Leading their captives to the old tree, the men withdrew for ashort consultation, and to refresh themselves with another drink. When they had finished, Gibbs addressed the two friends; "We'unsdidn't aim to hurt you, Young Matt, but seein' how you're so thickwith this here feller, an' 'pear to know so much 'bout him, Ireckon we can't hep ourselves nohow. " He turned to the shepherd;"There's been too dad burned much funny work, at this ranch, sinceyou come, Mister, an' we'uns 'low we'll just give warnin' that wedon't want no more strangers snoopin' 'round this neighborhood, an' we don't aim t' have 'em neither. We'uns 'low we can take careo' ourselves, without ary hep from th' dad burned government. "

The shepherd tried to speak, but Gibbs, with an oath, roared, "Shut up, I tell you. Shut up. I've been a watchin', an' I knowwhat I know. Fix that there rope, boys, an we'll get through, an'mosey 'long out o' here. Ain't no use to palaver, nohow. "

A rope was thrown over a limb above their heads, and a manapproached the shepherd with the noose. Young Matt struggleddesperately. With an evil grin, Gibbs said, "Don't you worry, sonny; you're a goin', too. " And at his signal another rope wasfixed, and the noose placed over the young man's head. The mentook their places, awaiting the word from their leader. 

The shepherd spoke softly to his companion, "Thank you, my boy. "The giant began another desperate struggle. 

Wash Gibbs, raising his hand, opened his lips to give the signal. But no word came. The brutal jaw dropped. The ruffian's eyesfairly started from his head, while the men who held the ropes, stood as if turned to stone, as a long wailing cry came from thedark shadows under the bluff. There was a moment of death-likesilence. Then another awful, sobbing groan, rising into a bloodcurdling scream, came from down the road, and, from the directionof the ruined cabin, advanced a ghostly figure. Through the deepshadows and the misty light, it seemed to float toward them, moaning and sobbing as it came. 

A shuddering gasp of horror burst from the frightened crew underthe tree. Then, at a louder wail from the approaching apparition, they broke and ran. Like wild men they leaped for their horses, and, flinging themselves into their saddles, fled in everydirection. 

Young Matt and the shepherd sank upon the ground in helplessamazement. 

As the outlaws fled, the spectre paused. Then it started onwardtoward the two men. Again it hesitated. For a moment it remainedmotionless, then turned and vanished, just as Jim Lane came flyingout of the timber, into the bright light of the little clearing. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

LEARNING TO BE A LADY. 

The books sent for by Mr. Howitt came a few days after theadventure at the ranch, and Sammy, with all the intensity of hernature, plunged at once into the work mapped out for her by theshepherd. 

All through the long summer and autumn, the girl spent hours withher teacher out on the hillside. Seated on some rocky bench, orreclining on the grassy slope, she would recite the lessons hegave her, or listen to him, as he read aloud from characterforming books, pausing now and then to slip in some comment tomake the teaching clear, or to answer her eager questions. 

At other times, while they followed the sheep, leisurely, from onefeeding ground to another, he provoked her to talk of the thingsthey were reading, and, while he thus led her to think, he ascarefully guarded her speech and language. 

At first they took the old familiar path of early intellectualtraining, but, little by little, he taught her to find the way forherself. Always as she advanced, he encouraged her to look for thelife that is more than meat, and always, while they read andtalked together, there was opened before them the great bookwherein God has written, in the language of mountain, and tree, and sky, and flower, and brook, the things that make truly wisethose who pause to read. 

From her mother, and from her own free life in the hills, Sammyhad a body beautiful with the grace and strength of perfectphysical womanhood. With this, she had inherited from manygenerations of gentle-folk a mind and spirit susceptible of thehighest culture. Unspoiled by the hot-house, forcing process, thatso often leaves the intellectual powers jaded and weak, beforethey have fully developed, and free from the atmosphere offalsehood and surface culture, in which so many souls struggle fortheir very existence, the girl took what her teacher had to offerand made it her own. With a mental appetite uninjured by tit-bitsand dainties, she digested the strong food, and asked eagerly formore. 

Her progress was marvelous, and the old scholar often had cause towonder at the quickness with which his pupil's clear mind graspedthe truths he showed her. Often before he could finish speaking, abright nod, or word, showed that she had caught the purpose of hisspeech, while that wide eager look, and the question thatfollowed, revealed her readiness to go on. It was as though manyof the things he sought to teach her slept already in her brain, and needed only a touch to arouse them to vigorous life. 

In time, the girl's very clothing, and even her manner of dressingher hair, came to reveal the development and transformation of herinner self; not that she dressed more expensively; she could notdo that; but in the selection of materials, and in the many subtletouches that give distinction even to the plainest apparel, sheshowed her awakening. To help her in this, there was Aunt Mollieand a good ladies' magazine, which came to her regularly, throughthe kindness of her teacher. 

Sammy's father, too, came unconsciously under the shepherd'sinfluence. As his daughter grew, the man responded to the changein her, as he always responded to her every thought and mood. Hetalked often now of the old home in the south land, and sometimesfell into the speech of other days, dropping, for a moment, therougher expressions of his associates. But all this was to Sammyalone. To the world, there was no change in Jim, and he still wenton his long rides with Wash Gibbs. By fall, the place was fixed upa bit; the fence was rebuilt, the yard trimmed, and another roomadded to the cabin. 

So the days slipped away over the wood fringed ridges. The softgreen of tree, and of bush, and grassy slope changed to brilliantgold, and crimson, and russet brown, while the gray blue haze thathangs always over the hollows took on a purple tone. Then in turnthis purple changed to a deeper, colder blue, when the leaves hadfallen, and the trees showed naked against the winter sky. 

With the cold weather, the lessons were continued in the Lanecabin on the southern slope of Dewey. All day, while the shepherdwas busy at the ranch, Sammy pored over her books; and everyevening the old scholar climbed the hill to direct the work of hispupil, with long Jim sitting, silent and grim, by the fireside, listening to the talk, and seeing who knows what visions of thelong ago in the dancing flame. 

And so the winter passed, and the spring came again; came, withits soft beauty of tender green; its wealth of blossoms, and sweetfragrance of growing things. Then came the summer; that terriblesummer, when all the promises of spring were broken; when no rainfell for weary months, and the settlers, in the total failure oftheir crops, faced certain ruin. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE DROUGHT. 

It began to be serious by the time corn was waist high. When thegrowing grain lost its rich color and the long blades rustleddryly in the hot air, the settlers looked anxiously for signs ofcoming rain. The one topic of conversation at the mill was thecondition of the crops. The stories were all of past drought ortales of hardship and want. 

The moon changed and still the same hot dry sky, with only now andthen a shred of cloud floating lazily across the blue. The grassin the glades grew parched and harsh; the trees rattled theirshriveled leaves; creek beds lay glaring white and dusty in thesun; and all the wild things in the woods sought the distant riverbottom. In the Mutton Hollow neighborhood, only the spring belowthe Matthews place held water; and all day the stock on the range, crowding around the little pool, tramped out the narrow fringe ofgreen grass about its edge, and churned its bright life into mudin their struggle. 

Fall came and there was no relief. Crops were a total failure. Many people were without means to buy food for themselves and theirstock for the coming winter and the months until another cropcould be grown and harvested. Family after family loaded their fewhousehold goods into the big covered wagons, and, deserting theirhomes, set out to seek relief in more fortunate or more wealthyportions of the country. 

The day came at last when Sammy found the shepherd in the littlegrove, near the deer lick, and told him that she and her fatherwere going to move. 

"Father says there is nothing else to do. Even if we could squeezethrough the winter, we couldn't hold out until he could makeanother crop. "

Throwing herself on the ground, she picked a big yellow daisy froma cluster, that, finding a little moisture oozing from a dirt-filled crevice of the rock, had managed to live, and began pullingit to pieces. 

In silence the old man watched her. He had not before realized howmuch the companionship of this girl was to him. To the refined andcultivated scholar, whose lot had been cast so strangely with therude people of the mountain wilderness, the companionship of sucha spirit and mind was a necessity. Unconsciously Sammy hadsupplied the one thing lacking, and by her demands upon histhought had kept the shepherd from mental stagnation and morbidbrooding. Day after day she had grown into his life--hisintellectual and spiritual child, and though she had dropped therude speech of the native, she persisted still in calling him byhis backwoods title, "Dad. " But the little word had come to hold anew meaning for them both. He saw now, all at once, what he wouldlose when she went away. 

One by one, the petals from the big daisy fell from the girl'shand, dull splashes of gold against her dress and on the grass. 

"Where will you go?" he asked at last. 

Sammy shook her head without looking up; "Don't know; anywherethat Daddy can earn a livin'--I mean living--for us. "

"And when do you start?"

"Pretty soon now; there ain't nothin'--there is nothing to stayfor now. Father told me when he went away day before yesterdaythat we would go as soon as he returned. He promised to be homesometime this evening. I--I couldn't tell you before, Dad, but Iguess you knew. "

The shepherd did know. For weeks they had both avoided thesubject. 

Sammy continued; "I--I've just been over to the Matthews place. Uncle Matt has been gone three days now. I guess you know aboutthat, too. Aunt Mollie told me all about it. Oh, I wish, I wish Icould help them. " She reached for another daisy and two big tearsrolled from under the long lashes to fall with the golden petals. "We'll come back in the spring when it's time to plant again, butwhat if you're not here?"

Her teacher could not answer for a time; then he said, in an odd, hesitating way, "Have you heard from Ollie lately?"

The girl raised her head, her quick, rare instinct divining hisunspoken thought, and something she saw in her old friend's facebrought just a hint of a smile to her own tearful eyes. She knewhim so well. "You don't mean that, Dad, " she said. "We justcouldn't do that. I had a letter from him yesterday offering usmoney, but you know we could not accept it from him. " And therethe subject was dropped. 

They spent the afternoon together, and in the evening, at Sammy'sLookout on the shoulder of Dewey, she bade him good-night, andleft him alone with his flocks in the soft twilight. 

That same evening Mr. Matthews returned from his trip to thesettlement. 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE SHEPHERD WRITES A LETTER. 

To purchase the sheep and the ranch in the Hollow, Mr. Matthewsplaced a heavy mortgage not only upon the ranch land but upon thehomestead as well. In the loss of his stock the woodsman wouldlose all he had won in years of toil from the mountain wilderness. 

When the total failure of the crops became a certainty, and it wasclear that the country could not produce enough feed to carry hisflock through the winter until the spring grass, Mr. Matthews wentto the settlement hoping to get help from the bank there, where hewas known. 

He found the little town in confusion and the doors of the bankclosed. The night before a band of men had entered the building, and, forcing the safe, had escaped to the mountains with theirbooty. 

Old Matt's interview with the bank official was brief. "It issimply impossible, Mr. Matthews, " said the man; "as it is, weshall do well to keep our own heads above water. "

Then the mountaineer had come the long way home. As he rode slowlyup the last hill, the giant form stooped with a weariness unusual, and the rugged face looked so worn and hopelessly sad, that AuntMollie, who was waiting at the gate, did not need words to tellher of his failure. The old man got stiffly down from his horse, and when he had removed saddle and bridle, and had turned theanimal into the lot, the two walked toward the house. But they didnot enter the building. Without a word they turned aside from thesteps and followed the little path to the graves in the rudeenclosure beneath the pines, where the sunshine fell only inpatches here and there. 

That night after supper Mr. Matthews went down into the Hollow tosee the shepherd. "It's goin' to be mighty hard on Mollie and me aleavin' the old place up yonder, " said the big man, when he hadtold of his unsuccessful trip. "It won't matter so much to theboy, 'cause he's young yet, but we've worked hard, Mr. Howitt, forthat home--Mollie and me has. She's up there now a sittin' on theporch and a livin' it all over again, like she does when thereain't no one around, with her face turned toward them pines westof the house. It's mighty nigh a breakin' her heart just to thinkof leavin', but she'll hide it all from me when I go up there, thinkin' not to worry me--as if I didn't know. An' it's goin to bemighty hard to part with you, too, Mr. Howitt. I don't reckonyou'll ever know, sir, how much you done for us; for me most ofall. "

The shepherd made as if to interrupt, but the big man continued;"Don't you suppose we can see, sir, how you've made over the wholeneighborhood. There ain't a family for ten miles that don't cometo you when they're in trouble. An' there's Sammy Lane a readin', an' talkin' just about the same as you do yourself, fit to hold upher end with anybody what's got education, and Jim himself'schanged something wonderful. Same old Jim in lots of ways, butsomething more, somehow, though I can't tell it. Then there's myboy, Grant. I know right well what he'd been if it wasn't for youto show him what the best kind of a man's like. He'd a sure neverknowed it from me. I don't mean as he'd a ever been a bad man likeWash Gibbs, or a no account triflin' one, like them Thompsons, buthe couldn't never a been what he is now, through and through, ifhe hadn't a known you. There's a heap more, too, all over thecountry that you've talked to a Sunday, when the parson wasn'there. As for me, you--you sure been a God's blessin' to me andMollie, Mr. Howitt. "

Again the shepherd moved uneasily, as if to protest, but his bigfriend made a gesture of silence; "Let me say it while I got achance, Dad. " And the other bowed his head while Old Mattcontinued; "I can't tell how it is, an' I don't reckon you'dunderstand any way, but stayin' as you have after our talk thatfirst night you come, an' livin' down here on this spot alone, after what you know, it's--it's just like I was a little kid, an'you was a standin' big and strong like between me an' a greatblackness that was somethin' awful. I reckon it looks foolish, mea talkin' this way. Maybe it's because I'm gettin' old, but anyhowI wanted you to know. "

The shepherd raised his head and his face was aglow with a gladtriumphant light, while his deep voice was full of meaning as hesaid gently, "It has been more to me, too, than you think, Mr. Matthews. I ought to tell you--I--I will tell you--" he checkedhimself and added, "some day. " Then he changed the topic quickly. 

"Are you sure there is no one who can help you over this hardtime? Is there NO way?"

The mountaineer shook his head. "I've gone over it all again an'again. Williams at the bank is the only man I know who had themoney, an' he's done for now by this robbery. You see I can't goto strangers, Dad; I ain't got nothin' left for security. "

"But, could you not sell the sheep for enough to save thehomestead?"

"Who could buy? or who would buy, if they could, in this country, without a bit of feed? And then look at 'em, they're so poor an'weak, now, they couldn't stand the drivin' to the shippin' place. They'd die all along the road. They're just skin an' bones, Dad;ain't no butcher would pay freight on 'em, even. "

Mr. Howitt sat with knitted brow, staring into the shadows. Thenhe said slowly, "There is that old mine. If this man Dewey wereonly here, do you suppose--?"

Again the mountaineer shook his head. "Colonel Dewey would be amighty old man now, Dad, even if he were livin. ' 'Tain't likelyhe'll ever come back, nor tain't likely the mine will ever befound without him. I studied all that out on the way home. "

As he finished speaking, he rose to go, and the dog, springing up, dashed out of the cabin and across the clearing toward the bluffby the corral, barking furiously. 

The two men looked at each other. "A rabbit, " said Mr. Howitt. Butthey both knew that the well trained shepherd dog never tracked arabbit, and Old Matt's face was white when he mounted to ride awayup the trail. 

Long the shepherd stood in the doorway looking out into the night, listening to the voices of the wilderness. In his life in thehills he had found a little brightness, while in the oldmountaineer's words that evening, he had glimpsed a futurehappiness, of which he had scarcely dared to dream. With thesingle exception of that one wild night, his life had been anunbroken calm. Now he was to leave it all. And for what?

He seemed to hear the rush and roar of the world beyond theridges, as one in a quiet harbor hears outside the thunder of thestormy sea. He shuddered. The gloom and mystery of it all creptinto his heart. He was so alone. But it was not the wildernessthat made him shudder. It was the thought of the great, mad, cruelworld that raged beyond the hills; that, and something else. 

The dog growled again and faced threateningly toward the cliff. "What is it, Brave?" The only answer was an uneasy whine as theanimal crouched close to the man's feet. The shepherd peered intothe darkness in the direction of the ruined cabin. "God, " hewhispered, "how can I leave this place?"

He turned back into the house, closed and barred the door. Withthe manner of one making a resolution after a hard struggle, hetook writing material from the top shelf of the cupboard, and, seating himself at the table, began to write. The hours slippedby, and page after page, closely written, came from the shepherd'spen, while, as he wrote, the man's face grew worn and haggard. Itwas as though he lifted again the burden he had learned to layaside. At last it was finished. Placing the sheets in an envelope, he wrote the address with trembling hand. 

While Mr. Howitt was writing his letter at the ranch, and Old Mattwas tossing sleeplessly on his bed in the big log house, ahorseman rode slowly down from the Compton Ridge road. Stopping atthe creek to water, he pushed on up the mountain toward the Lanecabin. The horse walked with low hung head and lagging feet; theman slouched half asleep in the saddle. It was Jim Lane. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

GOD'S GOLD. 

The troubled night passed. The shepherd arose to see the sky abovethe eastern rim of the Hollow glowing with the first soft light ofa new day. Away over Compton Ridge one last, pale star hung, caught in the upper branches of a dead pine. Not a leaf of theforest stirred. In awe the man watched the miracle of the morning, as the glowing colors touched cloud after cloud, until the wholesky was aflame, and the star was gone. 

Again he seemed to hear, faint and far away, the roar and surge ofthe troubled sea. With face uplifted, he cried aloud, "O God, myFather, I ask thee not for the things that men deem great. I covetnot wealth, nor honor, nor ease; only peace; only that I may livefree from those who do not understand; only that I may in somemeasure make atonement; that I may win pardon. Oh, drive me notfrom this haven into the world again!"

"AGAIN, AGAIN, " came back from the cliff on the other side of theclearing, and, as the echo died away in the silent woods, a bushon top of the bluff stirred in the breathless air; stirred, andwas still again. Somewhere up on Dewey a crow croaked hoarsely tohis mate; a cow on the range bawled loudly and the sheep in thecorral chorused in answer. 

Re-entering the cabin, the old man quickly built a fire, then, taking the bucket, went to the spring for water. He must preparehis breakfast. Coming back with the brimming pail, he placed it onthe bench and was turning to the cupboard, when he noticed on thetable a small oblong package. "Mr. Matthews must have left it lastnight, " he thought. "Strange that I did not see it before. "

Picking up the package he found that it was quite heavy, and, tohis amazement, saw that it was addressed to himself, in a strange, cramped printing, such letters as a child would make. He rippedopen the covering and read in the same crude writing: "This stuffis for you to give to the Matthews's and Jim Lane, but don't tellanyone where you got it. And don't try to find out where it comefrom either, or you'll wish you hadn't. You needn't be afraid. It's good money alright. " The package contained gold pieces ofvarious denominations. 

With a low exclamation, the shepherd let the parcel slip, and themoney fell in a shining heap on the floor. He stood as in a dream, looking from the gold to the letter in his hand. Then, going tothe door, he gazed long and searchingly in every direction. Nothing unusual met his eye. Turning back into the cabin again, hecaught up the letter he had written, and stepped to the fireplace, an expression of relief upon his face. But with his handoutstretched toward the flames, he paused, the letter still in hisgrasp, while the expression of relief gave way to a look of fear. 

"The bank, " he muttered; "the robbery. " The shining pieces on thefloor seemed to glisten mockingly; "No, no, no, " said the man. "Better the other way, and yet--" He read the letter again. "It'sgood money, alright; you needn't be afraid. "

In his quandary, he heard a step without and looking up saw Petein the open door. 

The boy's sensitive face was aglow, as he said; "Pete's glad thismorning; Pete saw the sky. Did Dad see the sky?"

Mr. Howitt nodded; then, moved by a sudden impulse, pointed to themoney, and said, "Does Pete see this? It's gold, all gold. "

The boy drew near with curious eyes. "Dad doesn't know where itcame from, " continued the shepherd. "Does Pete know?"

The youth gave a low laugh of delight; "Course Pete knows. Petewent up on Dewey this morning; 'way up to the old signal tree, andcourse he took me with him. The sky was all soft and silvery, an'the clouds was full, plumb full of gold, like that there. " Hepointed to the yellow coins on the floor. "Didn't Dad see? Some ofit must o' spilled out. "

"Ah, yes, that was God's gold, " said the older man softly. 

The lad touched his friend on the arm, and with the other handagain pointed to the glittering heap on the floor. "Pete says thatthere's God's gold too, and Pete he knows. "

The man started and looked at the boy in wonder; "But why, whyshould it come to me at such a time as this?" he muttered. 

"'Cause you're the Shepherd of Mutton Hollow, Pete says. Don't bescared, Dad. Pete knows. It's sure God's gold. "

The shepherd turned to the fireplace and dropped the letter he hadwritten upon the leaping flames. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

A LETTER FROM OLLIE STEWART. 

The Postoffice at the Forks occupied a commanding position in thenortheast corner of Uncle Ike's cabin, covering an area not lessthan four feet square. 

The fittings were in excellent taste, and the equipment fullyadequate to the needs of the service: an old table, on legssomewhat rickety; upon the table, a rude box, set on end anddivided roughly into eight pigeon holes, duly numbered; in thetable, a drawer, filled a little with stamps and stationery, filled mostly with scraps of leaf tobacco, and an odd company ofveteran cob pipes, now on the retired list, or home on furlough;before the table, a little old chair, wrought in some fearful andwonderful fashion from hickory sticks from which the bark had notbeen removed. 

With every change of the weather, this chair, through some unknownbut powerful influence, changed its shape, thus becoming in itsown way a sort of government weather bureau. And if in all this"land of the free and home of the brave" there be a single throne, it must be this same curiously changeable chair. In spite of, orperhaps because of, its strange powers, that weird piece offurniture managed to make itself so felt that it was religiouslyavoided by every native who called at the Forks. Not the wildest"Hill-Billy" of them all dared to occupy for a moment this seat ofUncle Sam's representative. Here Uncle Ike reigned supreme overhis four feet square of government property. And you may be verysure that the mighty mysterious thing known as the "gov'ment" lostnone of its might, and nothing of its mystery, at the hands of itsworthy official. 

Uncle Ike left the group in front of the cabin, and, hurriedlyentering the office, seated himself upon his throne. A tall, thin, slow moving mule, brought to before a certain tree with the graceand dignity of an ocean liner coming into her slip. Zeke Wheelerdismounted, and, with the saddle mail pouch over his arm, stalkedsolemnly across the yard and into the house, his spurs clinking onthe gravel and rattling over the floor. Following the mailcarrier, the group of mountaineers entered, and, with Uncle Ike'sentire family, took their places at a respectful distance from theholy place of mystery and might, in the north east corner of theroom. 

The postmaster, with a key attached by a small chain to one corner ofthe table, unlocked the flat pouch and drew forth the contents--fivepapers, three letters and one postal card. 

The empty pouch was kicked contemptuously beneath the table. Thepapers were tossed to one side. All eyes were fixed on the littlebundle of first class matter. In a breathless silence the officialcut the string. The silence was broken. "Ba thundas! Mary LizJolly'll sure be glad t' git that there letter. Her man's beengone nigh onto three months now, an' ain't wrote but once. Thatwas when he was in Mayville. I see he's down in th' nation now atAuburn, sendin' Mary Liz some money, I reckon. Ba thundas, it's'bout time! What!"

"James Creelman, E-S-Q. , Wal, dad burn ME. Jim done wrote t' thatthere house in Chicago more'n three weeks ago, 'bout a watchthey're a sellin' fer fo' dollars. Ba thundas! They'd sure answerME quicker'n that, er they'd hear turkey. What! I done tole Jim itwas only a blamed ol' fo' dollar house anyhow. "

At this many nods and glances were exchanged by the group insilent admiration of the "gov'ment, " and one mountaineer, boldeven to recklessness, remarked, "Jim must have a heap o' money t'be a buyin' four dollar watches. Must er sold that gray mule o'hisn; hit'd fetch 'bout that much, I reckon. "

"Much you know 'bout it, Buck Boswell. Let me tell you, Jim heworks, he does. He's the workingest man in this here county, bathundas! What! Jim he don't sit 'round like you fellers down onth' creek an' wait fer pawpaws to git ripe, so he can git a squaremeal, ba thundas!" The bold mountaineer wilted. 

Uncle Ike proceeded with the business of his office. "Here'sSallie Rhodes done writ her maw a card from th' Corners. Sallie'sbeen a visitin' her paw's folks. Says she'll be home on th' hacknext mail, an' wants her maw t' meet her here. You can take th'hack next time, Zeke. An' ba thundas! Here's 'nother letter fromthat dummed Ollie Stewart. Sammy ain't been over yet after th'last one he wrote. Ba thundas! If it weren't for them blamed gov'-ment inspectors, I'd sure put a spoke in his wheel. What! I'deverlastin'ly seva' th' connections between that gentleman an'these here Ozarks. Dad burn me, if I wouldn't. He'd better takeone o' them new fangled women in th' city, where he's gone to, an'not come back here for one o' our girls. I don't believe Sammy'dcare much, nohow, ba thundas! What!" The official tossed theletter into a pigeon hole beside its neglected mate, with agesture that fully expressed the opinion of the entire community, regarding Mr. Stewart and his intentions toward Miss Lane. 

Sammy got the letters the next day, and read them over and over, as she rode slowly through the sweet smelling woods. The last onetold her that Ollie was coming home on a visit. "Thursday, that'sthe day after to-morrow, " she said aloud. Then she read the letteragain. 

It was a very different letter from those Ollie had written whenfirst he left the woods. Most of all it was different in thatindefinable something by which a man reveals his place in life inthe letters he writes, no less than in the words he speaks, or theclothing he wears. As Sammy rode slowly through the pinery anddown the narrow Fall Creek valley, she was thinking of thesethings, thinking of these things seriously. 

The girl had been in a way conscious of the gradual change inOllie's life, as it had been revealed in his letters, but she hadfailed to connect the change with her lover. The world into whichyoung Stewart had gone, and by which he was being formed, was soforeign to the only world known to Sammy, that, while she realizedin a dim way that he was undergoing a transformation, she stillsaw him in her mind as the backwoods boy. With the announcement ofhis return, and the thought that she would soon meet him face toface, it burst upon her suddenly that her lover was a stranger. The man who wrote this letter was not the man whom she hadpromised to marry. Who was he?

Passing the mill and the blacksmith shop, the brown pony with hisabsorbed rider began to climb the steep road to the Matthewsplace. Half way up the hill, the little horse, stepping on a loosestone, stumbled, catching himself quickly. 

As a flash of lightning on a black night reveals well knownlandmarks and familiar objects, this incident brought back toSammy the evening when, with Ollie and Young Matt, she had climbedthe same way; when her horse had stumbled and her face had comeclose to the face of the big fellow whose hand was on the pony'sneck. The whole scene came before her with a vividness that wasstartling; every word, every look, every gesture of the two youngmen, her own thoughts and words, the objects along the road, thevery motion of her horse; she seemed to be actually living againthose moments of the past. But more than this, she seemed not onlyto live again the incidents of that evening, but in some strangeway to possess the faculty of analyzing and passing judgment uponher own thoughts and words. 

Great changes had come to Sammy, too, since that night when herlover had said good-by. And now, in her deeper life, the youngwoman felt a curious sense of shame, as she saw how trivial werethe things that had influenced her to become Ollie's promisedwife. She blushed, as she recalled the motives that had sent herto the shepherd with the request that he teach her to be a finelady. 

Coming out on top of the ridge, Brownie stopped of his own accord, and the girl saw again the figure of a young giant, standing inthe level rays of the setting sun, with his great armsoutstretched, saying, "I reckon I was built to live in thesehills. I don't guess you'd better count on me ever bein' more'n Iam. " Sammy realized suddenly that the question was no longerwhether Ollie would be ashamed of her. It was quite a differentquestion, indeed. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

OLLIE COMES HOME. 

The day that Ollie was expected at the cabin on Dewey Bald, Mr. Lane was busy in the field. 

"I don't reckon you'll need me at th' house nohow, " he said with aqueer laugh, as he rose from the dinner table; and Sammy, blushing, told him to go on to his work, or Young Matt would gethis planting done first. 

Jim went out to get his horse from the stable, but before he left, he returned once more to the house. 

"What is it, Daddy? Forget something?" asked Sammy, as her fatherstood in the doorway. 

"Not exactly, " drawled Jim. "I ain't got a very good forgetter. Wish I had. It's somethin' I can't forget. Wish I could. "

In a moment the girl's arms were about his neck, "You dear foolishold Daddy Jim. I have a bad forgetter, too. You thought when Ibegan studying with Dad Howitt that my books would make me forgetyou. Well, have they?" A tightening of the long arm about herwaist was the only answer. "And now you are making yourselfmiserable trying to think that Ollie Stewart and his friends willmake me forget you; just as if all the folks in the world couldever be to me what you are; you, and Dad, and Uncle Matt, and AuntMollie, and Young Matt. Daddy, I am ashamed of you. Honest, I am. Do you think a real genuine lady could ever forget the father whohad been so good to her? Daddy, I am insulted. You must apologizeimmediately. "

She pretended to draw away, but the long arm held her fast, whilethe mountaineer said in a voice that had in it pride and pain, with a world of love, "I know, I know, girl. But you'll be alivin' in the city, when you and Ollie are married, and these oldhills will be mighty lonesome with you gone. You see I couldn'tnever leave the old place. 'Tain't much, I know, so far as moneyvalue goes. But there's some things worth a heap more than theirmoney value, I reckon. If you was only goin' t' live where I couldride over once or twice a week to see you, it would be different. "

"Yes, Daddy; but maybe I won't go after all. I'm not married, yet, you know. "

Something in her voice or manner caused Jim to hold his daughterat arm's length, and look full into the brown eyes; "What do youmean, girl?"

Sammy laughed in an uneasy and embarrassed way. She was not surethat she knew herself all that lay beneath the simple words. Shetried to explain. "Why, I mean that--that Ollie and I have bothgrown up since we promised, and he has been living away out in thebig world and going to school besides. He must have seen manygirls since he left me. He is sure to be changed greatly, and--and, maybe he won't want a backwoods wife. "

The man growled something beneath his breath, and the girl placeda hand over his lips; "You mustn't say swear words, Daddy Jim. Indeed, you must not. Not in the presence of ladies, anyway. "

"You're changed a heap in some ways, too, " said Jim. 

"Yes, I suppose I am; but my changes are mostly on the insidelike; and perhaps he won't see them. "

"Would you care so mighty much, Sammy?" whispered the father. 

"That's just it, Daddy. How can I tell? We must both begin allover again, don't you see?" Then she sent him away to his work. 

Sammy had finished washing the dinner dishes, and was puttingthings in order about the house, when she stopped suddenly beforethe little shelf that held her books. Then, with a smile, shecarried them every one into her own room, placing them carefullywhere they could not be seen from the open door. Going next to themirror, she deliberately took down her hair, and arranged it inthe old careless way that Ollie had always known. "You're just thesame backwoods girl, Sammy Lane, so far as outside things go, " shesaid to the face in the glass; "but you are not quite the same allthe way through. We'll see if he--" She was interrupted by theloud barking of the dog outside, and her heart beat more quicklyas a voice cried, "Hello, hello, I say; call off your dog!"

Sammy hurried to the door. A strange gentleman stood at the gate. The strangest gentleman that Sammy had ever seen. Surely thiscould not be Ollie Stewart; this slender, pale-faced man, withfaultless linen, well gloved hands and shining patent leathers. The girl drew back in embarrassment. 

But there was no hesitation on the part of the young man. Beforeshe could recover from her astonishment, he caught her in his armsand kissed her again and again, until she struggled from hisembrace. "You--you must not, " she gasped. 

"Why not?" he demanded laughingly. "Has anyone a better right? Ihave waited a long while for this, and I mean to make up now forlost time. "

He took a step toward her again, but Sammy held him off at arm'slength, as she repeated, "No--no--you must not; not now. " YoungStewart was helpless. And the discovery that she was stronger thanthis man brought to the girl a strange feeling, as of shame. 

"How strong you are, " he said petulantly; ceasing his efforts. Then carefully surveying the splendidly proportioned and developedyoung woman, he added, "And how beautiful!"

Under his look, Sammy's face flushed painfully, even to her neckand brow; and the man, seeing her confusion, laughed again. Then, seating himself in the only rocking-chair in the room, the younggentleman leisurely removed his gloves, looking around the whilewith an amused expression on his face, while the girl stoodwatching him. At last, he said impatiently, "Sit down, sit down, Sammy. You look at me as if I were a ghost. "

Unconsciously, she slipped into the speech of the old days, "Yousure don't look much like you used to. I never see nobody wearsuch clothes as them. Not even Dad Howitt, when he first come. Doyou wear 'em every day?"

Ollie frowned; "You're just like all the rest, Sammy. Why don'tyou talk as you write? You've improved a lot in your letters. Ifyou talk like that in the city; people will know in a minute thatyou are from the country. "

At this, Sammy rallied her scattered wits, and the wide, questioning look was in her eyes, as she replied quietly, "Thankyou. I'll try to remember. But tell me, please, what harm could itdo, if people did know I came from the country?"

It was Ollie's turn to be amazed. "Why you can talk!" he said. "Where did you learn?" And the girl answered simply that she hadpicked it up from the old shepherd. 

This little incident put Sammy more at ease, and she skilfully ledher companion to speak of the city and his life there. Of hisstudies the young fellow had little to say, and, to her secretdelight, the girl found that she had actually made greaterprogress with her books than had her lover with all his supposedadvantages. 

But of other things, of the gaiety and excitement of the greatcity, of his new home, the wealth of his uncle, and his own brightprospects, Ollie spoke freely, never dreaming the girl had alreadyseen the life he painted in such glowing colors through the eyesof one who had been careful to point out the froth and foam of itall. Neither did the young man discover in the quiet questions sheasked that Sammy was seeking to know what in all this new world hehad found that he could make his own as the thing most worthwhile. 

The backwoods girl had never seen that type of man to whom thelife of the city, only, is life. Ollie was peculiarly fitted bynature to absorb quickly those things of the world, into which hehad gone, that were most different from the world he had left; andthere remained scarcely a trace of his earlier wildernesstraining. 

But there is that in life that lies too deep for any mere changeof environment to touch. Sammy remembered a lesson the shepherdhad given her: gentle spirit may express itself in the rude wordsof illiteracy; it is not therefore rude. Ruffianism may speak thelanguage of learning or religion; it is ruffianism still. Strengthmay wear the garb of weakness, and still be strong; and a weaklingmay carry the weapons of strength, but fight with a faint heart. So, beneath all the changes that had come to her backwoods lover, Sammy felt that Ollie himself was unchanged. It was as though hehad learned a new language, but still said the same things. 

Sammy, too, had entered a new world. Step by step, as the youngman had advanced in his schooling, and, dropping the habits andcustoms of the backwoods, had conformed in his outward life to hisnew environment, the girl had advanced in her education under thecareful hand of the old shepherd. Ignorant still of the falsestandards and the petty ambitions that are so large a part of thecomplex world, into which he had gone, she had been introduced toa world where the life itself is the only thing worth while. Shehad seen nothing of the glittering tinsel of that cheap culturethat is death to all true refinement, But in the dailycompanionship of her gentle teacher, she had lived in touch withtrue aristocracy, the aristocracy of heart and spirit. 

Young Matt and Jim had thought that, in Sammy's education, thebond between the girl and her lover would be strengthened. Theyhad thought to see her growing farther and farther from the lifeof the hills; the life to which they felt that they must alwaysbelong. But that was because Young Matt and Jim did not know thekind of education the girl was getting. 

So Ollie had come back to his old home to measure things by hisnew standard; and he had come back, too, to be measured accordingto the old, old standard. If the man's eyes were dimmed by theflash and sparkle that play upon the surface of life, the woman'svision was strong and clear to look into the still depths. 

Later in the day, as they walked together up the Old Trail toSammy's Lookout, the girl tried to show him some of the thingsthat had been revealed to her in the past months. But the youngfellow could not follow where she led, and answered her alwayswith some flippant remark, or with the superficial philosophy ofhis kind. 

When he tried to turn the talk to their future, she skillfullydefeated his purpose, or was silent; and when he would claim alover's privileges, she held him off. Upon his demanding a reasonfor her coldness, she answered, "Don't you see that everything isdifferent now? We must learn to know each other over again. "

"But you are my promised wife. "

"I promised to be the wife of a backwoodsman, " she answered. "Icannot keep that promise, for that man is dead. You are a man ofthe city, and I am scarcely acquainted with you. "

Young Stewart found himself not a little puzzled by the situation. He had come home expecting to meet a girl beautiful in face andform, but with the mind of a child to wonder at the things hewould tell her. He had found, instead, a thoughtful young womantrained to look for and recognize truth and beauty. Sammy wasalways his physical superior. She was now his intellectualsuperior as well. The change that had come to her was not a changeby environment of the things that lay upon the surface, but it wasa change in the deeper things of life--in the purpose andunderstanding of life itself. Like many of his kind, Ollie couldnot distinguish between these things. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

WHAT MAKES A MAN. 

Mr. Matthews and his son finished their planting early in theafternoon and the boy set out to find old Kate and the mule colt. Those rovers had not appeared at the home place for nearly twoweeks, and some one must bring them in before they forgot theirhome completely. 

"Don't mind if I ain't back for supper, Mother, " said Young Matt. "I may eat at the ranch with Dad. I ain't been down there forquite a spell now, an' I'd kind o' like to know if that pantherwe've been a hearin' is givin' Dad any trouble. "

"Dad told me yesterday that he thought he heard old Kate's bellover on yon side of Cox's Bald, " said Mr. Matthews; "I believe ifI was you I'd take across Cox's, along the far side of th' ridge, around Dewey an' down into the Hollow that way. Joe Gardner wasover north yesterday, an' he said he didn't see no signs on thatrange. I reckon you'll find 'em on Dewey somewheres about JimLane's, maybe. You'd better saddle a horse. "

"No, I'll take it a foot. I can ride old Kate in, if I find them, "replied the big fellow; and, with his rifle in the hollow of hisarm, he struck out over the hills. All along the eastern slope ofthe ridge, that forms one side of Mutton Hollow, he searched forthe missing stock, but not a sound of the bell could he hear; nota trace of the vagabonds could he find. And that was because oldKate and the little colt were standing quietly in the shade in alittle glen below Sand Ridge not a quarter of a mile from thebarn. 

The afternoon was well on when Young Matt gave up the search, andshaped his course for the sheep ranch. He was on the farther sideof Dewey, and the sun told him that there was just time enough toreach the cabin before supper. 

Pushing straight up the side of the mountain, he found the narrowbench, that runs like a great cornice two-thirds of the way aroundthe Bald Knob. The mountaineer knew that at that level, on theside opposite from where he stood, was Sammy's Lookout, and fromthere it was an easy road down to the sheep ranch in the valley. Also, he knew that from that rocky shelf, all along the southernside of the mountain, he would look down upon Sammy's home; and, who could tell, he might even catch a glimpse of Sammy herself. Very soon he rounded the turn of the hill, and saw far below theLane homestead; the cabin and the barn in the little clearinglooking like tiny doll houses. 

Young Matt walked slowly now. The supper was forgotten. Coming tothe clump of cedars just above the Old Trail where it turns theshoulder of the hill from the west, he stopped for a last look. Beyond this point, he would turn his back upon the scene thatinterested him so deeply. 

The young man could not remember when he had not loved Sammy Lane. She seemed to have been always a part of his life. It was theseason of the year when all the wild things of the forest choosetheir mates, and as the big fellow stood there looking down uponthe home of the girl he loved, all the splendid passion of hismanhood called for her. It seemed to him that the whole world wasslipping away to leave him alone in a measureless universe. Healmost cried aloud. It is the same instinct that prompts thepanther to send his mating call ringing over the hills and throughthe forest, and leads the moose to issue his loud challenge. 

At last Young Matt turned to go, when he heard the sound ofvoices. Someone was coming along the Old Trail that lay in fullview on the mountain side not two hundred yards away. Instinctively the woodsman drew back into the thick foliage of thecedars. 

The voices grew louder. A moment more and Sammy with Ollie Stewartappeared from around the turn of the hill. They were walking sideby side and talking earnestly. The young woman had just denied theclaims of her former lover, and was explaining the change in herattitude toward him; but the big fellow on the ledge above couldnot know that. He could not hear what they were saying. He onlysaw his mate, and the man who had come to take her from him. 

Half crouching on the rocky shelf in the dark shadow of the cedar, the giant seemed a wild thing ready for his spring; ready andeager, yet held in check by something more powerful still than hispassion. Slowly the two, following the Old Trail, passed fromsight, and Young Matt stood erect. He was trembling like afrightened child. A moment longer he waited, then turned andfairly ran from the place. Leaving the ledge at the Lookout, herushed down the mountain and through the woods as if mad, to burstin upon the shepherd, with words that were half a cry, half agroan. "He's come, Dad; he's come. I've just seen him with her. "

Mr. Howitt sprang up with a startled exclamation. His face wentwhite. He grasped the table for support. He tried to speak, butwords would not come. He could only stare with frightened eyes, asthough Young Matt himself were some fearful apparition. 

The big fellow threw himself into a chair, and presently theshepherd managed to say in a hoarse whisper, "Tell me about it, Grant, if you can. "

"I seen them up on Dewey just now, goin' down the Old Trail fromSammy's Lookout to her home. I was huntin' stock. "

The old scholar leaned toward his friend, as he almost shouted, "Saw them going to Sammy's home! Saw whom, lad? Whom did you see?"

"Why--why--Sammy Lane and that--that Ollie Stewart, of course. Itell you he's come back. Come to take her away. "

The reaction was almost as bad as the shock. Mr. Howitt gasped ashe dropped back into his seat. He felt a hysterical impulse tolaugh, to cry out. Young Matt continued; "He's come home, Dad, with all his fine clothes and city airs, and now she'll go awaywith him, and we won't never see her again. "

As he began to put his thoughts into words, the giant got upon hisfeet, and walked the floor like one insane. "He shan't have her, "he cried, clenching his great fists; "he shan't have her. If hewas a man I could stand it, Dad. But look at him! Look at him, will you? The little white-faced, washed out runt, what is he? Heain't no man, Dad. He ain't even as much of a man as he was. AndSammy is--God! What a woman she is! You've been a tellin' me thatI could be a gentleman, even if I always lived in the backwoods. But you're wrong, Dad, plumb wrong. I ain't no gentleman. I can'tnever be one. I'm just a man. I'm a--a savage, a damned beast, andI'm glad of it. " He threw back his shaggy head, and his whiteteeth gleamed through his parted lips, as he spoke in tones of maddefiance. 

"Dad, you say there's some things bigger'n learnin', and such, andI reckon this here's one of them. I don't care if that littlewhelp goes to all the schools there is, and gets to be a presidentor a king; I don't care if he's got all the money there is betweenhere and hell; put him out here in the woods, face to face withlife where them things don't count, and what is he? What is he, Dad? He's nothin'! plumb nothin'!"

The old shepherd waited quietly for the storm to pass. The bigfellow would come to himself after a time; until then, words wereuseless. At last Young Matt spoke in calmer tones; "I run away, Dad. I had to. I was afraid I'd hurt him. Something inside o' mejust fought to get at him, and I couldn't a held out much longer. I don't want to hurt nobody, Dad. I reckon it was a seein' 'emtogether that did it. It's a God's blessin' I come away when Idid; it sure is. " He dropped wearily into his chair again. 

Then the teacher spoke, "It is always a God's blessing, lad, whena man masters the worst of himself. You are a strong man, my boy. You hardly know your strength. But you need always to rememberthat the stronger the man, the easier it is for him to become abeast. Your manhood depends upon this, and upon nothing else, thatyou conquer and control the animal side of yourself. It will be asad moment for you, and for all of us who love you, if you everforget. Don't you see, lad, it is this victory only that gives youthe right to think of yourself as a man. Mind, I say to think ofyourself, as a man. It doesn't much matter what others think ofyou. It is what one can honestly think of one's self thatmatters. "

So they spent the evening together, and the big mountaineerlearned to see still more deeply into the things that had come tothe older man in his years of study and painful experience. 

When at last Young Matt arose to say good-night, the shepherdtried to persuade him to sleep at the ranch. But he said, no, thefolks at home would be looking for him, and he must go. "I'mmighty glad I come, Dad, " he added; "I don't know what I'd do ifit wasn't for you; go plumb hog wild, and make a fool of myself, Ireckon. I don't know what a lot of us would do, either. Seems likeyou're a sort of shepherd to the whole neighborhood. I reckon, though, I'm 'bout the worst in the flock, " he finished with a grimsmile. 

Mr. Howitt took his hat from the nail. "If you must go, I willwalk a little way with you. I love to be out such nights as this. I often wish Pete would take me with him. "

"He's out somewhere to-night, sure, " replied the other, as theystarted. "We heard him a singin' last night. " Then he stopped andasked, "Where's your gun, Dad? There's a panther somewhere on thisrange. "

"I know, " returned the shepherd; "I heard it scream last night;and I meant to go up to the house to-day for a gun. I broke thehammer of mine yesterday. "

"That's bad, " said Young Matt. "But come on, I'll leave mine withyou until to-morrow. That fellow would sure make things lively, ifhe should come to see you, and catch you without a shootin' iron. "

Together the two walked through the timber, until they came towhere the trail that leads to the Matthews place begins to climbthe low spur of the hill back of the house. Here Mr. Howittstopped to say good-night, adding, as the young man gave him therifle, "I don't like to take this, Grant. What if you should meetthat panther between here and home?"

"Shucks!" returned the other; "you're the one that'll need it. You've got to take care of them sheep. I'll get home alright. "

"Don't forget the other beast, lad. Remember what it is that makesthe man. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

YOUNG MATT REMEMBERS. 

After parting with his friend, Young Matt continued on his wayuntil he reached the open ground below the point where the pathfrom the ranch joins the Old Trail. Then he stopped and lookedaround. 

Before him was the belt of timber, and beyond, the dark mass ofthe mountain ridge with the low gap where his home nestled amongthe trees. He could see the light from the cabin window shininglike a star. Behind him lay the darker forest of the Hollow, andbeyond, like a great sentinel, was the round, treeless form ofDewey Bald. From where he stood, he could even see clearly againstthe sky the profile of the mountain's shoulder, and the ledge atSammy's Lookout. Another moment, and the young man had left thepath that led to his home, and was making straight for the distanthill. He would climb to that spot where he had stood in theafternoon, and would look down once more upon the little cabin onthe mountain side. Then he would go home along the ridge. 

Three quarters of an hour later, he pushed up out of a ravine thathe followed to its head below the Old Trail, near the place where, with Pete and the shepherd, he had watched Sammy reading herletter. He was climbing to the Lookout, for it was the easiest wayto the ledge, and, as his eye came on a level with the bench alongwhich the path runs, he saw clearly on the big rock above thefigure of a man. Instantly Young Matt stopped. The moon shone fullupon the spot, and he easily recognized the figure. It was OllieStewart. 

Young Stewart had been greatly puzzled by Sammy's attitude. It wasso unexpected, and, to his mind, so unreasonable. He loved thegirl as much as it was possible for one of his weak nature tolove; and he had felt sure of his place in her affections. But thedoor that had once yielded so readily to his touch he had foundfast shut. He was on the outside, and he seemed somehow to havelost the key. In this mood on his way home, he had reached thespot that was so closely associated with the girl, and, pausing torest after the sharp climb, had fallen to brooding over hisdisappointment. So intent was he upon his gloomy thoughts that hehad not heard Young Matt approaching, and was wholly unconsciousof that big fellow's presence in the vicinity. 

For a time the face at the edge of the path regarded the figure onthe rock intently; then it dropped from sight. Young Matt slippedquietly down into the ravine, and a few moments later climbedagain to the Old Trail at a point hidden from the Lookout. Here hestepped quickly across the narrow open space and into the busheson the slope of the mountain above. Then with the skill of oneborn and reared in the woods, the mountaineer made his way towardthe man on the shoulder of the hill. 

What purpose lay under his strange movement Young Matt did notknow. But certainly it was not in his mind to harm Ollie. He wasacting upon the impulse of the moment; an impulse to get nearerand to study unobserved the person of his rival. So he stalked himwith all the instinct of a creature of the woods. Not a twigsnapped, not a leaf rustled, as from bush to fallen log, from treetrunk to rock, he crept, always in the black shadows, or behindsome object. 

But there were still other eyes on Old Dewey that night, and sharpears heard the big woodsman climbing out of the ravine, if Olliedid not. When the young man in the clear light of the moon crossedthe Old Trail, a figure near the clump of trees, where he had satwith his two friends that day, dropped quietly behind a big rock, half hidden in the bushes. As the giant crept toward the Lookout, this figure followed, showing but little less skill than themountaineer himself. Once a loose stone rattled slightly, and thebig fellow turned his head; but the figure was lying behind a logthat the other had just left. When Young Matt finally reached theposition as close to Ollie as he could go without certaindiscovery, the figure also came to a rest, not far away. 

The moments passed very slowly now to the man crouching in theshadows. Ollie looked at his watch. It was early yet to oneaccustomed to late hours in the city. Young Matt heard distinctlythe snap of the case as the watch was closed and returned to itsowner's pocket. Then Stewart lighted a cigar, and flipped theburned out match almost into his unseen companion's face. 

It seemed to Young Matt that he had been there for hours. Yearsago he left his home yonder on the ridge, to look for stray stock. They must have forgotten him long before this. The quiet cabin inthe Hollow, and his friend, the shepherd, too, were far away. Inall that lonely mountain there was no one--no one but that man onthe rock there; that man, and himself. How bright the moon was!

Suddenly another form appeared upon the scene. It came creepingaround the hill from beyond the Lookout. It was a long, low, lithe-bodied, form that moved with the easy, gliding movements ofa big cat. Noiselessly the soft padded feet fell upon the hardrock and loose gravel of the old pathway; the pathway along whichso many things had gone for their kill, or had gone to be killed. 

Young Matt saw it the moment it appeared. He started in his place. He recognized it instantly as the most feared of all the wildthings in the mountain wilderness--a panther. He saw it sniff thefootprints on the trail--Ollie's footprints. He saw it pause andcrouch as it caught sight of the man on the rock. 

Instantly wild and unwelcome thoughts burned within the strongman's brain. The woodsman knew why that thing had come. Againstsuch a foe the unconscious weakling on the rock there, calmlypuffing his cigar, would have no chance whatever. He would noteven know of its presence, until it had made its spring, and itsfangs were in his neck. The man of the wilderness knew just how itwould be done. It would be over in a minute. 

The giant clenched his teeth. Why had he not gone on to his homeafter leaving the shepherd? Why had he followed that impulse tostand again where he had stood that afternoon? Above all, what hadpossessed him--what had led him to creep to his present position?He shot a quick glance around. How bright--how bright the moonwas!

The panther turned aside from the trail and with silent graceleaped to the ledge, gaining a position on a level with Ollie--still unconscious of its presence. A cold sweat broke out on thebig man's forehead. The great hands worked. His breath came inquick gasps. It could not be laid to his door. He had only towithdraw, to stop his ears and run, as he had fled that afternoon. God! How slowly that thing crept forward, crouching low upon itsbelly, its tail twitching from side to side, nearer, nearer. YoungMatt felt smothered. He loosened the collar of his shirt. Themoon--the moon was so bright! He could even see the muscles in thebeast's heavy neck and shoulders working under the sleek skin. 

Suddenly the words of the shepherd came to him, as though shoutedin his ears, "Remember the other beast, lad. Don't you see it isthis victory only that gives you the right to think of yourself asa man?"

Ollie was almost brushed from his place as the big mountaineersprang from the shadow, while the panther, startled by theappearance of another man upon the rock, paused. An exclamation offright burst from young Stewart, as he took in the situation. Andthe giant by his side reached forth a hand to push him back, as hegrowled, "Shut up and get out of the way! This here's my fight!"

At the movement the wild beast seemed to understand that thenewcomer was there to rob him of his prey. With a snarl, itcrouched low again, gathering its muscles for the spring. Thegiant waited. Suddenly the sharp crack of a rifle rang out on thestill night, echoing and echoing along the mountain. 

The panther leaped, but fell short. The startled men on the rocksaw it threshing the ground in its death struggle. 

"That was a lucky shot for you, " said Ollie. 

"Lucky for me, " repeated Young Matt slowly, eyeing his welldressed companion; "Well, yes, I reckon it was. "

"Who fired it?"

The big fellow shook his head in a puzzled way. 

Stewart looked surprised. "Wasn't it someone hunting with you?"

"With me? Huntin'? Not to-night;" muttered the other stillsearching the hill side. 

"Well, I'd like to know what you were doing here alone, then;"said Ollie suspiciously. 

At his tone, Young Matt turned upon him savagely, "'Tain't noneof your business, what I was a doin' here, that I can see. Ireckon these hills are free yet. But it's mighty lucky for us boththat someone was 'round, whoever he is. Maybe you ain't thankfulthat that critter ain't fastened on your neck. But I am. An' I'mgoin' to find out who fired that shot if I can. "

He started forward, but Ollie called imperiously, "Hold on there aminute, I want to say something to you first. " The other paused, and young Stewart continued; "I don't know what you mean byprowling around this time of night. But it looks as though youwere watching me. I warn you fairly, don't try it again. I knowhow you feel toward Miss Lane, and I know how you have been withher while I was away. I tell you it's got to stop. She is to be mywife, and I shall protect her. You may just as well--"

He got no further. The big man sprang forward to face him with alook that made the dandy shrink with fear. "Protect Sammy Lanefrom me! Protect her, you! You know what I feel toward her? You!"He fairly choked with his wild rage. 

The frightened Ollie drew a weapon from his pocket, but, with asnarling laugh, the big fellow reached out his great hand and theshining toy went whirling through the air. "Go home, " said thegiant. "Damn you, go home! Don't you hear? For God's sake get outo' my sight 'fore I forget again!"

Ollie went. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

OLLIE'S DILEMMA. 

As "Preachin' Bill" used to say, "Every hound has hits strongpints, but some has more of 'em. "

Young Stewart was not without graces pleasing to the girl whom hehoped to make his wife. He seemed to know instinctively all thoselittle attentions in which women so delight, and he could talk, too, very entertainingly of the things he had seen. To the simplegirl of the backwoods, he succeeded in making the life in the cityappear very wonderful, indeed. Neither was Sammy insensible to theinfluence of his position, and his prospective wealth, with theadvantages that these things offered. Then, with all this, heloved her dearly; and when, if you please, was ever a woman whollyunmoved by the knowledge that she held first place in a man'sheart?

For two weeks they were together nearly every day, sometimesspending the afternoon at the girl's home on the side of Dewey, orroving over the nearby hills; sometimes going for long ridesthrough the great woods to pass the day with friends, returning inthe evening to find Jim smoking in the doorway of the darkenedcabin. 

When Mr. Lane, at the end of the first week, asked his daughter, in his point blank fashion, what she was going to do with youngStewart, the girl answered, "He must have his chance, Daddy. Hemast have a good fair chance. I--I don't know what it is, butthere is--I--I don't know, Daddy. I am sure I loved him when hewant away, that is, I think I am sure. " And Jim, looking into hereyes, agreed heartily; then he took down his violin to make joyfulmusic far into the night. 

Ollie did not see Young Matt after their meeting on the Lookout. The big fellow, too, avoided the couple, and Sammy, for somereason, carefully planned their rides so that they would not belikely to meet their neighbor an the ridge. Once, indeed, theycalled at the Matthews place, walking over in the evening, butthat was when Sammy knew that Young Matt was not at home. 

Day after day as they talked together, the girl tried honestly toenter into the life of the man she had promised to marry. Butalways there was that feeling of something lacking. Just what thatsomething was, or why she could not feel completely satisfied, Sammy did not understand. But the day was soon to come when shewould know the real impulses of her heart. 

Since that first afternoon, Ollie had not tried to force his suit. While, in a hundred little ways, he had not failed to make herfeel his love, he had never openly attempted the role of lover. Hewas conscious that to put the girl constantly upon the defensivewould be disastrous to his hopes; and in this, he was wise. Butthe time had come when he must speak, for it was the last day ofhis visit. He felt that he could not go back to the city without adefinite understanding. 

Sammy, too, realized this, but still she was not ready to give ananswer to the question he would ask. They had been to the Forks, and were on their way home. As they rode slowly under the trees, the man pleaded his cause, but the woman could only shake her headand answer quite truthfully, "Ollie, I don't know. "

"But tell me, Sammy, is there any one in the way?"

Again she shook her head, "I--I think not. "

"You think not! Don't you know?" The young man reined his horsecloser to the brown pony. "Let me help you decide, dear. You aretroubled because of the change you see in me, and because the lifethat I have tried to tell you about is so strange, so differentfrom this. You need not fear. With me, you will very soon be athome there; as much at home as you are here. Come, dear, let meanswer for you. "

The girl lifted her face to his; "Oh, if you only could!" But, even as she spoke, there came to her the memory of that ride homefrom the party at Ford's, when her pony had crowded close to thebig white faced sorrel. It was Brownie this time who was pulledsharply aside. The almost involuntary act brought a quick flush tothe young man's cheek, and he promptly reined his own horse to theright, thus placing the full width of the road between them. Sothey went down the hill into the valley, where Fall Creek tumbledand laughed on its rocky way. 

A thread of blue smoke, curling lazily up from the old stack, andthe sound of a hammer, told them that some one was at the mill. Sammy was caught by a sudden impulse. "Why, that must be YoungMatt!" she exclaimed. "Let us stop. I do believe you haven't seenhim since you came home. "

"I don't want to see him, nor any one else, now, " returned Ollie. "This is our last evening together, Sammy, and I want you all tomyself. Let us go up the old Roark trail, around Cox's Bald, andhome through the big, low gap. " He checked his horse as he spoke, for they had already passed the point where the Roark trail leavesFall Creek. 

But the girl was determined to follow her impulse. "You can stopjust a minute, " she urged. "You really ought to see Matt, youknow. We can ride back this way if you like. It's early yet. "

But the man held his place, and replied shortly, "I tell you Idon't want to see anybody, and I am very sure that Young Mattdoesn't want to see me, not with you, anyway. "

Sammy flushed at this, and answered with some warmth, "There is noreason in the world why you should refuse to meet an old friend;but you may do as you please, of course. Only I am going to themill. " So saying, she started down the valley, and as there wasreally nothing else for him to do, the man followed. 

As they approached the mill, Sammy called for Young Matt, whoimmediately left his work, and came to them. The big fellow woreno coat, and his great arms were bare, while his old shirt, patched and faded and patched again, was soiled by engine greaseand perspiration. His trousers, too, held in place by suspendersrepaired with belt lacing and fastened with a nail, were coveredwith sawdust and dirt. His hands and arms and even his face weretreated liberally with the same mixture that stained his clothing;and the shaggy red brown hair, uncovered, was sadly tumbled. Inhis hand he held a wrench. The morrow was grinding day, and he hadbeen making some repairs about the engine. 

Altogether, as the backwoodsman came forward, he presented amarked contrast to the freshly clad, well groomed gentleman fromthe city. And to the woman, the contrast was not withoutadvantages to the man in the good clothes. The thought flashedthrough her mind that the men who would work for Ollie in theshops would look like this. It was the same old advantage; theadvantage that the captain has over the private; the advantage ofrank, regardless of worth. 

Sammy greeted Young Matt warmly. "I just told Ollie that it wastoo bad he had not seen you. You were away the night we called atyour house, you know; and he is going home to-morrow. "

The giant looked from one to the other. Evidently Sammy had notheard of that meeting at the Lookout, and Stewart's face grew redas he saw what was in the big fellow's mind. "I'm mighty glad tosee you again, " he said lamely. "I told Sammy that I had seen you, but she has forgotten. "

"Oh, no, I haven't, " replied the girl. "You said that you saw himin the field as you passed the first day you came, but that youwere in such a hurry you didn't stop. "

At this Ollie forced a loud laugh, and remarked that he was insomething of a hurry that day. He hoped that in the girl'sconfusion the point might be overlooked. 

But the mountaineer was not to be sidetracked so easily. Ollie'spoor attempt only showed more clearly that he had purposelyrefrained from telling Sammy of the might when Young Matt hadinterfered to save his life. To the simple straight-forward lad ofthe woods, such a course revealed a spirit most contemptible. Raising his soiled hands and looking straight at Ollie, he said, deliberately, "I'm sorry, seein' as this is the first time we'vemet, that I can't shake hands with you. This here's CLEAN dirt, though. "

Sammy was puzzled. Ollie's objection to their calling at the mill, his evident embarrassment at the meeting, and something in YoungMatt's voice that hinted at a double meaning in his simple words, all told her that there was something beneath the surface whichshe did not understand. 

After his one remark to her escort, the woodsman turned to thegirl, and, in spite of Sammy's persistent attempts to bring thenow sullen Ollie into the conversation, ignored the mancompletely. When they had talked for a few moments, Young Mattsaid, "I reckon you'll have to excuse me a minute, Sammy; I leftthe engine in such a hurry when you called that I'll have to lookat it again. It won't take more'n a minute. "

As he disappeared in the mill shed, the young lady turned to hercompanion, "What's the matter with you two? Have you met andquarreled since you came home?"

Fate was being very unkind to Ollie. He replied gruffly, "You'llhave to ask your friend. I told you how it would be. The greasyhobo doesn't like to see me with you, and hasn't manners enougheven to hide his feelings. Come, let us go on. "

A look that was really worth seeing came into the girl's fineeyes, but she only said calmly; "Matt will be back in a minute. "

"All the more reason why we should go. I should think you have hadenough. I am sure I have. "

The young woman was determined now to know what lay at the bottomof all this. She said quietly, but with a great deal of decision, "You may go on home if you wish; I am going to wait here untilYoung Matt comes back. "

Ollie was angry now in good earnest. He had not told Sammy of theincident at the Lookout because he felt that the story would bringthe backwoodsman into a light altogether too favorable. He thoughtto have the girl safely won before he left the hills; then itwould not matter. That Young Matt would have really saved Ollie'slife at the risk of his own there was no doubt. And Stewartrealized that his silence under such circumstances would lookdecidedly small and ungrateful to the girl. To have the story toldat this critical moment was altogether worse than if he hadgenerously told of the incident at once. He saw, too, that Sammyguessed at some thing beneath the surface, and he felt uneasy inremaining until Young Matt came back to renew the conversation. And yet he feared to leave. At this stage of his dilemma, he wasrelieved from his plight in a very unexpected manner. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE CHAMPION. 

A big wagon, with two men on the seat, appeared coming up thevalley road. It was Wash Gibbs and a crony from the river. Theyhad stopped at the distillery on their way, and were just enoughunder the influence of drink to be funny and reckless. 

When they caught sight of Ollie Stewart and Miss Lane, Wash saidsomething to his companion, at which both laughed uproariously. Upon reaching the couple, the wagon came to a stop, and afterlooking at Ollie for some moments, with the silent gravity of anowl, Gibbs turned to the young lady, "Howdy, honey. Where did yougit that there? Did your paw give hit to you fer a doll baby?"

Young Stewart's face grew scarlet, but he said nothing. 

"Can't hit talk?" continued Gibbs with mock interest. 

Glancing at her frightened escort, the girl replied, "You driveon, Wash Gibbs. You're in no condition to talk to anyone. "

An ugly leer came over the brutal face of the giant; "Oh, I ain't, ain't I? You think I'm drunk. But I ain't, not so mighty much. Jest enough t' perten me up a pepper grain. " Then, turning to hiscompanion, who was grinning in appreciation of the scene, hecontinued, "Here, Bill; you hold th' ribbens, an' watch me tend t'that little job I told you I laid out t' do first chance I got. "At this, Ollie grew as pale as death. Once he started as if toescape, but he could not under Sammy's eyes. 

As Wash was climbing down from the wagon, he caught sight of YoungMatt standing in the door of the mill shed. "Hello, Matt, " hecalled cheerfully; "I ain't a lookin' fer you t' day; 'tend t' yousome other time. Got more important business jest now. "

Young Matt made no reply, nor did he move to interfere. In thebackwoods every man must fight his own battles, so long as hefights with men. When Stewart was in danger from the panther, itwas different. This was man to man. Sammy, too, reared in themountains, and knowing the code, waited quietly to see what herlover would do. 

Coming to Ollie's side, Gibbs said, "Git down, young feller, an'look at yer saddle. "

"You go on, and let me alone, Wash Gibbs. I've never hurt you. "Ollie's naturally high pitched voice was shrill with fear. 

Wash paused, looked back at his companion in the wagon; then toYoung Matt, and then to the girl on the horse. "That's right, " hesaid, shaking his head with ponderous gravity. "You all hear him. He ain't never hurted me, nary a bit. Nary a bit, ladies an'gentlemen. But, good Lord! look at him! Hain't hit awful!"Suddenly he reached out one great arm, and jerked the young manfrom his horse, catching him with the other hand as he fell, andsetting him on his feet in the middle of the road. 

Ollie was like a child in the grasp of his huge tormentor, and, inspite of her indignation, a look of admiration flashed overSammy's face at the exhibition of the bully's wonderful physicalstrength; an admiration, that only heightened the feeling of shamefor her lover's weakness. 

Gibbs addressed his victim, "Now, dolly, you an' me's goin' t'play a little. Come on, let's see you dance. " The other struggledfeebly a moment and attempted to draw a pistol, whereupon Washpromptly captured the weapon, remarking in a sad tone as he didso, "You hadn't ought t' tote such a gun as that, sonny; hit mightgo off. Hit's a right pretty little thing, ain't hit?" hecontinued, holding his victim with one hand, and examining thepearl handled, nickel plated weapon with great interest. "Hit sureis. But say, dolly, if you was ever t' shoot me with that there, an' I found hit out, I'd sure be powerful mad. You hear me, now, an' don't you pack that gun no more; not in these mountains. Hitain't safe. "

The fellow in the wagon roared with delight at these witticisms, and looked from Young Matt to Sammy to see if they alsoappreciated the joke. 

"Got any more pretties!" asked Gibbs of his victim. "No? Let'ssee. " Catching the young man by the waist, he lifted him bodily, and, holding him head downward, shook him roughly. Again Sammyfelt her blood tingle at the feat of strength. 

Next holding Ollie with one huge hand at the back of his neck, Wash said, "See that feller in th' wagon there? He's a mighty finegentleman; friend o' mine. Make a bow t' him. " As he finished, with his free hand he struck the young man a sharp blow in thestomach, with the result that Stewart did make a bow, very low, but rather too suddenly to be graceful. 

The fellow in the wagon jumped up and bowed again and again;"Howdy, Mr. City Man; howdy. Mighty proud t' meet up with you;mighty proud, you bet!"

The giant whirled his captive toward the mill. "See that felleryonder? I'm goin' t' lick him some day. Make a face at him. "Catching Ollie by the nose and chin, he tried to force hisbidding, while the man in the wagon made the valley ring with hislaughter. Then Wash suddenly faced the helpless young man towardSammy. "Now ladies and gentlemen, " he said in the tones of ashowman addressing an audience, "this here pretty little fellerfrom th' city's goin' t' show us Hill-Billies how t' spark a gal. "

The bully's friend applauded loudly, roaring at the top of hisvoice, "Marry 'em, Wash. Marry 'em. You can do hit as good as aparson! You'd make a good parson. Let's see how'd you go at hit. "

The notion tickled the fancy of the giant, for it offered a way tomake Sammy share the humiliation more fully. "Git down an' comehere t' yer honey, " he said to the girl. "Git down, I say, " herepeated, when the young woman made no motion to obey. 

"Indeed, I will not, " replied Sammy shortly. 

Her tone and manner angered Gibbs, and dropping Ollie he startedtoward the girl to take her from the horse by force. As he reachedthe pony's side, Sammy raised her whip and with all her strengthstruck him full across the face. The big ruffian drew back with abellow of pain and anger. Then he started toward her again. "I'lltame you, you wild cat, " he yelled. And Sammy raised her whipagain. 

But before Gibbs could touch the girl, a powerful hand caught himby the shoulder. "I reckon you've had fun enough, Wash Gibbs, "remarked Young Matt in his slow way. "I ain't interfering betweenman and man, but you'd best keep your dirty hands off that lady. "

The young woman's heart leaped at the sound of that deep calmvoice that carried such a suggestion of power. And she saw thatthe blue eyes under the tumbled red brown locks were shining nowlike points of polished steel. The strong man's soul was rejoicingwith the fierce joy of battle. 

The big bully drew back a step, and glared at the man who had comebetween him and his victim; the man whom, for every reason, hehated. Lifting his huge paws, he said in a voice hoarse withdeadly menace, "Dirty, be they? By hell, I'll wash 'em. An' hitwon't be water that'll clean 'em, neither. Don't you know that noman ever crosses my trail an' lives?"

The other returned easily, "Oh, shucks! Get into your wagon anddrive on. You ain't on Roark now. You're on Fall Creek, and overhere you ain't no bigger'n anybody else. "

While Young Matt was speaking, Gibbs backed slowly away, and, asthe young man finished, suddenly drew the pistol he had taken fromOllie. With a quickness and lightness astonishing in one of hisbulk and usually slow movements, the mountaineer leaped upon hisbig enemy. There was a short, sharp struggle, and Wash staggeredbackward, leaving the shining weapon in Young Matt's hand. "Itmight go off, you know, " said the young fellow quietly, as hetossed the gun on the ground at Ollie's feet. 

With a mad roar, Gibbs recovered himself and rushed at hisantagonist. It was a terrific struggle; not the skillful sparringof trained fighters, but the rough and tumble battling ofprimitive giants. It was the climax of long months of hatred; themeeting of two who were by every instinct mortal enemies. Ollieshrank back in terror, but Sammy leaned forward in the saddle, herbeautiful figure tense, her lips parted, and her face flushed withexcitement. 

It was soon evident that the big champion of the hills had at lastmet his match. As he realized this, a look of devilish cunningcrept into the animal face of Gibbs, and he maneuvered carefullyto bring his enemy's back toward the wagon. 

Catching a look from his friend, over Young Matt's shoulder, theman in the wagon slipped quickly to the ground, and Sammy saw withhorror a naked knife in his hand. She glanced toward Ollieappealingly, but that gentleman was helpless. The man with theknife began creeping cautiously toward the fighting men, keepingalways behind Young Matt. The young woman felt as though an ironband held her fast. She could not move. She could not speak. ThenGibbs went down, and the girl's scream rang out, "Behind you, Matt! Look quick!"

As he recovered his balance from the effort that had thrown Wash, Young Matt heard her cry, saw the girl's look of horror, and heroutstretched hand pointing. Like a flash he whirled just as theknife was lifted high for the murderous blow. It was over in aninstant. Sammy saw him catch the wrist of the uplifted arm, hearda dull snap and a groan, saw the knife fall from the helplesshand, and then saw the man lifted bodily and thrown clear over thewagon, to fall helpless on the rocky ground. The woman gave a lowcry, "Oh, WHAT A MAN!"

Wash Gibbs, too, opened his eyes, just in time to witness theunheard-of feat, and to see the bare-armed young giant whoperformed it turn again, breathing heavily with his greatexertion, but still ready to meet his big antagonist. 

The defeated bully rose from the ground. The other stepped forwardto meet him. But without a word, Gibbs climbed into the wagon andtook up the reins. Before they could move, Young Matt had themules by their heads. "You have forgotten something, " he saidquietly, pointing to the man on the ground, who was stillunconscious from his terrible fall. "That there's your property. Take it along. We ain't got no use for such as that on FallCreek. "

Sullenly Wash climbed down and lifted his companion into thewagon. As Young Matt stood aside to let him go, the bully said, "I'll see you agin fer this. "

The strong man only answered, "I reckon you'd better stay onRoark, Wash Gibbs. You got more room there. "

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

WHAT PETE TOLD SAMMY. 

No word was spoken by either Sammy or her lover, while theirhorses were climbing the mill road, and both were glad when theyreached the top of the ridge, and turned into the narrow pathwhere they would need to ride one before the other. It was noteasy to ride side by side, when each was busy with thoughts not tobe spoken. 

At the gate, Ollie dismounted to help the girl from her horse. Butbefore he could reach the pony's side, Sammy sprang lightly to theground, unassisted. Opening the big gate, she turned Brownie loosein the yard, while the man stood watching her, a baffled look uponhis face. He had always done these little things for her. To berefused at this time was not pleasant. The feeling that he was onthe outside grew stronger. 

Turning to his own horse, Ollie placed his foot in the stirrup tomount, when Sammy spoke, --perhaps she felt that she had been alittle unkind--"You were going to stay to supper, " she said. 

"Not to-night, " he answered, gaining his seat in the saddle, andpicking up the reins. 

"But you are going to leave in the morning, are you not? You--youmust not go like this. "

He dropped the reins to the horse's neck again, "Look here, Sammy, do you blame me because I did not fight that big bully?"

Sammy did not reply. 

"What could I do? You know there is not another man in themountains beside Young Matt who could have done it. Surely youcannot blame me. "

The young woman moved uneasily, "No, certainly not. I do not blameyou in the least. I--but it was very fortunate that Young Matt wasthere, wasn't it?" The last sentence slipped out before she knew. 

Ollie retorted angrily, "It seems to be very fortunate for him. Hewill be a greater hero than ever, now, I suppose. If he is wise, he will stay in the backwoods to be worshipped for he'll find thathis size won't count for much in the world. He's a great man here, where he can fight like a beast, but his style wouldn't go farwhere brains are of value. It would be interesting to see him intown; a man who never saw a railroad. "

Sammy lifted her head quickly at this, and fixed her eyes on theman's face with that wide, questioning gaze that reminded one soof her father, "I never saw a railroad, either; not that I canremember; though, I suppose we must have crossed one or two on ourway to Texas when I was a baby. Is it the railroads then thatmakes one so--so superior?"

The man turned impatiently in the saddle, "You know what I mean. "

"Yes, " she answered slowly. "I think I do know what you mean. "

Ollie lifted the reins again from his horse's neck, and angeredthem nervously. "I'd better go now; there's no use talking aboutthis to-night. I won't leave in the morning, as I had planned. I--I can't go like this. " There was a little catch in his voice. "MayI come again to-morrow afternoon, Sammy?"

"Yes, you had better go now, and come back to-morrow. "

"And Sammy, won't you try to think that I am not altogetherworthless, even if I am not big enough to fight Wash Gibbs? Youare sure that you do not blame me for what happened at the mill?"

"No, " she said; "of course not. You could not help it. Why shouldI blame anyone for that which he cannot help?"

Then Ollie rode away, and Sammy, going to her pony, stood pettingthe little horse, while she watched her lover up the Old Trail, and still there was that wide, questioning look in her eyes. AsOllie passed from sight around the hill above, the girl slippedout of the gate, and a few minutes later stood at the Lookout, where she could watch her lover riding along the ridge. She sawhim pass from the open into the fringe of timber near the big gap;and, a few minutes later, saw him reappear beyond the deer lick. Still she watched as he moved along the rim of the Hollow, lookingin the distance like a toy man on a toy horse; watched until hepassed from sight into the timber again, and was gone. And all thetime that questioning look was in her eyes. 

Did she blame Ollie that he had played so poorly his part in thescene at the mill. No, she told herself over and over again, asthough repeating a lesson; no, Ollie was not to blame, and yet--

She knew that he had spoken truly when he said that there werethings that counted for more than brute strength. But was therenot something more than brute strength in the incident? Was therenot that which lay deeper? something of which the brute strength, after all, was only an expression? The girl stamped her footimpatiently, as she exclaimed aloud, "Oh, why did he not TRY to dosomething? He should have forced Wash Gibbs to beat him intoinsensibility rather than to have submitted so tamely to beingplayed with. "

In the distance she saw the shepherd following his flock down themountain, and the old scholar, who always watched the Lookout, when in the vicinity, for a glimpse of his pupil, waved his handin greeting as he moved slowly on after his charges. It wasgrowing late. Her father, too, would be coming home for hissupper. But as she rose to go, a step on the mountain side abovecaught her attention, and, looking up, she saw Pete coming towardthe big rock. Sammy greeted the youth kindly, "I haven't seen Petefor days and days; where has he been?"

"Pete's been everywhere; an' course I've been with him, " repliedthe lad with his wide, sweeping gesture. Then throwing himself atfull length at the girl's feet, he said, abruptly, "Pete was herethat night, and God, he was here, too. Couldn't nobody else butGod o' done it. The gun went bang, and a lot more guns went bang, bang, all along the mountains. And the moonlight things that was adancin' quit 'cause they was scared; and that panther it justdoubled up and died. Matt and Ollie wasn't hurted nary a bit. Petesays it was God done that; He was sure in the hills that night. "

Sammy was startled. "Matt and Ollie, a panther? What do you mean, boy?"

The troubled look shadowed the delicate face, as the lad shook hishead; "Don't mean nothin', Sammy, not me. Nobody can't meannothin', can they?"

"But what does Pete mean? Does Pete know about it?"

"Oh, yes, course Pete knows everything. Don't Sammy know 'boutthat night when God was in the hills?" He was eager now, with eyeswide and face aglow. 

"No, " said Sammy, "I do not know. Will Pete tell me all about it?"

The strange youth seated himself on the rock, facing the valleybelow, saying in a low tone, "Ollie was a settin' like this, allstill; just a smokin' and a watchin' the moonlight things that wasdancin' over the tops of the trees down there. " Then leaping tohis feet the boy ran a short way along the ledge, to come stealingback, crouching low, as he whispered, "It come a creepin' and acreepin' towards Ollie, and he never knowed nothin' about it. ButMatt he knowed, and God he knowed too. " Wonderingly, the girlwatched his movement. Suddenly he sprang to the rock again, andfacing the imaginary beast, cried in childish imitation of a man'sdeep voice, "Get out of the way. This here's my fight. " Then inhis own tones, "It was sure scared when Young Matt jumped on therock. Everything's scared of Matt when he talks like that. It wasmad, too, 'cause Matt he wouldn't let it get Ollie. And it gotready to jump at Matt, and Matt he got ready for a tussle, andOllie he got out of the way. And all the moonlight things stoppeddancin', and the shadow things come out to see the fight. " He hadlowered his voice again almost to a whisper. Sammy was breathless. "Bang!" cried the lad, clapping his hands and shouting the words;"Bang! Bang! God, he fired and all the guns in the hills went off, and that panther it just doubled up and died. It would sure gotOllie, though, if Matt hadn't a jumped on the rock when he did. But do you reckon it could o' got Matt, if God hadn't been herethat night?"

It was all too clearly portrayed to be mistaken. "Sammy needn't beafeared, " continued Pete, seeing the look on the girl's face. "Itcan't come back no more. It just naturally can't, you know, Sammy;'cause God he killed it plumb dead. And Pete dragged it way overon yon side of the ridge and the buzzards got it. "

CHAPTER XXIX. 

JIM LANE MAKES A PROMISE. 

Sammy went home to find her father getting supper. Rushing intothe cabin, the girl gave him a hug that caused Jim to nearly dropthe coffee pot. "You poor abused Daddy, to come home from work, all tired and find no supper, no girl, no nothing. Sit right downthere, now, and rest, while I finish things. "

Jim obeyed with a grin of appreciation. "I didn't fix no taters;thought you wasn't comin'. "

"Going to starve yourself, were you? just because I was gone, "replied the girl with a pan of potatoes in her hand. "I see rightnow that I will have to take care of you always--always, DaddyJim. "

The smile suddenly left the man's face. "Where's Ollie Stewart?Didn't he come home with you?"

"Ollie's at home, I suppose. I have been up to the Lookout talkingto Pete. "

"Ain't Ollie goin' back to the city to-morrow?"

"No, not to-morrow; the next day. He's coming over here to-morrowafternoon. Then he's going away. " Then, before Jim could askanother question, she held up the half of a ham; "Daddy, Daddy!How many times have I told you that you must not--you must notslice the ham with your pocket knife? Just look there! What wouldAunt Mollie say if she saw that, so haggled and one sided?"

All during the evening meal, the girl kept up a ceaseless merrychatter, changing the subject abruptly every time it approachedthe question that her father was most anxious to ask. And the mandelighted with her gay mood responded to it, as he answered to allher moods, until they were like two school children in their fun. But, when supper was over and the work done, and Jim, taking downhis violin, would have made music, Sammy promptly relieved him ofhis instrument, and seated herself on his knee. "Not to-night, Daddy. I want to talk to-night, real serious. "

She told him then of the encounter with Wash Gibbs and his friendat the mill, together with the story that Pete had illustrated sovividly at the Lookout. "And so, Daddy, " she finished; "I know nowwhat I shall do. He will come to-morrow afternoon to say good-by, and then he will go away again back to the city and his finefriends for good. And I'll stay and take care of my Daddy Jim. Itisn't that he is a bad man like Wash Gibbs. He couldn't be a badman like that; he isn't big enough. And that's just it. He is toolittle--body, soul and spirit--he is too little. He will do wellin the world; perhaps he will even do big things. But I heard dearold Preachin' Bill say once, that 'some fellers can do mighty bigthings in a durned little way. ' So he is going back to the city, and I am going to stay in the hills. "

Jim took no pains to hide his delight. "I knowed it, girl. Iknowed it. Bank on the old blood every time. There ain't a drop ofyeller in it; not a drop, Sammy. Ollie ain't to say bad, but heain't just our kind. Lord! But I'd like to o' seen Young Matt agivin' it to Wash Gibbs!" He threw back his head and roared withdelight. "Just wait 'till I see Wash. I'll ask him if he thinksYoung Matt would need a pry for to lift that mill engine with, now. " Then all of a sudden the laugh died out, and the man's darkface was serious, as he said, slowly, "The boy'll have to watchhim, though. It'll sure be war from this on; the worst kind ofwar. "

"Daddy, what do you think Wash would have done to me, if YoungMatt had not been there?"

That metallic ring was in Jim's voice, now, as he replied, "WashGibbs ought to knowed better than to done that. But it was ablessin' Young Matt was there, wasn't it? He'd take care of youanywhere. I wouldn't never be afraid for you with him. "

The girl hid her face on her father's shoulder, as she said, "Daddy, will Wash Gibbs come here any more now? It seems to me hewouldn't dare meet you after this. "

Jim answered uneasily, "I don't know, girl. I reckon he'll bearound again after a time. "

There was a pause for a little while; then Sammy, with her armsstill about his neck, said, "Daddy, I'm going to stay in the hillswith you now. I am going to send Ollie away to-morrow, because asyou say, he isn't our kind. Daddy, Wash Gibbs is not our kindeither, is he?"

"You don't understand, girl, and I can't tell you now. It allstarted way back when you was a little trick. "

The young woman answered very gently, "Yes, I know. You have toldme that often. But, Daddy, what will--what will our friends think, if you keep on with Wash Gibbs now, after what happened at themill to-day? Young Matt fought Gibbs because he insulted me andwas going to hurt me. You say yourself that it will be war betweenthem now? Will you side with Wash? And if you do, won't it looklike there was just a little, tiny streak of yellow in us?"

This side of the situation had not struck Jim at first. He got upand walked the floor, while the girl, standing quietly by thefireplace, watched him, a proud, fond light in her eyes. Sammy didnot know what the bond between her father and the big ruffian was, but she knew that it was not a light one. Now that the issue wasfairly defined, she felt confident that, whatever the cost, thebreak would be made. 

But at this time it was well that she did not know how great thecost of breaking the bond between the two men would be. 

Jim stopped before his daughter, and, placing a hand upon eachshoulder, said, "Tell me, girl; are you so powerful anxious tohave me and Young Matt stay good friends like we've always been?"

"I--I am afraid I am, Daddy. "

And then, a rare smile came into the dark face of Jim Lane. Hekissed the girl and said, "I'll do it, honey. I ain't afraid to, now. "

CHAPTER XXX. 

SAMMY GRADUATES. 

The next day when young Stewart came, the books were all back onthe shelf in the main room of the cabin, and Sammy, dressed in afresh gown of simple goods and fashion, with her hair arrangedcarefully, as she had worn it the last two months before Ollie'scoming, sat at the window reading. 

The man was surprised and a little embarrassed. "Why, what haveyou been doing to yourself?" he exclaimed. 

"I have not been doing anything to myself. I have only done somethings to my clothes and hair, " returned the girl. 

Then he saw the books. "Why, where did these come from?" He crossedthe room to examine the volumes. "Do you--do you read all these?"

"The shepherd has been helping me, " she explained. 

"Oh, yes. I understood that you were studying with him. " He lookedat her curiously, as though they were meeting for the first time. Then, as she talked of her studies, his embarrassment deepened, for he found himself foundering hopelessly before this clear-eyed, clear-brained backwoods girl. 

"Come, " said Sammy at last. "Let us go for a walk. " She led theway to her favorite spot, high up on the shoulder of Dewey, andthere, with Mutton Hollow at their feet and the big hills aboutthem, with the long blue ridges in the distance beyond which layOllie's world, she told him what he feared to learn. The manrefused to believe that he heard aright. "You do not understand, "he protested, and he tried to tell her of the place in life thatwould be hers as his wife. In his shallowness, he talked even ofjewels, and dresses, and such things. 

"But can all this add one thing to life itself?" she asked. "Isnot life really independent of all these things? Do they notindeed cover up the real life, and rob one of freedom? It seems tome that it must be so. "

He could only answer, "But you know nothing about it. How can you?You have never been out of these woods. "

"No, " she returned, "that is true; I have never been out of thesewoods, and you can never, now, get away from the world into whichyou have gone. " She pointed to the distant hills. "It is very, very far over there to where you live. I might, indeed, find manythings in your world that would be delightful; but I fear that Ishould lose the things that after all are, to me, the really bigthings. I do not feel that the things that are greatest in yourlife could bring happiness without that which I find here. Andthere is something here that can bring happiness without what youcall the advantages of the world to which you belong. "

"What do you know of the world?" he said roughly. 

"Nothing, " she said. "But I know a little of life. And I havelearned some things that I fear you have not. Beside, I know nowthat I do not love you. I have been slow to find the truth, but Ihave found it. And this is the one thing that matters, that Ifound it in time. "

"Did you reach this conclusion at the mill yesterday?" he askedwith a sneer. 

"No. It came to me here on the rock last evening after you weregone. I heard a strange story; the story of a weak man, a strongman, and a God who was very kind. "

Ollie saw that further persuasion was of no avail, and as he lefther, she watched him out of sight for the last time--along thetrail that is nobody knows how old. When he was gone, in obedienceto an impulse she did not try to understand, she ran down themountain to the cabin in the Hollow--Young Matt's cabin. And whenthe shepherd came in from the hills with his flock he found thehouse in such order as only a woman's hand can bring. The tablewas set, and his supper cooking on the stove. 

"Dad, " she asked, "Do you think I know enough now to live in thecity?"

The old man's heart sank. It had come then. Bravely he concealedhis feelings, as he assured her in the strongest terms, that sheknew enough, and was good enough to live anywhere. 

"Then, " said Sammy; "I know enough, even if I am not good enough, to live in the hills. "

The brown eyes, deep under their shaggy brows, were aglow withgladness, and there was a note of triumph in the scholar's voiceas he said, "Then you do not regret learning the things I havetried to teach you? You are sure you have no sorrow for the thingsyou are losing. "

"Regret? Dad. Regret?" The young woman drew herself up and liftedher arms. "Oh, Dad, I see it all, now; all that you have beentrying in a thousand ways to teach me. You have led me into a newworld, the real world, the world that has always been and mustalways be, and in that world man is king; king because he is aman. And the treasure of his kingdom is the wealth of hismanhood. "

"And the woman, Sammy, the woman?"

"'And they twain shall be one flesh. '"

Then the master knew that his teaching had not been in vain. "Ican lead you no farther, my child, " he said with a smile. "Youhave passed the final test. "

She came close to him, "Then I want my diploma, " she said, for hehad told her about the schools. 

Reverently the old scholar kissed her brow. "This is the onlydiploma I am authorized to give--the love and homage of yourteacher. "

"And my degree?" She waited with that wide, questioning look inher eyes. 

"The most honorable in all the world--a sure enough lady. "

CHAPTER XXXI. 

CASTLE BUILDING. 

The corn was big enough to cultivate the first time, and YoungMatt with Old Kate was hard at work in the field west of thehouse. 

It was nearly three weeks since the incident at the mill, sincewhich time the young fellow had not met Sammy Lane to talk withher. He had seen her, though, at a distance nearly every day, forthe girl had taken up her studies again, and spent most of hertime out on the hills with the shepherd. That day he saw her asshe turned into the mill road at the lower corner of the field, onher way to the Forks. And he was still thinking of her three hourslater, as he sat on a stump in the shade of the forest's edge, while his horse was resting. 

Young Matt recalled the fight at the mill with a wild joy in hisheart. Under any circumstances it was no small thing to havedefeated the champion strong man and terror of the hills. It was aglorious thing to have done the deed for the girl he loved, andunder her eyes. Sammy might give herself to Ollie, now, and go faraway to the great world, but she could never forget the man whohad saved her from insult, when her lover was far too weak to saveeven himself. And Young Matt would stay in the hills alone, butalways he would have the knowledge and the triumph of this thingthat he had done. Yes, it would be easier now, but still--stillthe days would be years when there was no longer each morning thehope that somewhere before the day was gone he would see her. 

The sun fell hot and glaring on the hillside field, and in the airwas the smell of the freshly turned earth. High up in the blue ahawk circled and circled again. A puff of air came sighing throughthe forest, touched lightly the green blades in the open, slippedover the ridge, and was lost in the sky beyond. Old Kate, withhead down, was dreaming of cool springs in shady dells, and alittle shiny brown lizard with a bright blue tail crept from underthe bottom rail of the fence to see why the man was so still. 

The man turned his head quickly; the lizard dodged under the rail;and old Kate awoke with a start. Someone was coming along the roadbelow. Young Matt knew the step of that horse, as well as he knewthe sound of old Kate's bell, or the neigh of his own sorrel. 

The brown pony stopped at the lower corner of the field, and avoice called, "You'd better be at work. I don't believe you haveploughed three rows since I passed. "

The big fellow went eagerly down the hill to the fence. "I sureought to o' done better'n that, for it's been long enough sinceyou went by. I always notice, though, that it gets a heap fartherto the other side of the field and back about this time o' day. What's new over to the Forks?"

Sammy laughed, "Couldn't hear a thing but how the champion strongman was beaten at his own game. Uncle Ike says, 'Ba thundas! Youtell Young Matt that he'd better come over. A man what can rideWash Gibbs a bug huntin' is too blamed good a man t' stay at homeall th' time. We want him t' tell us how he done it. Ba thundas!He'll be gittin' a job with th' gov'ment next. What!'"

The man crossed his arms on the top rail of the worm fence, andlaughed. It was good to have Sammy deliver her message in justthat way. "I reckon Uncle Ike thinks I ought to go dancin' allover the hills now, with a chip on my shoulder, " he said. 

"I don't think you'll do that, " she returned. "Dad Howittwouldn't, would he? But I must hurry on now, or Daddy's supperwon't be ready when he comes in. I stopped to give you thesepapers for your father. " She handed him the package. "And--and Iwant to thank you, Matt, for what you did at the mill. All my lifeyou have been fighting for me, and--and I have never done anythingfor you. I wish I could do something--something that would showyou how--how I care. "

Her voice faltered. He was so big and strong, and there was such alook of hopeless love and pain on his rugged face--a face that wasas frank and open as a child's. Here was a man who had no need forthe shallow cunning of little fox-like men. This one would go openand bold on his way, and that which he could not take by hisstrength he would not have. Had she not seen him in battle? Hadshe not seen his eyes like polished steel points? Deep down in herheart, the woman felt a thrill of triumph that such a man shouldstand so before her. She must go quickly. 

Young Matt climbed slowly up the hill again to his seat on thestump. Here he watched until across the Hollow he saw the pony andhis rider come out of the timber and move swiftly along the ridge;watched until they faded into a tiny spot, rounded the mountainand disappeared from sight. Then, lifting his eyes, he looked awaybeyond the long blue line that marked the distant horizon. Someday he would watch Sammy ride away and she would go on, and on, and on, beyond that blue line, put of his life forever. 

Ollie had gone over there to live, and the shepherd had come fromthere. What was that world like, he wondered. Between the youngman of the mountains and that big world yonder there had alwaysbeen a closely shut door. He had seen the door open to Ollie, andnow Sammy stood on the threshold. Would it ever open for him? And, if it did, what? Then came a thought that made his blood leap. Might he not force it open? The shepherd had told him of otherswho had done so. 

Young Matt felt a strong man's contempt for the things Ollie hadgotten out of the world, but he stood in awe before Mr. Howitt. Hetold himself, now, that he would look for and find the thingsyonder that made Dad the man he was. He would carry to the taskhis splendid strength. Nothing should stop him. And Sammy, whenshe understood that he was going away to be like the shepherd, would wait awhile to give him his chance. Surely, she would waitwhen he told her that. But how should he begin?

Looking up again, his eye caught a slow, shifting patch of whiteon the bench above Lost Creek, where the little stream begins itsunderground course. The faint bark of a dog came to him throughthe thin still air, and the patch of white turned off into thetrail that leads to the ranch. "Dad!" exclaimed the young man intriumph. Dad should tell him how. He had taught Sammy. 

And so while the sunlight danced on the green field, and old Kateslept in the lengthening shadows of the timber, the lad gavehimself to his dreams and built his castles--as we all havebuilded. 

His dreaming was interrupted as the supper bell rang, and, withthe familiar sound, a multitude of other thoughts came crowdingin; the father and mother--they were growing old. Would it do toleave them alone with the graves on the hill yonder, and themystery of the Hollow? And there was the place to care for, andthe mill. Who but Young Matt could get work from the old engine?

It was like the strong man that the fight did not last long. YoungMatt's fights never lasted very long. By the time he had unhitchedold Kate from the cultivator, it was finished. The lad went downthe hill, his bright castles in ruin--even as we all have gone, ormust sometime go down the hill with our brightest castles in ruin. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

PREPARATION. 

That same night, Mr. Lane told his daughter that he would leavehome early the next morning to be gone two days. Jim was cleaninghis big forty-five when he made the announcement. 

Sammy paused with one hand on the cupboard door to ask, "With WashGibbs, Daddy?"

"No, I ain't goin' with Wash; but I'll likely meet up with himbefore I get back. " There was a hint of that metallic ring in theman's voice. 

The girl placed her armful of dishes carefully on the cupboardshelf; "You're--you're not going to forget your promise, are you, Daddy Jim?"

The mountaineer was carefully dropping a bit of oil into the lockof his big revolver. "No, girl, I ain't forgettin' nothin'. Thishere's the last ride I aim to take with Wash. I'm goin' to see himto, "--he paused and listened carefully to the click, click, click, as he tested the action of his weapon--"to keep my promise. "

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy, I'm so glad! I wanted this more than I everwanted anything in all my life before. You're such a good Daddy tome, I never could bear to see you with that bad, bad man. " She wasbehind his chair now, and, stooping, laid her fresh young cheekagainst the swarthy, furrowed face. 

The man sat like a grim, stone image, his eyes fixed on the gunresting on his knees. Not until she lifted her head to stand erectbehind his chair, with a hand on each shoulder, did he find words. "Girl, there's just one thing I've got to know for sure before Igo to-morrow. I reckon I'm right, but somehow a man can't nevertell about a woman in such things. Will you tell your Daddy, Sammy?"

"Tell what, Daddy Jim?" the girl asked, her hands stealing up tocaress her father's face. 

"What answer will you give to Young Matt when he asks you whatOllie did?"

"But why must you know that before you go to-morrow?"

"'Cause I want to be plumb sure I ain't makin' no mistake insidin' with the boy in this here trouble. "

"You couldn't make a mistake in doing that, Daddy, no matterwhether I--no matter what--but perhaps Matt will not ask me whatOllie did. "

Just a ray of humor touched the dark face. "I ain't makin' nomistake there. I know what the man will do. " He laid the gun uponthe table, and reaching up caught the girl's hand. "But I want toknow what you'll say when he asks you. Tell me, honey, so I'll beplumb certain I'm doin' right. "

Sammy lowered her head and whispered in his ear. 

"Are you sure this time, girl, dead sure?"

"Oh, I'm so sure that it seems as if I--I couldn't wait for him tocome to me. I never felt this way before, never. "

The mountaineer drew his daughter into his arms, and held herclose, as he said, "I ain't afraid to do it, now, girl. "

The young woman was so occupied with her own thoughts and theemotions aroused by her father's question, that she failed to notethe ominous suggestion that lay under his words. So she enteredgaily into his plans for her during his two days' absence. 

Jim would leave early in the morning, and Sammy was to stay withher friend, Mandy Ford, over on Jake Creek. Mr. Lane had arrangedwith Jed Holland to do the milking, so there would be no reasonfor the girl's return until the following evening, and she mustpromise that she would not come home before that time. Sammypromised laughingly. He need not worry; she and Mandy had not hada good visit alone for weeks. 

When his daughter had said good-night, Jim extinguished the light, and slipping the big gun inside his shirt went to sit outside thecabin door with his pipe. An hour passed. Sammy was fast asleep. And still the man sat smoking. A half hour more went by. Suddenlythe pipe was laid aside, and Jim's hand crept inside his shirt tofind the butt of the revolver. His quick ear had caught the soundof a swiftly moving horse coming down the mountain. 

The horse stopped at the gate and a low whistle came out of thedarkness. Leaving his seat, Sammy's father crossed the yard, and, a moment later, the horse with its rider was going on again downthe trail toward the valley below and the distant river. 

Jim waited at the gate until the sound of the horse's feet haddied away in the night. Then he returned to the cabin. But even ashe walked toward the house, a dark figure arose from a clump ofbushes within a few feet of the spot where Jim and the horsemanhad met. The figure slipped noiselessly away into the forest. 

The next morning Jim carefully groomed and saddled the brown ponyfor Sammy, then, leading his own horse ready for the road, he cameto the cabin door. "Going now, Daddy?" said the girl, coming forthe good-by kiss. 

"My girl, my girl, " whispered the man, as he took her in his arms. 

Sammy was frightened at the sight of his face, so strange andwhite. "Why Daddy, Daddy Jim, what is the matter?"

"Nothin', girl, nothin'. Only--only you're so like your mother, girl. She--she used to come just this way when I'd be leavin'. You're sure like her, and--and I'm glad. I'm glad you're like theold folks, too. Remember now, stay at Mandy's until to-morrowevenin'. Kiss me again, honey. Good-by. "

He mounted hurriedly and rode away at a brisk gallop. Pulling up amoment at the edge of the timber, he turned in the saddle to wavehis hand to the girl in the cabin door. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A RIDE IN THE NIGHT. 

Sammy arrived at the Ford homestead in time for dinner, and wasjoyfully received by her friend, Mandy. But early in theafternoon, their pleasure was marred by a messenger from LongCreek on the other side of the river. Mrs. Ford's sister was veryill, and Mrs. Ford and Mandy must go at once. 

"But Sammy can't stay here alone, " protested the good woman. "Mandy, you'll just have to stay. "

"Indeed, she shall not, " declared their guest. "I can ride up JakeCreek to the Forks and stay all night at Uncle Ike's. Brownie willmake it easily in time for supper. You just get your things on andstart right away. "

"You'd better hurry; too, " put in Mr. Ford. "There's a stormcomin' 'fore long, an' we got t' git across th' river 'fore hitstrikes. I'll be here with th' horses by the time you get yourbonnets on. " He hurried away to the barn for his team, while thewomen with Sammy's assistance made their simple preparation. 

As mother Ford climbed into the big wagon, she said to Sammy, "Hit's an awful lonely ol' trip fer you, child; an' you must startright away, so's t' be sure t' get there 'fore hit gets plumbdark, " while Mr. Ford added, as he started the team, "Your pony'sready saddled, an' if you'll hurry along, you can jest 'bout makehit. Don't get catched on Jakey in a big rain whatever you do. "

"Don't you worry about me, " returned the girl, "Brownie and Icould find the way in the dark. "

But when her friends were gone, Sammy, womanlike, busied herselfwith setting the disordered house aright before she started on herjourney. Watching the clouds, she told herself that there wasplenty of time for her to reach the Postoffice before the storm. It might not come that way at all, in fact. 

But the way up Jake Creek was wild and rough, and along the fainttrail, that twisted and wound like a slim serpent through thelonely wilderness, Brownie could make but slow time. As theyfollowed the little path, the walls of the narrow valley grewsteeper, more rocky, and barren; and the road became more and morerough and difficult, until at last the valley narrowed to a mererocky gorge, through which the creek ran, tumbling and foaming onits way. 

It was quite late when Sammy reached the point near the head ofthe stream where the trail leads out of the canon to theroad on the ridge above. It was still a good two miles to theForks. As she passed the spring, a few big drops of rain camepattering down, and, looking up, she saw, swaying and tossing inthe wind, the trees that fringed the ledges above, and she heardthe roar of the oncoming storm. 

A short way up the side of the mountain at the foot of a greatoverhanging cliff, there is a narrow bench, and less than ahundred feet from where the trail finds its way through a break inthe rocky wall, there is a deep cave like hollow. Sammy knew thespot well. It would afford excellent shelter. 

Pushing Brownie up the steep path, she had reached this bench, when the rushing storm cloud shut out the last of the light, andthe hills shook with a deafening crash of thunder. Instinctivelythe girl turned her pony's head from the trail, and, following thecliff, reached the sheltered nook, just as the storm burst in allits wild fury. 

The rain came down in torrents; the forest roared; and against theblack sky, in an almost continuous glare of lightning, the bigtrees tugged and strained in their wild wrestle with the wind;while peal after peal of thunder, rolling, crashing, reverberatingthrough the hills, added to the uproar. 

It was over in a little while. The wind passed; the thunderrumbled and growled in the distance; and the rain fell gently; butthe sky was still lighted by the red glare. Though it was so darkthat Sammy could see the trees and rocks only by the lightning'sflash, she was not frightened. She knew that Brownie would findthe way easily, and, as for the wetting, she would soon belaughing at that with her friends at the Postoffice. 

But, as the girl was on the point of moving, a voice said, "It's amighty good thing for us this old ledge happened to be here, ain'tit?" It was a man's voice, and another replied, "Right you are. And it's a good thing, too, that this blow came early in theevening. "

The speakers were between Sammy and the trail. They had evidentlysought shelter from the storm a few seconds after the girl hadgained her position. In the wild uproar she had not heard them, and, as they crouched under the cliff, they were hidden by aprojection of the rock, though now and then, when the lightningflashed, she could see a part of one of the horses. They might beneighbors and friends. They might be strangers, outlaws even. Theyoung woman was too wise to move until she was sure. 

The first voice spoke again. "Jack got off in good time, did he?"

"Got a good start, " replied the other. "He ought to be back withthe posse by ten at the latest. I told him we would meet them atnine where this trail comes into the big road. "

"And how far do you say it is to Jim Lane's place, by the road andthe Old Trail?" asked the first voice. 

At the man's words a terrible fear gripped Sammy's heart. "POSSE, "that could mean only one thing, --officers of the law. But herfather's name and her home--in an instant Jim's strangecompanionship with Wash Gibbs, their long mysterious ridestogether, her father's agitation that morning, when he said good-by, with a thousand other things rushed through her mind. Whatterrible thing was this that she had happened upon in the night?What horrible trap had they set for her Daddy, her Daddy Jim? Fortrap it was. It could be nothing else. At any risk she must hearmore. She had already lost the other man's reply. Calming herself, the girl listened eagerly for the next word. 

A match cracked. The light flared out, and a whiff of tobaccosmoke came curling around the rock, as one of the men said: "Areyou sure there is no mistake about their meeting at Lane's to-night?"

"Can't possibly be, " came the answer. "I was lying in the brush, right by the gate when the messenger got there, and I heard Jimgive the order myself. Take it all the way through, unless we makea slip to-night, it will be one of the prettiest cases I eversaw. "

"Yes, " said the other; "but you mustn't forget that it all hingeson whether or not that bank watchman was right in thinking herecognized Wash Gibbs. "

"The man couldn't be mistaken there, " returned the other. "Thereis not another man in the country the size of Gibbs, except thetwo Matthews's, and of course they're out of the question. Then, look! Jim Lane was ready to move out because of the drought, whenall at once, after being away several days the very time of therobbery, he changes his mind, and stays with plenty of money tocarry him through. And now, here we are to-night, with that sameold Bald Knobber gang, what's left of them, called together in thesame old way by Jim himself, to meet in his cabin. Take my wordfor it, we'll bag the whole outfit, with the rest of the swagbefore morning. It's as sure as fate. I'm glad that girl is awayfrom home, though. "

Sammy had heard enough. As the full meaning of the officers' wordscame to her, she felt herself swaying dizzily in the saddle andclung blindly to the pony's mane for support. Then something inher brain kept beating out the words, "Ride, Ride, Ride. "

Never for an instant did Sammy doubt her father. It was all somehorrible mistake. Her Daddy Jim would explain it all. Of course hewould, if--if she could only get home first. But the men werebetween her and the path that led to the road. 

Then all at once she remembered that Young Matt had told her howSake Creek hollow headed in the pinery below the ridge along whichthey went from Fall Creek to the Forks. It might be that thisbench at the foot of the ledge would lead to a way out. 

As quick as thought the girl slipped to the ground, and takingBrownie by the head began feeling her way along the narrow shelf. Dead leaves, tangled grass and ferns, all wet and sodden, made asoft carpet, so that the men behind the rock heard no sound. Nowand then the lightning revealed a glimpse of the way for a shortdistance, but mostly she trusted blindly to her pony's instinct. Several times she stumbled over jagged fragments of rock that hadfallen from above, cutting her hand and bruising her limbscruelly. Once, she was saved from falling over the cliff by thelittle horse's refusal to move. A moment she stood still in thedarkness; then the lightning showed a way past the dangerouspoint. 

After a time that seemed hours, she noticed that the ledge hadbecome no higher than her head, and that a little farther on thebench was lost in the general slope of the hill. She had reachedthe head of the hollow. A short climb up the side of the mountain, and, pushing through the wet bushes, she found herself in theroad. She had saved about three miles. It was still nearly five toher home. An instant later the girl was in her saddle, and thebrown pony was running his best. 

Sammy always looked back upon that ride in the darkness, and, indeed, upon all that happened that night, as to a dream ofhorror. As she rode, that other night came back to her, the nightshe had ridden to save the shepherd, and she lived over again thatevening in the beautiful woods with Young Matt. Oh, if he wereonly with her now! Unconsciously, at times, she called his namealoud again and again, keeping time to the beat of her pony'sfeet. At other times she urged Brownie on, and the little horse, feeling the spirit of his mistress, answered with the best he hadto give. With eager, outstretched head, and wide nostrils, he ranas though he understood the need. 

How dark it was! At every bound they seemed plunging into a blackwall. What if there should be a tree blown across the road? At thethought she grew faint. She saw herself lying senseless, and herfather carried away to prison. Then rallying, she held her seatcarefully. She must make it as easy as possible for Brownie, dearlittle Brownie. How she strained her eyes to see into the blacknight! How she prayed God to keep the little horse!

Only once in a lifetime, it seemed to her, did the pony's ironshoe strike sparks of fire from the rocks, or the lightning giveher a quick glimpse of the road ahead. They must go faster, faster, faster. Those men should not--they should not have herDaddy Jim; not unless Brownie stumbled. 

Where the road leaves the ridge for Fall Creek Valley, Sammy nevertightened the slack rein, and the pony never shortened his strideby so much as an inch. It was well that he was hill bred, for nonebut a mountain horse could have kept his feet at such a terrificpace down the rocky slope. Down the valley road, past the mill, and over the creek they flew; then up the first rise of the ridgebeyond. The pony was breathing hard now, and the girl encouragedhim with loving words and endearing terms; pleading with him to goon, go on, go on. 

At last they reached the top of the ridge. The way was easier now. Here and there, where the clouds were breaking, the stars lookedthrough; but over the distant hills, the lightning still played, showing which way the storm had gone; and against the sky, nowshowing but dimly under ragged clouds and peeping stars, nowoutlined clearly against the flashing light, she saw the roundtreeless form of Old Dewey above her home. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

JIM LANE KEEPS HIS PROMISE. 

Sammy, on her tired pony, approached the Lookout on the shoulderof Dewey. As they drew near a figure rose quickly from its placeon the rock, and, running swiftly along the ledge, concealeditself in the clump of cedars above the trail on the southern sideof the mountain. A moment later the almost exhausted horse and hisrider passed, and the figure, slipping from the ledge, followedthem unobserved down the mountain. 

Nearing the house Sammy began to wonder what she should do next. With all her heart the girl believed in her father's innocence. She did not know why those men were at her home. But she did knowthat the money that helped her father over the drought had comethrough the shepherd; the Matthews family, too, had been helpedthe same way. Surely Dad Howitt was incapable of any crime. It wasall some terrible mistake; some trap from which her father must besaved. But Sammy knew, too, that Wash Gibbs and his companionswere bad men, who might easily be guilty of the robbery. To helpthem escape the officers was quite a different matter. 

Leaving the trembling Brownie in a clump of bushes a little wayfrom the clearing, the girl went forward on foot, and behind herstill crept the figure that had followed from the Lookout. Oncethe figure paused as if undecided which course to pursue. Closeby, two saddle horses that had carried their riders on many a longride were tied to a tree a few feet from the corner of the barn. Sammy would have recognized these, but in her excitement she hadfailed to notice them. 

At first the girl saw no light. Could it be that the officers werewrong? that there was no one at the cabin after all? Then a littlepenciled gleam set her heart throbbing wildly. Blankets werefastened over the windows. 

Sammy remembered that a few days before a bit of chinking hadfallen from between the logs in the rear of the cabin. She hadspoken to her father about it, but it was not likely that he hadremembered to fix it. Cautiously she passed around the house, and, creeping up to the building, through the crevice between the logs, gained a clear view of the interior. 

Seated or lounging on chairs and on the floor about the room wereeleven men; one, the man who had been with Wash Gibbs at the mill, carried his arm in a sling. The girl outside could hear distinctlyevery word that was spoken. Wash, himself, was speaking. "Well, boys, we're all here. Let's get through and get away. Bring outthe stuff, Jim. "

Mr. Lane went to one corner of the cabin, and, pulling up a looseboard of the flooring, drew out two heavy sacks. As he placed thebags on the table, the men all rose to their feet. "There it isjust as you give it to me, " said Jim. "But before you go anyfarther, men, I've got something to say. "

The company stirred uneasily, and all eyes turned from Jim totheir big leader, while Sammy noticed for the first time that thetable had been moved from its usual place, and that her father hadtaken such a position that the corner of the cabin was directlybehind him, with the table in front. For her life the girl couldnot have moved. 

Slowly Jim swept the group of scowling, wondering faces on theother side of the table. Then, in his slow drawling speech, hesaid, "Most of you here was in the old organization. Tom and Edand me knows how it started away back, for we was in it at thebeginnin'. Wash, here, was the last man to join, 'fore we wasbusted, and he was the youngest member, too; bein' only a boy, butbig for his age. You remember how he was taken in on account ofhis daddy's bein' killed by the gov'ment. 

"Didn't ary one of us fellers that started it ever think the BaldKnobber's would get to be what they did. We began it as a kind ofprotection, times bein' wild then. But first we knowed some was ausin' the order to protect themselves in all kinds of devilment, and things went on that way, 'cause nobody didn't dare sayanything; for if they did they was tried as traitors, andsentenced to the death. 

"I ain't a sayin', boys, that I was any better than lots ofothers, for I reckon I done my share. But when my girl's motherdied, away down there in Texas, I promised her that I'd be a gooddaddy to my little one, and since then I done the best I know. 

"After things quieted down, and I come back with my girl, Washhere got the old crowd, what was left of us, together, and wantedto reorganize again. I told you then that I'd go in with you andstand by the old oath, so long as it was necessary to protectourselves from them that might be tryin' to get even for what hadbeen done, but that I wouldn't go no farther. I don't mind tellin'you now, boys--though I reckon you know it--that I went in becauseI knowed what you'd do for me if I didn't. And I didn't dare riskleaving my girl all alone then. I've 'tended every meetin', anddone everything I agreed, and there ain't a man here can say Iain't. "

Some of the men nodded, and "That's so, " and "You're right, Jim"came from two or three. 

Jim went on, "You know that I voted against it, and tried to stopyou when you hung old man Lewis. I thought then, and I think yet, that it was spite work and not protection; and you know how I wasagainst goin' for the shepherd, and you went when I didn't knowit. As for this here bank business, I didn't even know of it, 'till you give me this stuff here for me to keep for you. I had totake it 'count of the oath. 

"It's got to be just like it was before. We come together first tokeep each other posted, and save ourselves if there was any callto, and little by little you've been led into first one thing andthen another, 'till you're every bit and grain as bad as the oldcrowd was, only there ain't so many of you, and you've kept me init 'cause I didn't dare leave my girl. " Jim paused. There was anominous silence in the room. 

With his eyes covering every scowling face in the company, Jimspoke again, "But things has changed for me right smart, since ourlast meetin', when you give me this stuff to hold. You boys allknow how I've kept Wash Gibbs away from my girl, and there ain'tone of you that don't know I'm right, knowin' him as we do. More'ntwo weeks ago, when I wasn't around, he insulted her, and wouldhave done worse, if Young Matt hadn't been there to take care ofher. I called you here to-night, because I knowed that after whathappened at the mill, Wash and Bill would be havin' a meetin' assoon as they could get around, and votin' you all to go againstYoung Matt and his people. But I'm goin' to have my say first. "

Wash Gibbs reached stealthily for his weapon, but hesitated whenhe saw that the dark faced man noted his movement. 

Jim continued, in his drawling tones, but his voice rang cold andclear, "I ain't never been mealy mouthed with no man, and I'm tooold to begin now. I know the law of the order, and I reckon Gibbsthere will try to have you keep it. You boys have got to saywhether you'll stand by him or me. It looks like you was goin' togo with him alright. But whether you do or don't, I don't aim tostay with nobody that stands by such as Wash Gibbs. I'm goin' toside with decent folks, who have stood by my girl, and you can doyour damnedest. You take this stuff away from here. And as foryou, Wash Gibbs, if you ever set foot on my place again, if youever cross my path after to-night I'll kill you like the measlyyeller hound you are. " As he finished, Jim stood with his back tothe corner of the room, his hand inside of the hickory shirt wherethe button was missing. 

While her father was speaking, Sammy forgot everything, in thewild joy and pride of her heart. He was her Daddy, her Daddy Jim;that man standing so calmly there before the wild company of men. Whatever the past had been, he had wiped it clean to-night. Hebelonged to her now, all to her. She looked toward Wash Gibbs. Then she remembered the posse, the officers of the law. They couldnot know what she knew. If her father was taken with the othersand with the stolen gold, he would be compelled to suffer with therest. Yet if she called out to save him, she would save Wash Gibbsand his companions also, and they would menace her father's lifeday and night. 

The girl drew back from the window. She must think. What shouldshe do? Even as she hesitated, a score of dark forms creptswiftly, silently toward the cabin. At the same moment a figureleft the side of the house near the girl, and, crouching low, ranto the two horses that were tied near the barn. 

Sammy was so dazed that for a moment she did not grasp the meaningof those swiftly moving forms. Then a figure riding one horse andleading another dashed away from the barn and across a corner ofthe clearing. The silence was broken by a pistol shot in thecabin. Like an echo came a shot from the yard, and a voice rangout sharply, "HALT!" The figure reeled in the saddle, as if tofall, but recovered, and disappeared in the timber. The sameinstant there was a rush toward the house--a loud call tosurrender--a woman's scream--and then, came to Sammy, blessed, kindly darkness. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

"I WILL LIFT UP MINE EYES UNTO THE HILLS. "

When Sammy opened her eyes, she was on the bed in her own room. Inthe other room someone was moving about, and the light from a lampshone through the door. 

At first the girl thought that she had awakened from a night'ssleep, and that it was her father whom she heard, building thefire before calling her, as his custom was. But no, he was notbuilding the fire, he was scrubbing the floor. How strange. Shewould call presently and ask what he meant by getting up beforedaylight, and whether he thought to keep her from scolding him bytrying to clean up what he had spilled before she should see it. 

She had had a bad dream of some kind, but she could not rememberjust what it was. It was very strange that something seemed tokeep her from calling to her father just then. She would callpresently. She must remember first what that dream was. She feltthat she ought to get up and dress, but she did not somehow wishto move. She was strangely tired. It was her dream, she supposed. Then she discovered that she was already fully dressed, and thather clothing was wet, muddy and torn. And with this discoveryevery incident of the night came vividly before her. She hid herface. 

After awhile, she tried to rise to her feet, but fell back weakand dizzy, Who was that in the other room? Could it be her father?Would he never finish scrubbing the floor in that corner? When shecould bear the suspense no longer, she called in a voice thatsounded weak and far away; "Daddy, Oh, Daddy. "

Instantly the noise ceased; a step crossed the room; and theshepherd appeared in the doorway. Placing the lamp on a littlestand, the old man drew a chair to the side of the bed, and laidhis hand upon her forehead, smoothing back the tangled hair. Hespoke no word, but in his touch there was a world of tenderness. 

Sammy looked at him in wonder. Where had he come from? Why was hethere at all? And in her room? She glanced uneasily about theapartment, and then back to the kind face of her old teacher. "I--don't think I understand. "

"Never mind, now, dear. Don't try to understand just yet. AuntMollie will be here in a few minutes. Matt has gone for her. Whenshe comes and you are a little stronger, we shall talk. "

The girl caught his hand; "You--you won't leave me, Dad? You won'tleave me alone? I'm afraid, Dad. I never was before. "

"No, no, my child; I shall not leave you. But you must havesomething warm to drink. I have been preparing it. " He steppedinto the other room, soon returning with a steaming cup. When shehad finished the strengthening draught, Young Matt, with hismother and father, arrived. 

While helping the girl into clean, dry clothing, Aunt Mollie spokesoothingly to her, as one would reassure a frightened child. ButSammy could hear only the three men, moving about in the otherroom, doing something and talking always in low tones. She did notspeak, but in her brown eyes, that never left the older woman'sface, was that wide, questioning look. 

When Mrs. Matthews had done what she could for the comfort of thegirl, and the men had finished whatever they were doing in theother room, Sammy said, "Aunt Mollie, I want to know. I must know. Won't you tell Dad to come, please?" Instinctively she had turnedto her teacher. 

When the shepherd came, she met him with the old familiar demand, "Tell me everything, Dad; everything. I want to be told all aboutit. "

"You will be brave and strong, Sammy?"

Instantly, as ever, her quick mind grasped the meaning that layback of the words and her face grew deathly white. Then sheanswered, "I will be brave and strong. But first, please open thewindow, Dad. " He threw up the sash. It was morning, and the mistswere over the valley, but the mountain tops were bathed in light. 

Sammy arose, and walked steadily to a chair by the open window. Looking out upon the beautiful scene, her face caught the lightthat was on the higher ground, and she said softly, "'I will liftup mine eyes unto the hills. ' That's our word, now, isn't it, Dad?I can share it with you, now. " Then the shepherd told her. YoungMatt had been at the ranch with Mr. Howitt since early in theevening, and was taking his leave for the night when they heardhorses stopping at the corral, and a voice calling. Upon theiranswering, the voice said, "There is trouble at Jim Lane's. Takethese horses and go quick. " And then as they had run from thehouse, the messenger had retreated into the shadow of the bluff, saying, "Never mind me. If you love Sammy, hurry. " At this theymounted and had ridden as fast as possible. 

The old man did not tell the girl that he had found his saddle wetand slippery, and that when he reached the light his hands werered. 

They had found the officers ready to leave with their prisoners. All but two of the men were captured with their booty--Wash Gibbsalone escaping badly hurt, they thought, after killing one of theposse. 

When they had asked for Sammy, one of the officers told them thatshe was at Ford's over on Jake Creek, but another declared that hehad heard a woman scream as they were making the attack. YoungMatt had found her unconscious on the ground behind the cabin. 

When the shepherd finished his brief account, the girl said, "Tellme all, Dad. I want to know all. Did--did they take Daddy away?"

The old man's eyes were dim as he answered gently, "No, dear girl;THEY did not take him away. " Then Sammy knew why Dad had scrubbedthe cabin floor, and what the three men who talked so low had beendoing in the other room. 

She made no outcry, only a moan, as she looked away across thesilent hills and the valley, where the mists were slowly lifting;lifting slowly like the pale ghost of the starlight that was. "Oh, Daddy, Daddy Jim. You SURE kept your promise. You sure did. I'mglad--glad they didn't get you, Daddy. They never WOULD havebelieved what I know; never--never. "

But there were no tears, and the shepherd, seeing after a littletouched her hand. "Everything is ready, dear; would you like to gonow?"

"Not just yet, Dad. I must tell you first how I came to be athome, and why I am glad--oh, so glad, that I was here. But callthe others, please; I want them all to know. "

When the three, who with her teacher loved her best, had come, Sammy told her story; repeating almost word for word what she hadheard her father say to the men. When she had finished, she turnedher face again to the open window. The mists were gone. Thelandscape lay bright in the sun. But Sammy could not see. 

"It is much better, so much better, as it is, my child, " said theold scholar. "You see, dear, they would have taken him away. Nothing could have saved him. It would have been a living deathbehind prison walls away from you. "

"Yes, I know, Dad. I understand. It is better as it is. Now, wewill go to him, please. " They led her into the other room. Thefloor in the corner of the cabin where the shepherd had washed itwas still damp. 

Through it all, Sammy kept her old friend constantly by her side. "It is easier, Dad, when you are near. " Nor would she leave thehouse until it was all over, save to walk a little way with herteacher. 

Young Matt and his father made the coffin of rough boards, sawedat the mill; and from the country round about, the woods-peoplecame to the funeral, or, as they called it in their simple way, the "burying. " The grave was made in a little glen not far fromthe house. When some of the neighbors would have brought aminister from the settlement, Sammy said, "No. " Dad would say allthat was necessary. So the shepherd, standing under the big trees, talked a little in his simple kindly way, and spoke the words, "Earth to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes. " "As good, "declared some, "as any preacher on earth could o' done hit;"though one or two held "it warn't jest right to put a body in th'ground 'thout a regular parson t' preach th' sermon. "

When the last word was spoken, and the neighbors had gone awayover the mountains and through the woods to their homes, AuntMollie with her motherly arm about the girl, said, "Come, honey;you're our girl now. As long as you stay in the hills, you shallstay with us. " And Old Matt added, "You're the only daughter we'vegot, Sammy; and we want you a heap worse than you know. "

When Sammy told them that she was not going to the city to live, they cried in answer, "Then you shall be our girl always, " andthey took her home with them to the big log house on the ridge. 

For a week after that night at the Lane cabin, Pete was not seen. When at last, he did appear, it was to the shepherd on the hill, and his voice and manner alarmed Dad. But the boy's only reply toMr. Howitt's question was, "Pete knows; Pete knows. " Then in hisown way he told something that sent the shepherd to Young Matt, and the two followed the lad to a spot where the buzzards wereflying low through the trees. 

By the shreds of clothing and the weapons lying near, they knewthat the horrid thing, from which as they approached, carrionbirds flapped their wings in heavy flight, was all that remainedof the giant, Wash Gibbs. 

Many facts were brought out at the trial of the outlaws and it wasmade clear that Jim Lane had met his death at the hands of WashGibbs, just at the beginning of the attack, and that Gibbs himselfhad been wounded a moment later by one of the attacking posse. 

Thus does justice live even in the hills. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

ANOTHER STRANGER. 

Mr. Matthews and his son first heard of the stranger through LouGordon, the mail carrier, who stopped at the mill on his way toFlag with the week's mail. 

The native rode close to the shed, and waited until the saw hadshrieked its way through the log of oak, and the carriage hadrattled back to first position. Then with the dignity belonging toone of his station, as a government officer, he relieved hisovercharged mouth of an astonishing quantity of tobacco, anddrawled, "Howdy, men. "

"Howdy, Lou, " returned Young Matt from the engine, and Old Mattfrom the saw. 

"Reckon them boards is fer a floor in Joe Gardner's new cabin?"

"Yes, " returned Old Matt; "we ought to got 'em out last week, butseems like we couldn't get at it with the buryin' an' all. "

"'Pears like you all 'r gettin' mighty proud in thisneighborhood. PUNCHEON floors USED t' be good enough fer anybodyt' dance on. Be a buildin' board houses next, I reckon. "

Mr. Matthews laughed, "Bring your logs over to Fall Creek when youget ready to build, Lou; we'll sure do you right. "

The representative of the government recharged his mouth. "'Lowedas how I would, " he returned. "I ain't one o' this here kind thatdon't want t' see no changes. Gov'ment's all th' time makin''provements. Inspector 'lowed last trip we'd sure be a gettin'mail twice a week at Flag next summer. This here's sure bound t'be a big country some day. 

"Talkin' 'bout new fangled things, though, men! I seed theblamdest sight las' night that ever was in these woods, I reckon. I gonies! Hit was a plumb wonder!" Kicking one foot from thewooden stirrup and hitching sideways in the saddle, he preparedfor an effort. 

"Little feller, he is. Ain't as tall as Preachin' Bill even, an'fat! I gonies! he's fat as a possum 'n 'simmon time. HE don'twalk, can't; just naturally waddles on them little duck legs o'hisn. An' he's got th' prettiest little ol' face; all red an'white, an' as round's a walnut; an' a fringe of th' whitest hairyou ever seed. An' clothes! Say, men. " In the pause the speakerdeliberately relieved his overcharged mouth. The two in the millwaited breathlessly. "Long tailed coat, stove pipe hat, an' canewith a gold head as big as a 'tater. 'Fo' God, men, there ain'tbeen ary such a sight within a thousand miles of these here hillsever. An' doin's! My Lord, a'mighty!"

The thin form of the native doubled up as he broke into a laughthat echoed and re-echoed through the little valley, ending in awild, "Whoop-e-e-e. Say! When he got out of th' hack last night atth' Forks, Uncle Ike he catched sight o' him an' says, says he t'me, 'Ba thundas! Lou, looky there! Talk 'bout prosperity. I'mdummed if there ain't ol' Santa Claus a comin' t' th' Forks in th'summa time. 'Ba thundas! What!'

"An' when Santa come in, he--he wanted--Now what d' you reckon hewanted? A BATH! Yes, sir-e-e. Dad burn me, 'f he didn't. A bath!Whoop-e-e, you ought t' seen Uncle Ike! He told him, 'Ba thundas!'he could give him a bite to eat an' a place to sleep, but he'd bepisined bit by rattlers, clawed by wild cats, chawed by the hogs, et by buzzards, an' everlastin'ly damned 'fore he'd tote water'nough fer anybody t' swim in. 'Ba thundas! What!'

"What's he doin' here?" asked Mr. Matthews, when the mountaineerhad recovered from another explosion. 

Lou shook his head, as he straightened himself in the saddle. "Blame me 'f I kin tell. Jest wouldn't tell 't all last night. Wanted a BATH. Called Uncle Ike some new fangled kind of a savage, an' th' old man 'lowed he'd show him. He'd sure have himpersecuted fer 'sultin' a gov'ment servant when th' inspector comearound. Yes he did. Oh, thar was doin's at the Forks last night!"

Again the mail carrier's laugh echoed through the woods. 

"Well, I must mosey along. He warn't up this mornin' when I left. Reckon he'll show up 'round here sometime 'fore sun down. Him an'Uncle Ike won't hitch worth a cent an' he'll be huntin' prouderfolks. I done told th' old man he'd better herd him fer a spell, fer if he was t' get loose in these woods, there wouldn't be narydeer er bear left come Thanksgivin' time. Uncle Ike said 'Bathundas!' he'd let me know that he warn't runnin' no dummedasylum. He 'lowed he was postmaster, 'Ba thundas!' an' had all hecould do t' keep th' dad burned gov'ment straight. "

Late that afternoon Lou's prophecy was fulfilled. A wagon goingdown the Creek with a load of supplies for the distillery stoppedat the mill shed and the stranger began climbing carefully downover the wheels. Budd Wilson on his high seat winked and nodded atMr. Matthews and his son, as though it was the greatest joke ofthe season. 

"Hold those horses, driver. Hold them tight; tight, sir. "

"Got 'em, Mister, " responded Budd promptly. The mules stood withdrooping heads and sleepy eyes, the lines under their feet. 

The gentleman was feeling carefully about the hub of the wheelwith a foot that, stretch as he might, could not touch it by agood six inches. 

"That's right, man, right, " he puffed. "Hold them tight; tight. Start now, break a leg sure, sure. Then what would Sarah and thegirls do? Oh, blast it all, where is that step? Can't stay hereall day. Bring a ladder. Bring a high chair, a table, a box, a bigbox, a--heh--heh--Look out, I say, look out! Blast it all, what doyou mean?" This last was called forth by Young Matt lifting thelittle man bodily to the ground, as an ordinary man would lift achild. 

To look up at the young giant, the stranger tipped back his head, until his shining silk hat was in danger of falling in the dirt. "Bless my soul, what a specimen! What a specimen!" Then with atwinkle in his eye, "Which one of the boys are you, anyway?"

At this the three mountaineers roared with laughter. With hisdumpy figure in the long coat, and his round face under the tallhat, the little man was irresistible. He fairly shone with goodhumor; his cheeks were polished like big red apples; his whitehair had the luster of silver; his blue eyes twinkled; his silkhat glistened; his gold watch guard sparkled; his patent leathersglistened; and the cane with the big gold head gleamed in thesunlight. 

"That's him, Doc, " called the driver. "That's the feller whatwallered Wash Gibbs like I was a tellin' ye. Strongest man in thehills he is. Dad burn me if I believe he knows how strong he is. "

"Doc--Doc--Dad burned--Doc, " muttered the stranger. "What wouldSarah and the girls say!" He waddled to the wagon, and reached upone fat hand with a half dollar to Budd, "Here, driver, here. Getcigars with that; cigars, mind you, or candy. I stay here. Mindyou don't get anything to drink; nothing to drink, I say. "

Budd gathered up the reins and woke the sleepy mules with avigorous jerk. "Nary a drink, Doc; nary a drink. Thank you kindlyall the same. Got t' mosey 'long t' th' still now; ought t' o'been there hour ago. 'f I can do anything fer you, jest le' meknow. I live over on Sow Coon Gap, when I'm 't home. Come over an'visit with me. Young Matt there'll guide you. "

As he watched the wagon down the valley, the stranger mused. "Doc--Doc--huh. Quite sure that fellow will buy a drink; quite sure. "

When the wagon had disappeared, he turned to Mr. Matthews and hisson; "According to that fellow, I am not far from a sheep ranchkept by a Mr. Howitt. That's it, Mr. Daniel Howitt; fine lookingman, fine; brown eyes; great voice; gentleman, sir, gentleman, ifhe is keeping sheep in this wilderness. Blast it all, just likehim, just like him; always keeping somebody's sheep; born to be ashepherd; born to be. Know him?"

At mention of Mr. Howitt's name, Young Matt had looked at hisfather quickly. When the stranger paused, he answered, "Yes, sir. We know Dad Howitt. Is he a friend of yourn?"

"Dad--Dad Howitt. Doc and Dad. Well, what would Sarah and thegirls say? Friend of mine? Young man Daniel and David, I am David;Daniel and David lay on the same blanket when they were babies;played in the same alley; school together same classes; collegedtogether; next door neighbors. Know him! Blast it all, where ISthis sheep place?"

Again the two woodsmen exchanged glances. The elder Matthewsspoke, "It ain't so far from here, sir. The ranch belongs to meand my son. But Mr. Howitt will be out on the hills somewhere withthe sheep now. You'd better go home with us and have supper, andthe boy will take you down this evenin'. "

"Well, now, that's kind, sir; very kind, indeed. Man at thePostoffice is a savage, sir; blasted, old incorrigible savage. Myname is Coughlan; Dr. David Coughlan, of Chicago; practicingphysician for forty years; don't do anything now; not much, thatis. Sarah and the girls won't let me. Your name, sir?"

"Grant Matthews. My boy there has the same. We're mighty glad tomeet any friend of Dad's, I can tell you. He's sure been a God'sblessin' to this neighborhood. "

Soon they started homeward, Young Matt going ahead to do thechores, and to tell his mother of their coming guest, while Mr. Matthews followed more slowly with the doctor. Shortening hisstride to conform to the slow pace of the smaller man, themountaineer told his guest about the shepherd; how he had come tothem; of his life; and how he had won the hearts of the people. When he told how Mr. Howitt had educated Sammy, buying her bookshimself from his meager wages, the doctor interrupted in his quickway, "Just like him! just like him. Always giving away everythinghe earned. Made others give, too. Blast it all, he's cost methousands of dollars, thousands of dollars, treating patients ofhis that never paid a cent; not a cent, sir. Proud, though; proudas Lucifer. Fine old, family; finest in the country, sir. Right tobe proud, right to be. "

Old Matt scowled as he returned coldly, "He sure don't seem thatway to us, Mister. He's as common as an old shoe. " And then themountaineer told how his son loved the shepherd, and tried toexplain what the old scholar's friendship had meant to them. 

The stranger ejaculated, "Same old thing; same old trick. Did methat way; does everybody that way. Same old Daniel. Proud, though;can't help it; can't help it. "

The big man answered with still more warmth, "You ought to hearhow he talks to us folks when we have meetin's at the Cove schoolhouse. He's as good as any preacher you ever heard; except that hedon't put on as much, maybe. Why, sir, when we buried Jim Laneweek before last, everybody 'lowed he done as well as a regularparson. "

At this Dr. Coughlan stopped short and leaned against a convenienttree for support, looking up at his big host, with merriment hecould not hide; "Parson, parson! Daniel Howitt talk as good as aparson! Blast it all! Dan is one of the biggest D. D. 's in theUnited States; as good as a parson, I should think so! Why, man, he's my pastor; my pastor. Biggest church, greatest crowds in thecity. Well what would Sarah and the girls say!" He stood theregasping and shaking with laughter, until Old Matt, finding theridiculous side of the situation, joined in with a guffaw thatfairly drowned the sound of the little man's merriment. 

When they finally moved on again, the Doctor said, "And you neverknew? The papers were always full, always. His real name is--"

"Stop!" Old Matt spoke so suddenly and in such a tone that theother jumped in alarm. "I ain't a meanin' no harm, Doc; but yououghtn't to tell his name, and--anyway I don't want to know. Preacher or no preacher, he's a man, he is, and that's what countsin this here country. If Dad had wanted us to know about himself, I reckon he'd a told us, and I don't want to hear it until he'sready. "

The Doctor stopped short again, "Right, sir; right. Daniel has hisreasons, of course. I forgot. That savage at the Postoffice triedto interrogate me; tried to draw me. I was close; on guard yousee. Fellow in the wagon tried; still on guard. You caught me. Blast it all, I like you! Fine specimen that boy of yours; fine!"

When they reached the top of the ridge the stranger looked overthe hills with exclamations of delight, "Grand, sir; grand! WishSarah and the girls could see. Don't wonder Daniel staid. ThatHollow down there you say; way down there? Mutton--Mutton Hollow?Daniel lives there? Blast it all; come on, man; come on. "

As they drew near the house, Pete came slowly up the Old Trail andmet them at the gate. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

OLD FRIENDS. 

After supper Young Matt guided the stranger down the trail to thesheep ranch in Mutton Hollow. 

When they reached the edge of the clearing, the mountaineerstopped. "Yonder's the cabin, sir, an' Dad is there, as you cansee by the smoke. I don't reckon you'll need me any more now, an'I'll go back. We'll be mighty glad to see you on the ridge anytime, sir. Any friend of Dad's is mighty welcome in thisneighborhood. "

"Thank you; thank you; very thoughtful; very thoughtful, indeed;fine spirit, fine. I shall see you again when Daniel and I havehad it out. Blast it all; what is he doing here? Good night, youngman; good-night. " He started forward impetuously. Matt turned backtoward home. 

The dog barked as Dr. Coughlan approached the cabin, and theshepherd came to the open door. He had been washing the supperdishes. His coat was off, his shirt open at the throat, and hissleeves rolled above his elbows. "Here, Brave. " The deep voicerolled across the little clearing, and the dog ran to stand by hismaster's side. Then, as Mr. Howitt took in the unmistakable figureof the little physician, he put out a hand to steady himself. 

"Oh, it's me, Daniel; it's me. Caught you didn't I? Blast it all;might have known I would. Bound to; bound to, Daniel; been at itever since I lost you. Visiting in Kansas City last week with myold friends, the Stewarts; young fellow there, Ollie, put meright. First part of your name, description, voice and all that;knew it was you; knew it. Didn't tell them, though; blastedreporters go wild. Didn't tell a soul, not a soul. Sarah and thegirls think I am in Kansas City or Denver. Didn't tell old manMatthews, either; came near, though, very near. Blast it all; whatdoes it mean? what does it all mean?"

In his excitement the little man spoke rapidly as he hurriedtoward the shepherd. When he reached the cabin, the two friends, so different, yet so alike, clasped hands. 

As soon as the old scholar could speak, he said, "David, David! Tothink that this is really you. You of all men; you, whom I mostneeded. "

"Huh!" grunted the other. "Look like you never needed me less. Look fit for anything, anything; ten years younger; every bit often years. Blast it all; what have you done to yourself? What haveyou done?" He looked curiously at the tanned face and rude dressof his friend. "Bless my soul, what a change! What a change! ToldMatthews you were an aristocrat. He wouldn't believe it. Don'twonder. Doubt it myself, now. "

The other smiled at the Doctor's amazement. "I suppose I havechanged some, David. The hills have done it. Look at them!" Hepointed to the encircling mountains. "See how calm and strong theyare; how they lift their heads above the gloom. They are myfriends and companions, David. And they have given me of theircalmness and strength a little. But come in, come in; you must bevery tired. How did you come?"

The doctor followed him into the cabin. "Railroad, hack, wagon, walked. Postoffice last night. Man there is a savage, blastedincorrigible savage. Mill this afternoon. Home with your friendson the ridge. Old man is a gentleman, a gentleman, sir, if Godever made one. His boy's like him. The mother, she's a realmother; made to be a mother; couldn't help it. And that youngwoman, with the boy's name, bless my soul, I never saw such acreature before, Daniel, never! If I had I--I--Blast it all; Iwouldn't be bossed by Sarah and the girls, I wouldn't. See in thatyoung man and woman what God meant men and women to be. Told themthey ought to marry; that they owed it to the race. You know myideas, Daniel. Think they will?"

The shepherd laughed, a laugh that was good to hear. 

"What's the matter now, Daniel? What is the matter? Have I saidanything wrong again? Blast it all; you know how I always do thewrong thing. Have I?"

"No, indeed, David; you are exactly right, " returned Mr. Howitt. "But tell me, did you see no one else at the house? There isanother member of the family. "

The doctor nodded. "I saw him; Pete, you mean. Looked him over. Mr. Matthews asked me to. Sad case, very sad. Hopeless, absolutelyhopeless, Daniel. "

"Pete has not seemed as well as usual lately. I fear so much nightroaming is not good for the boy, " returned the other slowly. "Buttell me, how are Sarah and the girls? Still looking after Dr. Davie, I suppose. "

"Just the same; haven't changed a bit; not a bit. Jennie looksafter my socks and handkerchiefs; Mary looks after my shirts andlinen; Anna looks after my ties and shoes; Sue looks after my hatsand coats; and Kate looks after the things I eat; and Sarah, Sarahlooks after everything and everybody, same as always. Blast itall! If they'd give me a show, I'd be as good as ever; good asever, Daniel. What can a man do; what can a man do, with an onlysister and her five old maid daughters looking after him frommorning until night, from morning until night, Daniel? Tell them Iam a full grown man; don't do no good; no good at all. Blast itall; poor old things, just got to mother something; got to, Daniel. "

While he was speaking, his eyes were dancing from one object toanother in the shepherd's rude dwelling, turning for frequentquick glances to Dad himself. "You live here, you? You ought not, Daniel, you ought not. What would Sarah and the girls say? Blastit all; what do you mean by it? I ordered you away on a vacation. You disappear. Think you dead; row in the papers, mystery; I hatemystery. Blast it all; what does it mean, what does it all mean?Not fair to me, Daniel; not fair. "

By this time the little man had worked himself up to anastonishing pitch of excitement; his eyes snapped; his words camelike pistol shots; his ejaculations were genuine explosions. Hetapped with his feet; rapped with his cane; shook his finger; andfidgeted in his chair. "We want you back, Daniel. I want you. Church will want you when they know; looking for a preacher rightnow. I come after you, Daniel. Blast it all, I'll tell Sarah andthe girls, and they'll come after you, too. Chicago will go wildwhen they know that Daniel Howitt Cha--"

"Stop!" The doctor bounced out of his chair. The shepherd wastrembling, and his voice shook with emotion. "Forgive me, David. But that name must never be spoken again, never. My son is dead, and that name died with him. It must be forgotten. "

The physician noted his friend's agitation in amazement. "There, there, Daniel. I didn't mean to. Thought it didn't matter when wewere alone. I--I--Blast it all! Tell me Daniel, what do you meanby this strange business, this very strange business?"

A look of mingled affection, regret and pain, came into theshepherd's face, as he replied, "Let me tell you the story, David, and you will understand. "

When he had finished, Mr. Howitt asked gently, "Have I not doneright, David? The boy is gone. It was hard, going as he did. But Iam glad, now, for Old Matt would have killed him, as he would killme yet, if he knew. Thank God, we have not also made the father amurderer. Did I not say rightly, that the old name died withHoward? Have I not done well to stay on this spot and to give mylife to this people?"

"Quite right, Daniel; quite right. You always are. It's me thatgoes wrong; blundering, bumping, smashing into things. Blast itall! I--I don't know what to say. B--B--Blast it all!"

The hour was late when the two men finally retired for the night. Long after his heavy, regular breathing announced that the doctorwas sleeping soundly, the shepherd lay wide awake, keenlysensitive to every sound that stirred in the forest. Once he arosefrom his bed, and stepping softly left the cabin, to stand underthe stars, his face lifted to the dark summit of Old Dewey and thehills that rimmed the Hollow. And once, when the first light ofday came over the ridges, he went to the bunk where his friendlay, to look thoughtfully down upon the sleeping man. 

Breakfast was nearly ready when Dr. Coughlan awoke. The physiciansaw at once by the worn and haggard look on his friend's face thathis had been a sleepless night. It was as though all the pain andtrouble of the old days had returned. The little doctor mutteredangrily to himself while the shepherd was gone to the spring forwater. "Blast it all, I'm a fool, a meddlesome, old fool. Ought tohave let well enough alone. No need to drag him back into it allagain; no need. Do no good; no good at all. "

When the morning meal was finished, Mr. Howitt said, "David, willyou think me rude, if I leave you alone to-day? The city pavementfits one but poorly to walk these hills of mine, and you are tootired after your trip and the loss of your regular sleep to gowith me this morning. Stay at the ranch and rest. If you care toread, here are a few of your favorites. Will you mind very much? Ishould like to be alone to-day, David. "

"Right, Daniel, right. I understand. Don't say another word; not aword. Go ahead. I'm stiff and sore anyway; just suit me. "

The shepherd arranged everything for his friend's comfort, puttingthings in readiness for his noonday meal, and showing him thespring. Then, taking his own lunch, as his custom was, he went tothe corral and released the sheep. The doctor watched until thelast of the flock was gone, and he could no longer hear the tinkleof the bells and the bark of the dog. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

I AIN'T NOBODY NO MORE. 

With the coming of the evening, the shepherd returned to hisguest. Dr. Coughlan heard first the bells on the leaders of theflock, and the barking of the dog coming nearer and nearer throughthe woods. Soon the sheep appeared trooping out of the twilightshadows into the clearing; then came Brave followed by his master. 

The countenance of the old scholar wore again that look of calmstrength and peace that had marked it before the coming of hisfriend. "Have you had a good rest, David? Or has your day beenlong and tiresome? I fear it was not kind of me to leave you alonein this wilderness. "

The doctor told how he had passed the time, reading, sleeping androaming about the clearing and the nearby woods. "And you, " hesaid, looking the other over with a professional eye, "you looklike a new man; a new man, Daniel. How do you do it? Some secretspring of youth in the wilderness? Blast it all, wish you wouldshow me. Fool Sarah and the girls, fool them, sure. "

"David, have you forgotten the prescription you gave me when youordered me from the city? You took it you remember from one of ourfavorite volumes. " The shepherd bared his head and repeated, "If thou art worn and hard beset, With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget; If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills! No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. "

"David, I never understood until the past months why the Master sooften withdrew alone into the wilderness. There is not only foodand medicine for one's body; there is also healing for the heartand strength for the soul in nature. One gets very close to God, David, in these temples of God's own building. "

Dr. Coughlan studied his old friend curiously; "Change; remarkablechange in you! Remarkable! Never said a thing like that in allyour life before, never. "

The shepherd smiled, "It's your prescription, Doctor, " he said. 

They retired early that evening, for the physician declared thathis friend must need the rest. "Talk to-morrow, " he said; "allday; nothing else to do. " He promptly enforced his decision byretiring to his own bunk, leaving the shepherd to follow hisexample. But not until the doctor was sure that his friend wassleeping soundly did he permit himself to sink intounconsciousness. 

It was just past midnight, when the shepherd was aroused by thedoctor striking a match to light the lamp. As he awoke, he heardPete's voice, "Where is Dad? Pete wants Dad. "

Dr. Coughlan, thinking it some strange freak of the boy'sdisordered brain, and not wishing to break his friend's muchneeded rest, was trying in low tones to persuade the boy to waituntil morning. 

"What does Pete want?" asked the shepherd entering the room. 

"Pete wants Dad; Dad and the other man. They must sure go withPete right quick. "

"Go where with Pete? Who told Pete to come for Dad?" asked Mr. Howitt. 

"HE told Pete. Right now, he said. And Pete he come. 'Course Icome with him. Dad must go, an' the other man too, 'cause he saidso. "

In sickness or in trouble of any kind the people for miles aroundhad long since come to depend upon the shepherd of Mutton Hollow. The old man turned now to the doctor. "Someone needs me, David. Wemust go with the boy. "

"But, Daniel, Daniel! Blast it all! The boy's not responsible. Where will he take us? Where do you want us to go, boy?"

"Not me; not me; nobody can't go nowhere, can they? You go withPete, Mister. "

"Yes, yes; go with Pete; but where will Pete take us?" persistedthe Doctor. 

"Pete knows. "

"Now, look at that, Daniel! Look at that. Blast it all; we oughtnot go; not in the night this way. What would Sarah and the girlssay?" Notwithstanding his protests, the doctor was ready evenbefore the shepherd. "Take a gun, Daniel; take a gun, at least, "he said. 

The other hesitated, then asked, "Does Pete want Dad to take agun?"

The youth, who stood in the doorway waiting impatiently, shook hishead and laughed, "No, no; nothing can't get Dad where Pete goes. God he's there just like Dad says. "

"It's all right, David, " said the shepherd with conviction. "Peteknows. It is safe to trust him to-night. "

And the boy echoed, as he started forward, "It's alright, Mister;Pete knows. "

"I wish you had your medicine case, though, David, " added Mr. Howitt, as they followed the boy out into the night. 

"Got one, Daniel; got one. Always have a pocket case; habit. "

Pete led the way down the road, and straight to the old cabin ruinbelow the corral. Though the stars were hidden behind clouds, itwas a little light in the clearing; but, in the timber under theshadow of the bluff, it was very dark. The two men were soonbewildered and stood still. "Which way, Pete?" said the shepherd. There was no answer. "Where's Pete? Tell Pete to come here, " saidMr. Howitt again. Still there was on reply. Their guide seemed tohave been swallowed up in the blackness. They listened for asound. "This is strange, " mused the shepherd. 

A grunt of disgust came from the doctor, "Crazy, man, crazy. There's three of us. Which way is the house? Blast it all, whatwould--" A spot of light gleamed under the bushes not fifty feetaway. 

"Come, Dad. Come on, Pete's ready. "

They were standing close to the old cabin under the bluff. In anarrow space between the log wall of the house and the cliff, Petestood with a lighted lantern. The farther end of the passage wascompletely hidden by a projection of the rock; the overhangingroof touched the ledge above; while the opening near the men wasconcealed by the heavy growth of ferns and vines and the thickbranches of a low cedar. Even in daylight the place would haveescaped anything but a most careful search. 

Dropping to his knees and to one hand the shepherd pushed asidethe screen of vines and branches with the other, and then on allfours crawled into the narrow passage. The Doctor followed. Theyfound their guide crouching in a small opening in the wall ofrock. Mr. Howitt uttered an exclamation, "The lost cave! Old manDewey!"

The boy laughed, "Pete knows. Come, Dad. Come, other man. Ain'tnothin' can get you here. " He scrambled ahead of them into the lowtunnel. Some twenty feet from the entrance, the passage turnedsharply to the left and opened suddenly into a hallway along whichthe shepherd could easily walk erect. Pete went briskly forward asone on very familiar ground, his lantern lighting up the wayclearly for his two companions. 

For some distance their course dipped downward at a gentle angle, while the ceilings and sides dripped with moisture. Soon theyheard the sound of running water, and entering a wider room sawsparkling in the lantern's light a stream that came from under therocky wall, crossed their path, and disappeared under the otherwall of the chamber. "Lost Creek!" ejaculated the shepherd, as hepicked his way over the stream on the big stones. And the boyanswered, "Pete knows. Pete knows. "

From the bank of the creek the path climbed strongly upward, thefooting grew firmer, and the walls and ceiling drier; as they wenton, the passage, too, grew wider and higher, until they foundthemselves in a large underground hallway that echoed loudly asthey walked. Overhead, pure white stalactites and frost-likeformations glittered in the light, and the walls were broken bydark nooks and shelf-like ledges with here and there openingsleading who could tell where?

At the farther end of this hallway where the ceiling was highest, the guide paused at the foot of a ledge against which rested arude ladder. The shepherd spoke again, "Dewey Bald?" he asked. Pete nodded, and began to climb the ladder. 

Another room, and another ledge; then a long narrow passage, theceiling of which was so high that it was beyond the lantern light;then a series of ledges, and they saw that they were climbing fromshelf to shelf on one side of an underground canon. Following along the edge of the chasm, the doctor pushed a stoneover the brink, and they heard it go bounding from ledge to ledgeinto the dark heart of the mountain. "No bottom, Daniel. Blast itall, no bottom to it! What would Sarah and the girls say?"

They climbed one more ladder and then turned from the canoninto another great chamber, the largest they had entered. Thefloor was perfectly dry; the air, too, was dry and pure; and, fromwhat seemed to be the opposite side of the huge cavern, a lightgleamed like a red eye in the darkness. They were evidentlynearing the end of their journey. Drawing closer they found thatthe light came from the window of a small cabin built partly ofrock and partly of logs. 

Instinctively the two men stopped. Pete said in a low tone, as onewould speak in a sacred presence, "HE is there. Come on, Dad. Come, other man. Don't be scared. "

Still the boy's companions hesitated. Mr. Howitt asked, "Who, boy?who is there? Do you know who it is?"

"No, no, not me. Nobody can't know nothin', can they?"

"Hopeless case, Daniel; hopeless. Too bad, too bad, " muttered thephysician, laying his hand upon his friend's shoulder. 

The shepherd tried again, "Who does Pete say it is?"

"Oh, Pete says it's him, just him. "

"But who does Pete say he is?" suggested Dr. Coughlan. 

Again the boy's voice lowered to a whisper, "Sometimes Pete saysit must be God, 'cause he's so good. Dad says God is good an' thathe takes care of folks, an' HE sure does that. 'Twas him thatscared Wash Gibbs an' his crowd that night. An' he sent the goldto you, Dad; God's gold it was; he's got heaps of it. He killedthat panther, too, when it was a goin' to fight Young Matt. Peteknows. You see, Dad, when Pete is with him, I ain't nobody nomore. I'm just Pete then, an' Pete is me. Funny, ain't it? But hesays that's the way it is, an' he sure knows. "

The two friends listened with breathless interest. "And what doesPete call him?" asked the doctor. 

"Pete calls him father, like Dad calls God. He talks to God, too, like Dad does. Do you reckon God would talk to God, mister?"

With a cry the shepherd reeled. The doctor caught him. "Strong, Daniel, strong. " Pete drew away from the two men in alarm. 

The old scholar's agitation was pitiful. "David, David; tell me, what is this thing? Can it be--my boy--Howard, my son--can it be?My God, David, what am I saying? He is dead. Dead, I tell you. Canthe dead come back from the grave, David?" He broke from hisfriend and ran staggering toward the cabin; but at the door hestopped again. It was as if he longed yet feared to enter, and thedoctor and the boy came to his side. Without ceremony Pete pushedopen the door. 

The room was furnished with a cupboard, table and small cookstove. It was evidently a living room. Through a curtained openingat the right, a light showed from another apartment, and a voicecalled, "Is that you, Pete?"

A look of pride came into the face of the lad, "That's me, " hewhispered. "I'm Pete here, an' Pete is me. It's always that waywith him. " Aloud, he said, "Yes, Father, it's Pete. Pete, an' Dad, an' the other man. " As he spoke he drew aside the curtain. 

For an instant the two men paused on the threshold. The room wassmall, and nearly bare of furniture. In the full glare of thelamp, so shaded as to throw the rest of the room in deep shadow, hung a painting that seemed to fill the rude chamber with itsbeauty. It was the picture of a young woman, standing by a springof water, a cup brimming full in her outstretched hand. 

On a bed in the shadow, facing the picture, lay a man. A voicefaltered, "Father. Dr. Coughlan. "

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A MATTER OF HOURS. 

"Father--Father; can--you--can--you--forgive me?"

The man on his knees raised his head. 

"Forgive you, my son? Forgive you? My dear boy, there has neverbeen in my heart a thought but of love and sympathy. Pain therehas been, I can't deny, but it has helped me to know what you havesuffered. I understand it now, my boy. I understand it all, for I, too, have felt it. But when I first knew, even beneath all thehurt, I was glad--glad to know, I mean. It is a father's right tosuffer with his child, my son. It hurt most, when the secret stoodbetween us, and I could not enter into your life, but I understandthat, too. I understand why you could not tell me. I, too, cameaway because I was not strong enough. "

"I--I thought it would be easier for you never to know, " said theson as he lay on the bed. "I am--sorry, now. And I am glad thatyou know. But I must tell you all about it just the same. I musttell you myself, you see, so that it will be all clear andstraight when I--when I go. " He turned his eyes to the picture onthe wall. 

"When you go?"

Howard laid a hand upon the gray head. "Poor father; yes, I amgoing. It was an accident, but it was a kindness. It will be muchbetter that way--only--only I am sorry for you, father. I thoughtI could save you all this. I intended to slip quietly away withoutyour ever knowing, but when Pete said that Dr. Coughlan was here, I could not go without--without--"

The little doctor came forward. "I am a fool, Howard, an old fool. Blast it all; no business to go poking into this; no business atall! Daniel would have sent if he had wanted me. Ought to haveknown. Old native can give me lessons on being a gentleman everytime. Blast it all! What's wrong, Howard? Get hurt? Now I am here, might as well be useful. "

"Indeed, Doctor, you did right to come. You will be such a help tofather. You will help us both, just as you have always done. Willyou excuse us, father, while Dr. Coughlan looks at this thing herein my side?"

The physician arranged the light so that it shone full upon theman on the bed, then carefully removed the bandages from an uglywound in the artist's side. Dr. Coughlan looked very grave. "Whendid this happen, Howard?"

"I--I can't tell exactly. You see I thought at first I could getalong with Pete to help, and I did, for a week, I guess. Thenthings--didn't go so well. Some fever, I think, for she--shecame. " He turned his eyes toward the picture again. "And I--I lostall track of time. It was the night of the eighteenth. Father willknow. "

"Two weeks, " muttered the physician. 

A low exclamation came from the shepherd. "It was you--you whobrought the horses to the ranch that night?"

The artist smiled grimly. "The officers saw me, and thought that Iwas one of the men they wanted. It's alright, though. " The oldscholar instinctively lifted his hands and looked at them. Heremembered the saddle, wet with blood. 

Making a careful examination, the doctor asked more questions. When he had finished and had skilfully replaced the bandages, thewounded man asked, "What about it, Dr. Coughlan?" The kind heartedphysician jerked out a volley of scientific words and phrases thatmeant nothing, and busied himself with his medicine case. 

When his patient had taken the medicine, the doctor watched himfor a few minutes, and then asked, "Feel stronger, Howard?"

The artist nodded. "Tell me the truth, now, Doctor. I know that Iam going. But how long have I? Wait a minute first. Where's Pete?Come here, my boy. " The lad drew near. "Father. " Mr. Howitt seatedhimself on the bedside. "You'll be strong, father? We are readynow, Dr. Coughlan. "

"Yes, tell us, David, " said the shepherd, and his voice wassteady. 

The physician spoke, "Matter of hours, I would say. Twenty-four, perhaps; not more; not more. "

"There is no possible chance, David?" asked the shepherd. 

Again the little doctor took refuge behind a broadside ofscientific terms before replying, "No; no possible chance. "

A groan slipped from the gray bearded lips of the father. Theartist turned to the picture and smiled. Pete looked wonderinglyfrom face to face. 

"Poor father, " said the artist. "One thing more, Doctor; can youkeep up my strength for awhile?"

"Reasonably well, reasonably well, Howard. "

"I am so glad of that because there is much to do before I go. There is so much that must be done first, and I want you both tohelp me. "

CHAPTER XL. 

THE SHEPHERD'S MISSION. 

During the latter part of that night and most of the day, itrained; a fine, slow, quiet rain, with no wind to shake the wetfrom burdened leaf or blade. But when the old shepherd left thecave by a narrow opening on the side of the mountain, near Sammy'sLookout, the sky was clear. The mists rolled heavily over thevalley, but the last of the sunlight was warm on the knobs andridges. 

The old man paused behind the rock and bushes that concealed themouth of the underground passage. Not a hundred feet below was theOld Trail; he followed the little path with his eye until itvanished around the shoulder of Dewey. Along that way he had comeinto the hills. Then lifting his eyes to the far away lines ofdarker blue, his mind looked over the ridge to the world that ison the other side, the world from which he had fled. It all seemedvery small and mean, now; it was so far--so far away. 

He started as the sharp ring of a horse's iron shoe on the flintrocks came from beyond the Lookout, and, safely hidden, he saw aneighbor round the hill and pass on his way to the store on Roark. He watched, as horse and rider followed the Old Trail around therim of the Hollow; watched, until they passed from sight in thebelt of timber. Then his eyes were fixed on a fine thread of smokethat curled above the trees on the Matthews place; and, leavingthe shelter of rock and bush, he walked along the Old Trail towardthe big log house on the distant ridge. 

Below him, on his left, Mutton Hollow lay submerged in thedrifting mists, with only a faint line of light breaking now andthen where Lost Creek made its way; and on the other side ComptonRidge lifted like a wooded shore from the sea. A black spot in thered west shaped itself into a crow, making his way on easy wingtoward a dead tree on the top of Boulder Bald. The old shepherdwalked wearily; the now familiar objects wore a strange look. Itwas as though he saw them for the first time, yet had seen themsomewhere before, perhaps in another world. As he went his facewas the face of one crushed by shame and grief, made desperate byhis suffering. 

Supper was just over and Young Matt was on the porch when Mr. Howitt entered the gate. The young fellow greeted his old friend, and called back into the house, "Here's Dad, Father. " As Mr. Matthews came out, Aunt Mollie and Sammy appeared in the doorway. How like it all was to that other evening. 

The mountaineer and the shepherd sat on the front porch, whileYoung Matt brought the big sorrel and the brown pony to the gate, and with Sammy rode away. They were going to the Postoffice at theForks. "Ain't had no news for a week, " said Aunt Mollie, as shebrought her chair to join the two men. "And besides, Sammy needsthe ride. There's goin' to be a moon, so it'll be light by thetime they start home. "

The sound of the horses' feet and the voices of the young peopledied away in the gray woods. The dusk thickened in the valleybelow, and, as the light in the west went out, the three friendssaw the clump of pines etched black and sharp against the bloodred background of the sky. 

Old Matt spoke, "Reckon everything's alright at the ranch, Dad. How's the little doctor? You ought to brung him up with you. " Hewatched the shepherd's face curiously from under his heavy brows, as he pulled at his cob pipe. 

"Tired out trampin' over these hills, I reckon, " ventured AuntMollie. Mr. Howitt tried to answer with some commonplace, but hisfriends could not but note his confusion. Mrs. Matthews continued, "I guess you'll be a leavin' us pretty soon, now. Well, I ain't ablamin' you; and you've sure been a God's blessin' to us here inthe woods. I don't reckon we're much 'long 'side the fine friendsyou've got back where you come from in the city; and we--we can'tdo nothin' for you, but--but--" The good soul could say no more. 

"We've often wondered, sir, " added Old Matt, "how you've stood ithere, an educated man like you. I reckon, though, there'ssomethin' deep under it all, keepin' you up; somethin' thatignorant folks, without no education, like us, can't understand. "

The old scholar could have cried aloud, but he was forced to sitdumb while the other continued, "You're goin' won't make nodifference, though, with what you've done. This neighborhood won'tnever go back to what it was before you come. It can't with allyou've taught us, and with Sammy stayin' here to keep it up. It'llbe mighty hard, though, to have you go; it sure will, Mr. Howitt. "

Looking up, the shepherd said quietly, "I expect to live hereuntil the end if you will let me. But I fear you will not want meto stay when you know what I've come to tell you this evening. "

The mountaineer straightened his huge form as he returned, "Dad, there ain't nothin' on earth or in hell could change what we thinkof you, and we don't want to hear nothin' about you that you don'tlike to tell us. We ain't a carin' what sent you to the hills. We're takin' you for what you are. And there ain't nothin' canchange that. "

"Not even if it should be the grave under the pine yonder?" askedthe other in a low voice. 

Old Matt looked at him in a half frightened way, as though, without knowing why, he feared what the shepherd would say next. Mr. Howitt felt the look and hesitated. He was like one on adesperate mission in the heart of an enemy's country, feeling hisway. Was the strong man's passion really tame? Or was his furyonly sleeping, waiting to destroy the one who should wake it? Whocould tell?

The old scholar looked away to Dewey Bald for strength. "Mr. Matthews, " he said, "you once told me a story. It was here on thisporch when I first came to you. It was a sad tale of a greatcrime. To-night I know the other side of that story. I've come totell you. "

At the strange words, Aunt Mollie's face turned as white as herapron. Old Matt grasped the arms of his chair, as though he wouldcrush the wood, as he said shortly, "Go on. "

At the tone of his voice, the old shepherd's heart sank. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STORY. 

With a prayer in his heart for the boy who lay dying in thatstrange underground chamber, the artist's father began. 

"It is the story, Mr. Matthews, of a man and his only son, thelast of their family. With them will perish--has perished one ofthe oldest and proudest names in our country. 

"From his childhood this man was taught the honored traditions ofhis people, and, thus trained in pride of ancestry, grew up tobelieve that the supreme things of life are what his kind calleducation, refinement, and culture. In his shallow egotism, hecame to measure all life by the standards of his people. 

"It was in keeping with this that the man should enter the pulpitof the church of his ancestors, and it was due very largely, nodoubt, to the same ancestral influence that he became what theworld calls a successful minister of the gospel. But Christianityto him was but little more than culture, and his place in thechurch merely an opportunity to add to the honor of his name. Soonafter leaving the seminary, he married. The crowning moment of hislife was when his first born--a boy--was laid in his arms. Thesecond child was a girl; there were no more. 

"For ten years before her death the wife was an invalid. Thelittle girl, too, was never strong, and six months after theyburied the mother the daughter was laid beside her. 

"You, sir, can understand how the father lavished every care uponhis son. The first offspring of the parents' love, the solesurvivor of his home, and the last to bear the name of a familycenturies old, he was the only hope of the proud man's ambition. 

"The boy was a beautiful child, a delicate, sensitive soul in abody of uncommon physical grace and strength, and the proud fatherloved to think of him as the flower of long ages of culture andrefinement. The minister, himself, jealously educated his son, andthe two grew to be friends, sir, constant companions. This, also, YOU will understand--you and your boy. But with all this the youngman did not follow his father in choosing his profession. He--hebecame an artist. "

Old Matt started from his seat. Aunt Mollie uttered anexclamation. But the shepherd, without pausing, continued: "Whenhis schooling was completed the boy came into the Ozarks onesummer to spend the season painting. The man had expected to gowith his son. For months they had planned the trip together, butat last something prevented, and the father could not go--no, hecould not go--" The speaker's voice broke; the big mountaineer wasbreathing hard; Aunt Mollie was crying. 

Presently Mr. Howitt went on. "When the young artist returned tohis father, among many sketches of the mountains, he brought onepainting that received instant recognition. The people stoodbefore it in crowds when it was exhibited in the art gallery; thepapers were extravagant in their praise; the artist became famous;and wealthy patrons came to his studio to sit for their portraits. The picture was of a beautiful girl, standing by a spring, holdingout a dripping cup of water. "

At this a wild oath burst from the giant. Springing to his feet, he started toward the speaker. Aunt Mollie screamed, "Grant, ohGrant! Think what Dad has done for us. " The mountaineer paused. 

"Mr. Matthews, " said the shepherd, in trembling tones, "for mysake, will you not hear me to the end? for my sake?"

The big man dropped back heavily into his chair. "Go on, " he said. But his voice was as the growl of a beast. 

"The boy loved your girl, Mr. Matthews. It was as though he hadleft his soul in the hills. Night and day he heard her calling. The more his work was praised, the more his friends talked ofhonors and planned his future, the keener was his suffering, andmost of all there was the shadow that had come between him and hisfather, breaking the old comradeship, and causing them to shuneach other; though the father never knew why. The poor boy grewmorose and despondent, giving way at times to spells of thedeepest depression. He tried to lose himself in his work. He fledabroad and lived alone. It seemed a blight had fallen on his soul. The world called him mad. Many times he planned to take his life, but always the hope of meeting her again stopped him. 

"At last he returned to this country determined to see her at anycost, and, if possible, gain her forgiveness and his father'sconsent to their marriage. He came into the hills only to findthat the mother of his child had died of a broken heart. 

"Then came the end. The artist disappeared, leaving a long, pitiful letter, saying that before the word reached his father, hewould be dead. The most careful investigation brought nothing butconvincing evidence that the unhappy boy had taken his own life. The artist knew that it would be a thousand times easier for theproud man to think his son dead than for him to know the truth, and he was right. Mr. Matthews, he was right. I cannot tell you ofthe man's suffering, but he found a little comfort in thereflection that such extravagant praise of his son's work hadadded to the honor of the family, for the lad's death was held byall to be the result of a disordered mind. There was not a whisperof wrong doing. His life, they said, was without reproach, andeven his sad mental condition was held to be evidence of his greatgenius. 

"The minister was weak, sir. He knew something of the intellectualside of his religion and the history of his church, but he knewlittle, very little, of the God that could sustain him in such atrial. He was shamefully weak. He tried to run away from histrouble, and, because the papers had made so much of his work as apreacher, and because of his son's fame, he gave only the firstpart of his name, thinking thus to get away from it all for aseason. 

"But God was to teach the proud man of culture and religious formsa great lesson, and to that end directed his steps. He was ledhere, here, sir, to your home, and you--you told him the story ofhis son's crime. "

The shepherd paused. A hoarse whisper came from the giant in thechair, "You--you, Dad, your--name is--"

The other threw out his hand, as if to guard himself, and shrankback; "Hush, oh hush! I have no name but the name by which youknow me. The man who bore that name is dead. In all his pride ofintellect and position he died. Your prayers for vengeance wereanswered, sir. You--you killed him; killed him as truly as if youhad plunged a knife into his heart; and--you--did--well. "

Aunt Mollie moaned. 

"Is that all?" growled the mountaineer. 

"All! God, no! I--I must go on. I must tell you how the man youkilled staid in the hills and was born again. There was nothingelse for him to do but stay in the hills. With the shame andhorror of his boy's disgrace on his heart, he could not go back--back to the city, his friends and his church--to the old life. Heknew that he could not hope to deceive them. He was not skilled inhiding things. Every kind word in praise of himself, or in praiseof his son, would have been keenest torture. He was a coward; hedared not go back. His secret would have driven him mad, and hewould have ended it all as his son had done. His only hope forpeace was to stay here; here on the very spot where the wrong wasdone, and to do what little he could to atone for the crime. 

"At first it was terrible; the long, lonely nights with no humanfriend near; the weight of shame; the memories; and the lonelywind--always the wind--in the trees--her voice, Pete said, callingfor him to come. God, sir, I wonder the man did not die under hispunishment!

"But God is good, Mr. Matthews. God is good and merciful. Everyday out on the range with the sheep, the man felt the spirit ofthe hills, and little by little their strength and their peaceentered into his life. The minister learned here, sir, what he hadnot learned in all his theological studies. He learned to knowGod, the God of these mountains. The hills taught him, and theycame at last to stand between him and the trouble from which hehad fled. The nights were no longer weary and long. He was neveralone. The voices in the wilderness became friendly voices, for helearned their speech, and the poor girl ceased to call in thewailing wind. Then Dr. Coughlan came, and--"

Again the shepherd stopped. He could not go on. The light was gonefrom the sky and he felt the blackness of the night. But againstthe stars he could still see the crown of the mountain where hisson lay. When he had gathered strength, he continued, sayingsimply, "Dr. Coughlan came, and--last night we learned that my sonwas not dead but living. "

Again that growl like the growl of a wild beast came from themountaineer. Silently Mr. Howitt prayed. "Go on, " came the commandin hoarse tones. 

In halting, broken words, the shepherd faltered through the restof his story as he told how, while using the cabin under the cliffas a studio, the artist had discovered the passage to the oldDewey cave; how, since his supposed death, he had spent thesummers at the scene of his former happiness; how he had met hisson roaming the hills at night, and had been able to have the boywith him much of the time; how he had been wounded the night JimLane was killed; and finally how Pete had led them to his bedside. 

"He is dying yonder. Dr. Coughlan is with him--and Pete--Pete isthere, too. I--I came for you. He is calling for you. I came totell you. All that a man may suffer here, he has suffered, sir. Your prayer has been doubly answered, Mr. Matthews. Both fatherand son are dead. The name--the old name is perished from the faceof the earth. For Christ's dear sake, forgive my boy, and let himgo. For my sake, sir, I--I can bear no more. "

Who but He that looketh upon the heart of man could know thebattle that was fought in the soul of that giant of the hills? Heuttered no sound. He sat in his seat as if made of stone; saveonce, when he walked to the end of the porch to stand withclenched hands and passion shaken frame, facing the dark clump ofpines on the hill. 

Slowly the moon climbed over the ridge and lighted the scene. Themountaineer returned to his chair. All at once he raised his head, and, leaning forward, looked long and earnestly at the oldshepherd, where he sat crouching like a convict awaiting sentence. 

From down the mill road came voices and the sound of horses' feet. Old Matt started, turning his head a moment to listen. The horsesstopped at the lower gate. 

"The children, " said Aunt Mollie softly. "The children. Grant, Oh, Grant! Sammy and our boy. "

Then the shepherd felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and a voice, thathad in it something new and strange, said, "Dad, --my brother, --Daniel, I--I ain't got no education, an' I--don't know rightly how to sayit--but, Daniel, what these hills have been to you, you--you have beento me. It's sure God's way, Daniel. Let's--let's go to the boy. "

CHAPTER XLII. 

THE WAY OF THE LOWER TRAIL. 

"Fix--the--light, as it was--please? That's--it. Thank you, Doctor. How beautiful she is--how beautiful!" He seemed to gatherstrength, and looked carefully into the face of each member of thelittle group about the bed; the shepherd, Old Matt, Aunt Mollie, Pete, and the physician. Then he turned his eyes back to thepainting. To the watchers, the girl in the picture, holding herbrimming cup, seemed to smile back again. 

"I loved her--I loved--her. She was my natural mate--my otherself. I belonged to her--she to me. I--I can't tell you of thatsummer--when we were together--alone in the hills--the beautifulhills--away from the sham and the ugliness of the world that menhave made. The beauty and inspiration of it all I put into mypictures, and I knew because of that they were good--I knew theywould win a place for me--and--they did. Most of all--I put itthere, " (He pointed to the painting on the wall) "and the crowdsaw it and felt it, and did not know what it was. But I knew--Iknew--all the time, I knew. Oh!--if that short summer could havebeen lengthened--into years, what might I not have done? Oh, God!That men--can be--so blind--so blind!"

For a time he lay exhausted, his face still turned toward thepicture, but with eyes closed as though he dreamed. Then suddenly, he started up again, raising himself on his elbows, his eyesopened wide, and on his face a look of wondering gladness. Theydrew near. 

"Do--do--you--hear? She is calling--she is calling again. Yes--sweetheart--yes, dear. I--I am--com--"

Then, Old Matt and Aunt Mollie led the shepherd from the room. 

And this way runs the trail that follows the lower level, wherethose who travel, as they go, look always over their shoulderswith eyes of dread, and the gloomy shadows gather long before theday is done. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

POOR PETE. 

They buried the artist in the cave as he had directed, close underthe wall on the ledge above the canon, with no stone ormark of any sort to fix the place. The old mine which he haddiscovered was reached by one of the side passages far below inthe depth of the mountain. The grave would never be disturbed. 

For two weeks longer, Dr. Coughlan staid with his friend; out onthe hills with him all day, helping to cook their meals at theranch, or sitting on the porch at the Matthews place when the daywas gone. When the time finally came that he must go, the littlephysician said, as he grasped the shepherd's hand, "You're doingjust right, Daniel; just right. Always did; always did. Blast itall! I would stay, too, but what would Sarah and the girls do?I'll come again next spring, Daniel, sure, sure, if I'm alive. Don't worry, no one will ever know. Blast it all! I don't like toleave you, Daniel. Don't like it at all. But you are right, right, Daniel. "

The old scholar stood in the doorway of his cabin to watch thewagon as it disappeared in the forest. He heard it rattle acrossthe creek bottom below the ruined cabin under the bluff. He waiteduntil from away up on Compton Ridge the sound of wheels came tohim on the breeze that slipped down the mountain side. Still hewaited, listening, listening, until there were only the voices ofthe forest and the bleating of the sheep in the corral. Slipping abook in his pocket, and taking a luncheon for himself and Pete heopened the corral gate and followed his flock to the hills. 

All that summer Pete was the shepherd's constant companion. Atfirst he seemed not to understand. Frequently he would start offsuddenly for the cave, only to return after a time, with that lookof trouble upon his delicate face. Mr. Howitt tried to help theboy, and he appeared gradually to realize in part. Once hestartled his old friend by saying quietly, "When are you goin', Dad?"

"Going where? Where does Pete think Dad is going?"

The boy was lying on his back on the grassy hillside watching theclouds. He pointed upward, "There, where HE went; up there in thewhite hills. Pete knows. "

The other looked long at the lad before answering quietly, "Daddoes not know when he will go. But he is ready any time, now. "

"Pete says better not wait long, Dad; 'cause Pete he's a goin' an'course when he goes I've got to go 'long. Do you reckon Dad cansee Pete when he is up there in them white hills? Some folks usedto laugh at Pete when he told about the white hills, the flowerthings, the sky things, an' the moonlight things that play in themists. An' once a fellow called Pete a fool, an' Young Matt hewhipped him awful. But folks wasn't really to blame, 'cause theycouldn't see 'em. That's what HE said. An' HE knew, 'cause hecould see 'em too. But Aunt Mollie, an' Uncle Matt, an' you all, they don't never laugh. They just say, 'Pete knows. ' But theycouldn't see the flower things, or the tree things neither. OnlyHE could see. "

The summer passed, and, when the blue gray haze took on the purpletouch and all the woods and hills were dressed with cloth of gold, Pete went from the world in which he had never really belonged, nor had been at home. Mr. Howitt, writing to Dr. Coughlan of theboy's death, said:

"Here and there among men, there are those who pause in thehurried rush to listen to the call of a life that is more real. How often have we seen them, David, jostled and ridiculed by theirfellows, pushed aside and forgotten, as incompetent or unworthy. He who sees and hears too much is cursed for a dreamer, a fanatic, or a fool, by the mad mob, who, having eyes, see not, ears andhear not, and refuse to understand. 

"We build temples and churches, but will not worship in them; wehire spiritual advisers, but refuse to heed them; we buy bibles, but will not read them; believing in God, we do not fear Him;acknowledging Christ, we neither follow nor obey Him. Only when wecan no longer strive in the battle for earthly honors or materialwealth, do we turn to the unseen but more enduring things of life;and, with ears deafened by the din of selfish war and cruelviolence, and eyes blinded by the glare of passing pomp and folly, we strive to hear and see the things we have so long refused toconsider. 

"Pete knew a world unseen by us, and we, therefore, fanciedourselves wiser than he. The wind in the pines, the rustle of theleaves, the murmur of the brook, the growl of the thunder, and thevoices of the night were all understood and answered by him. Theflowers, the trees, the rocks, the hills, the clouds were to him, not lifeless things, but living friends, who laughed and wept withhim as he was gay or sorrowful. 

"'Poor Pete, ' we said. Was he in truth, David, poorer or richerthan we?"

They laid the boy beside his mother under the pines on the hills;the pines that showed so dark against the sky when the sun wasdown behind the ridge. And over his bed the wild vines lovinglywove a coverlid of softest green, while all his woodland friendsgathered about his couch. Forest and hill and flower and cloudsang the songs he loved. All day the sunlight laid its wealth inbars of gold at his feet, and at night the moonlight things andthe shadow things came out to play. 

Summer and autumn slipped away; the winter passed; spring came, with all the wonder of the resurrection of flower and leaf andblade. So peace and quiet came again into the shepherd's life. When no answer to his letter was received, and the doctor did notreturn as he had promised, the old man knew that the last linkconnecting him with the world was broken. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE TRAIL ON THE SUNLIT HILLS. 

When Young Matt first knew that Sammy had sent Ollie back to thecity with no promise to follow, he took to the woods, and returnedonly after miles of tramping over the wildest, roughest part ofthe country. The big fellow said no word, but on his face was alook that his father understood, and the old mountaineer felt hisown blood move more quickly at the sight. 

But when Sammy with her books was fully established in theMatthews home, and Young Matt seemed always, as the weeks went by, to find her reading things that he could not understand, he wasmade to realize more fully what her studies with the shepherdmeant. He came to feel that she had already crossed the thresholdinto that world where Mr. Howitt lived. And, thinking that hehimself could never enter, he grew lonely and afraid. 

With the quickness that was so marked in her character, Sammygrasped the meaning of his trouble almost before Young Matthimself knew fully what it was. Then the girl, with much care andtact, set about helping him to see the truths which the shepherdhad revealed to her. 

All through the summer and fall, when the day's work was done, oron a Sunday afternoon, they were together, and gradually the woodsand the hills, with all the wild life that is in them, began tohave for the young man a new meaning; or, rather, he learnedlittle by little to read the message that lay on the open pages;first a word here and there, then sentences, then paragraphs, andsoon he was reading alone, as he tramped the hills for straystock, or worked in the mountain field. The idle days of winterand the long evenings were spent in reading aloud from the booksthat had come to mean most to her. 

So she led him on slowly, along the way that her teacher hadpointed out to her, but always as they went, he saw her goingbefore, far ahead, and he knew that in the things that men calleducation, he could never hope to stand by her side. But he wasbeginning to ask, are there not after all things that lie stilldeeper in life than even these?

Often he would go to his old friend in the Hollow with somethought, and the shepherd, seeing how it was, would smile as hehelped the lad on his way. The scholar looked forward withconfidence to the time when young Matt would discover for himself, as Sammy had found for herself, that the only common groundwhereon men and women may meet in safety is the ground of theirmanhood and womanhood. 

And so it was, on that spring morning when the young giant feltthe red life throbbing strongly in his great limbs, as he followedhis team to and fro across the field. And in his voice, as heshouted to his horses at the end of the furrow, there wassomething under the words, something of a longing, something alsoof a challenge. 

Sammy was going to spend the day with her friends on Jake Creek. She had not been to see Mandy since the night of her father'sdeath. As she went, she stopped at the lower end of the field toshout a merry word to the man with the plow, and it was sometimelater when the big fellow again started his team. The challenge inhis tone had grown bolder. 

Sammy returned that afternoon in time for the evening meal, andAunt Mollie thought, as the girl came up the walk, that the youngwoman had never looked so beautiful. "Why, honey, " she said, "you're just a bubblin' over with life. Your cheeks are as rosy;your eyes are as sparklin', you're fairly shinin' all over. Yourride sure done you good. "

The young woman replied with a hug that made her admirer gasp. "Law, child; you're strong as a young panther. You walk like onetoo; so kind of strong, easy like. "

The girl laughed. "I hope I don't impress everybody that way, AuntMollie. I don't believe I want to be like a panther. I'd rather belike--like--"

"Like what, child?"

"Like you, just like you; the best, the very best woman in thewhole world, because you've got the best and biggest heart. " Shelooked back over her shoulder laughing, as she ran into the house. 

When Young Matt came in from the field, Sammy went out to thebarn, while he unharnessed his team. "Are you very tired to-night?" she asked. 

The big fellow smiled, "Tired? Me tired? Where do you want to go?Haven't you ridden enough to-day? I should think you'd be tiredyourself. "

"Tired? Me tired?" said the girl. "I don't want to ride. I want towalk. It's such a lovely evening, and there's going to be a moon. I have been thinking all day that I would like to walk over homeafter supper, if you cared to go. "

That night the work within the house and the chores about the barnwere finished in a remarkably short time. The young man and womanstarted down the Old Trail like two school children, while thefather and mother sat on the porch and heard their voices die awayon the mountain side below. 

The girl went first along the little path, moving with that light, sure step that belongs only to perfect health, the health of thewoods and hills. The man followed, walking with the same sure, easy step; strength and power revealed in every movement of hisbody. Two splendid creatures they were--masterpieces of theCreator's handiwork; made by Him who created man, male and female, and bade them have dominion "over every living thing that movethupon the earth;" kings by divine right. 

In the belt of timber, where the trail to the ranch branches off, they met the shepherd on his way to the house for an eveningvisit. The old man paused only long enough to greet them, andpushed on up the hill, for he saw by their faces that the time wascome. 

Sammy had grown very quiet when they rounded the shoulder ofDewey, and they went in silence down to the cabin on the southernslope of the mountain. The girl asked Young Matt to wait for herat the gate, and, going to the house, she entered alone. 

A short time she remained in the familiar rooms, then, slippingout through the rear door, ran through the woods to the littleglen back of the house. Dropping beside the mound she buried herface in the cool grass, as she whispered, "Oh, Daddy, Daddy Jim! Iwish you were here to-night; this night that means so much to me. Do you know how happy I am, Daddy? Do you know, I wonder?" Thetwilight deepened, "I must go now, Daddy; I must go to him. Youtold me you would trust me anywhere with him. He is waiting forme, now; but I wish--oh, I wish that you were here to-night, DaddyJim!"

Quickly she made her way back to the cabin, passed through thehouse, and rejoined Young Matt. The two returned silently up themountain side, to the higher levels, where the light stilllingered, though the sun was down. At the Lookout they stopped. 

"We'll wait for the moon, here, " she said; and so seated on a bigrock, they watched the last of the evening go out from the west. From forest depth and mountain side came the myriad voices ofNature's chorus, blending softly in the evening hymn; and, risingclear above the low breathed tones, yet in perfect harmony, came awhip-poor-will's plaintive call floating up from the darknessbelow; the sweet cooing of a wood-dove in a tree on the ridge, andthe chirping of a cricket in a nearby crevice of the ledge. Likeshadowy spirits, the bats flitted here and there in the gatheringgloom. The two on the mountain's shoulder felt themselves aloneabove it all; above it all, yet still a part of all. 

Then the moon looked over the mountain behind them turning MuttonHollow into a wondrous sea of misty light out of which the higherhills lifted their heads like fairy islands. The girl spoke, "Come, Matt; we must go now. Help me down. "

He slipped from his seat and stood beside the rock with upliftedarms. Sammy leaned forward and placed her hands upon hisshoulders. He felt her breath upon his forehead. The next instanthe held her close. 

So they went home along the trail that is nobody knows how old, and the narrow path that was made by those who walked one beforethe other, they found wide enough for two. 

Dad Howitt, returning to the ranch, saw them coming so in themoonlight, and slipped aside from the path into the deepershadows. As they passed, the old shepherd, scholar and poet stoodwith bowed, uncovered head. When they were gone and their lowvoices were no longer heard, he said aloud, "What God hath joined;what God hath joined. "

And this way runs the trail that lies along the higher, sunlithills where those who journey see afar and the light lingers evenwhen the day is done. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

SOME YEARS LATER. 

A wandering artist, searching for new fields, found his way intothe Ozark country. One day, as he painted in the hills, a flock ofsheep came over the ridge through a low gap, and worked slowlyalong the mountain side. A few moments later, the worker at theeasel lifted his eyes from the canvas to find himself regarded byan old man in the dress of a native. 

"Hello, uncle. Fine day, " said the artist shortly, his eyes againupon his picture. 

"The God of these hills gives us many such, young sir, and all Hisdays are good. "

The painter's hand paused between palette and canvas, and his facewas turned toward the speaker in wonder. Every word was perfect inaccent of the highest culture, and the deep musical tone of thevoice was remarkable in one with the speaker's snowy hair andbeard. The young man arose to his feet. "I beg your pardon, sir. Ithought--" He hesitated, as he again took in the rude dress of theother. The brown eyes, under their white shaggy brows, lightedwith good nature. "You mean, young sir, that you did not think. 'Tis the privilege of youth; make the most of it. Very soon oldage will rob you of your freedom, and force you to think, whetheryou will or no. Your greeting under the circumstance is surelyexcusable. It is I who should beg pardon, for I have interruptedyour study, and I have no excuse; neither my youth nor myoccupation will plead for me. "

The charm of his voice and manner were irresistible. The painterstepped forward with outstretched hand, "Indeed, sir; I amdelighted to meet you. I am here for the summer from Chicago. Mycamp is over there. "

The other grasped the offered hand cordially, "I am Daniel Howitt, young sir; from the sheep ranch in Mutton Hollow. Dad Howitt, thepeople call me. So you see you were not far wrong when you hailedme 'Uncle. ' Uncle and Dad are 'sure close kin, ' as Preachin' Billwould say. "

Both men laughed, and the painter offered his folding easel chair. "Thank you, no. Here is a couch to which I am more accustomed. Iwill rest here, if you please. " The old man stretched himself uponthe grassy slope. "Do you like my hills?" he asked. "But I am sureyou do, " he added, as his eye dwelt fondly upon the landscape. 

"Ah, you are the owner of this land, then? I was wondering who--"

"No, no, young sir, " the old man interrupted, laughing again. "Others pay the taxes; these hills belong to me only as theybelong to all who have the grace to love them. They will give yougreat treasure, that you may give again to others, who have notyour good strength to escape from the things that men make and doin the restless world over there. One of your noble craft couldscarcely fail to find the good things God has written on this pageof His great book. Your brothers need the truths that you willread here; unless the world has greatly changed. "

"You are not then a native of this country?"

"I was a native of that world yonder, young sir. Before your day, they knew me; but long since, they have forgotten. When I diedthere, I was born again in these mountains. And so, " he finishedwith a smile, "I am, as you see, a native. It is long now since Imet one from beyond the ridges. I will not likely meet another. "

"I wonder that others have not discovered the real beauty of theOzarks, " remarked the painter. 

The old shepherd answered softly, "One did. " Then rising to hisfeet and pointing to Roark valley, he said, "Before many years arailroad will find its way yonder. Then many will come, and thebeautiful hills that have been my strength and peace will becomethe haunt of careless idlers and a place of revelry. I am gladthat I shall not be here. But I must not keep you longer from yourduties. "

"I shall see you again, shall I not?" The painter was loath to lethim go. 

"More often than will be good for your picture, I fear. You mustwork hard, young sir, while the book of God is still open, andGod's message is easily read. When the outside world comes, menwill turn the page, and you may lose the place. "

After that they met often, and one day the old man led the artistto where a big house looked down upon a ridge encircled valley. Though built of logs without, the house within was finished andfurnished in excellent taste. To his surprise, the painter foundone room lined with shelves, and upon the shelves the best thingsthat men have written for their fellows. In another room was apiano. The floors were covered with rugs. Draperies and hangingssoftened the atmosphere; and the walls were hung with pictures;not many, but good and true; pictures that had power over thosewho looked upon them. The largest painting hung in the library andwas veiled. 

"My daughter, Mrs. Matthews, " said the old shepherd, as hepresented the stranger to the mistress of the house. In all hissearch for beauty, never had the artist looked upon such a formand such a face. It was a marvelous blending of the physical withthe intellectual and spiritual. A firm step was heard on theporch. "My husband, " said the lady. And the stranger rose togreet--the woman's MATE. The children of this father and motherwere like them; or, as the visitor afterwards said in hisextravagant way, "like young gods for beauty and strength. "

The next summer the painter went again to the Ozarks. Even as hewas greeted by the strong master of the hills and his charmingwife, there fell upon his ears a dull report as of distant cannon;then another, and another. They led him across the yard, and thereto the north on the other side of Roark, men were tearing up themountain to make way for the railroad. As they looked, anotherblast sent the rocks flying, while the sound rolled and echoedthrough the peaceful hills. 

The artist turned to his friends with questioning eyes; "Mr. Howitt said it would come. Is he--is he well?"

Mrs. Matthews answered softly, "Dad left us while the surveyorswere at work. He sleeps yonder. " She pointed to Dewey Bald. 

Then they went into the library, where the large picture wasunveiled. When the artist saw it, he exclaimed, "Mad Howard's lostmasterpiece! How--where did you find it?"

"It was Father Howitt's request that I tell you the story, " Sammyreplied. 

And then she told the artist a part of that which I have set downhere. 

THE END.