The Shepard of the Hills

by Harold Bell Wright

  Instantly wild and unwelcome thoughts burned within the strong man’s brain. The woodsman knew why that thing had come. Against such a foe the unconscious weakling on the rock there, calmly puffing his cigar, would have no chance whatever. He would not even know of its presence, until it had made its spring, and its fangs were in his neck. The man of the wilderness knew just how it would be done. It would be over in a minute.

  The giant clenched his teeth. Why had he not gone on to his home after leaving the shepherd? Why had he followed that impulse to stand again where he had stood that afternoon? Above all, what had possessed him—what had led him to creep to his present position? He shot a quick glance around. How bright—how bright the moon was!

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

  Suddenly the words of the shepherd came to him, as though shouted in his ears, “Remember the other beast, lad. Don’t you see it is this victory only that gives you the right to think of yourself as a man?”

  Ollie was almost brushed from his place as the big mountaineer sprang from the shadow, while the panther, startled by the appearance of another man upon the rock, paused. An exclamation of fright burst from young Stewart, as he took in the situation. And the giant by his side reached forth a hand to push him back, as he growled, “Shut up and get out of the way! This here’s my fight!”

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

  The panther leaped, but fell short. The startled men on the rock saw 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 well dressed 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 still searching 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 none of your business, what I was a doin’ here, that I can see. I reckon these hills are free yet. But it’s mighty lucky for us both that someone was ‘round, whoever he is. Maybe you ain’t thankful that that critter ain’t fastened on your neck. But I am. An’ I’m goin’ to find out who fired that shot if I can.”

  He started forward, but Ollie called imperiously, “Hold on there a minute, I want to say something to you first.” The other paused, and young Stewart continued; “I don’t know what you mean by prowling around this time of night. But it looks as though you were watching me. I warn you fairly, don’t try it again. I know how you feel toward Miss Lane, and I know how you have been with her while I was away. I tell you it’s got to stop. She is to be my wife, and I shall protect her. You may just as well—”

  He got no further. The big man sprang forward to face him with a look that made the dandy shrink with fear. “Protect Sammy Lane from 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 a snarling laugh, the big fellow reached out his great hand and the shining toy went whirling through the air. “Go home,” said the giant. “Damn you, go home! Don’t you hear? For God’s sake get out o’ my sight ‘fore I forget again!”

  Ollie went.

  OLLIE’S DILEMMA

  AS “Preachin’ Bill” used to say, “Every hound has hits strong pints, but some has more of ‘em.”

  Young Stewart was not without graces pleasing to the girl whom he hoped to make his wife. He seemed to know instinctively all those little attentions in which women so delight, and he could talk, too, very entertainingly of the things he had seen. To the simple girl of the backwoods, he succeeded in making the life in the city appear very wonderful, indeed. Neither was Sammy insensible to the influence of his position, and his prospective wealth, with the advantages that these things offered. Then, with all this, he loved her dearly; and when, if you please, was ever a woman wholly unmoved by the knowledge that she held first place in a man’s heart?

  For two weeks they were together nearly every day, sometimes spending the afternoon at the girl’s home on the side of Dewey, or roving over the nearby hills; sometimes going for long rides through the great woods to pass the day with friends, returning in the evening to find Jim smoking in the doorway of the darkened cabin.

  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 young Stewart, the girl answered, “He must have his chance, Daddy. He mast have a good fair chance. I—I don’t know what it is, but there is—I—I don’t know, Daddy. I am sure I loved him when he want away, that is, I think I am sure.” And Jim, looking into her eyes, agreed heartily; then he took down his violin to make joyful music 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 some reason, carefully planned their rides so that they would not be likely to meet their neighbor an the ridge. Once, indeed, they called at the Matthews place, walking over in the evening, but that was when Sammy knew that Young Matt was not at home.

  Day after day as they talked together, the girl tried honestly to enter into the life of the man she had promised to marry. But always there was that feeling of something lacking. Just what that something was, or why she could not feel completely satisfied, Sammy did not understand. But the day was soon to come when she would 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 her feel his love, he had never openly attempted the role of lover. He was conscious that to put the girl constantly upon the defensive would be disastrous to his hopes; and in this, he was wise. But the time had come when he must speak, for it was the last day of his visit. He felt that he could not go back to the city without a definite understanding.

  Sammy, too, realized this, but still she was not ready to give an answer 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 head and 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 horse closer to the brown pony. “Let me help you decide, dear. You are troubled because of the change you see in me, and because the life that I have tried to tell you about is so strange, so different from this. You need not fear. With me, you will very soon be at home there; as much at home as you are here. Come, dear, let me answer 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 home from the party at Ford’s, when her pony had crowded close to the big white faced sorrel. It was Brownie this time who was pulled shar
ply aside. The almost involuntary act brought a quick flush to the young man’s cheek, and he promptly reined his own horse to the right, thus placing the full width of the road between them. So they went down the hill into the valley, where Fall Creek tumbled and laughed on its rocky way.

  A thread of blue smoke, curling lazily up from the old stack, and the sound of a hammer, told them that some one was at the mill. Sammy was caught by a sudden impulse. “Why, that must be Young Matt!” she exclaimed. “Let us stop. I do believe you haven’t seen him 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 to myself. Let us go up the old Roark trail, around Cox’s Bald, and home through the big, low gap.” He checked his horse as he spoke, for they had already passed the point where the Roark trail leaves Fall Creek.

  But the girl was determined to follow her impulse. “You can stop just a minute,” she urged. “You really ought to see Matt, you know. 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 I don’t want to see anybody, and I am very sure that Young Matt doesn’t want to see me, not with you, anyway.”

  Sammy flushed at this, and answered with some warmth, “There is no reason 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 the mill.” So saying, she started down the valley, and as there was really nothing else for him to do, the man followed.

  As they approached the mill, Sammy called for Young Matt, who immediately left his work, and came to them. The big fellow wore no coat, and his great arms were bare, while his old shirt, patched and faded and patched again, was soiled by engine grease and perspiration. His trousers, too, held in place by suspenders repaired with belt lacing and fastened with a nail, were covered with sawdust and dirt. His hands and arms and even his face were treated liberally with the same mixture that stained his clothing; and the shaggy red brown hair, uncovered, was sadly tumbled. In his hand he held a wrench. The morrow was grinding day, and he had been making some repairs about the engine.

  Altogether, as the backwoodsman came forward, he presented a marked contrast to the freshly clad, well groomed gentleman from the city. And to the woman, the contrast was not without advantages to the man in the good clothes. The thought flashed through her mind that the men who would work for Ollie in the shops would look like this. It was the same old advantage; the advantage that the captain has over the private; the advantage of rank, regardless of worth.

  Sammy greeted Young Matt warmly. “I just told Ollie that it was too bad he had not seen you. You were away the night we called at your house, you know; and he is going home to-morrow.”

  The giant looked from one to the other. Evidently Sammy had not heard of that meeting at the Lookout, and Stewart’s face grew red as he saw what was in the big fellow’s mind. “I’m mighty glad to see 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 him in the field as you passed the first day you came, but that you were in such a hurry you didn’t stop.”

  At this Ollie forced a loud laugh, and remarked that he was in something of a hurry that day. He hoped that in the girl’s confusion the point might be overlooked.

  But the mountaineer was not to be sidetracked so easily. Ollie’s poor attempt only showed more clearly that he had purposely refrained from telling Sammy of the might when Young Matt had interfered to save his life. To the simple straight-forward lad of the 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’ve met, 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 Young Matt’s voice that hinted at a double meaning in his simple words, all told her that there was something beneath the surface which she did not understand.

  After his one remark to her escort, the woodsman turned to the girl, and, in spite of Sammy’s persistent attempts to bring the now sullen Ollie into the conversation, ignored the man completely. When they had talked for a few moments, Young Matt said, “I reckon you’ll have to excuse me a minute, Sammy; I left the engine in such a hurry when you called that I’ll have to look at it again. It won’t take more’n a minute.”

  As he disappeared in the mill shed, the young lady turned to her companion, “What’s the matter with you two? Have you met and quarreled since you came home?”

  Fate was being very unkind to Ollie. He replied gruffly, “You’ll have to ask your friend. I told you how it would be. The greasy hobo doesn’t like to see me with you, and hasn’t manners enough even to hide his feelings. Come, let us go on.”

  A look that was really worth seeing came into the girl’s fine eyes, 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 had enough. I am sure I have.”

  The young woman was determined now to know what lay at the bottom of 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 until Young Matt comes back.”

  Ollie was angry now in good earnest. He had not told Sammy of the incident at the Lookout because he felt that the story would bring the backwoodsman into a light altogether too favorable. He thought to have the girl safely won before he left the hills; then it would not matter. That Young Matt would have really saved Ollie’s life at the risk of his own there was no doubt. And Stewart realized that his silence under such circumstances would look decidedly small and ungrateful to the girl. To have the story told at this critical moment was altogether worse than if he had generously told of the incident at once. He saw, too, that Sammy guessed at some thing beneath the surface, and he felt uneasy in remaining until Young Matt came back to renew the conversation. And yet he feared to leave. At this stage of his dilemma, he was relieved from his plight in a very unexpected manner.

  THE CHAMPION

  A BIG wagon, with two men on the seat, appeared coming up the valley road. It was Wash Gibbs and a crony from the river. They had stopped at the distillery on their way, and were just enough under the influence of drink to be funny and reckless.

  When they caught sight of Ollie Stewart and Miss Lane, Wash said something to his companion, at which both laughed uproariously. Upon reaching the couple, the wagon came to a stop, and after looking at Ollie for some moments, with the silent gravity of an owl, Gibbs turned to the young lady, “Howdy, honey. Where did you git 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 drive on, 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 his companion, who was grinning in appreciation of the scene, he continued, “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 to escape, but he could not under Sammy’s eyes.

  As Wash was climbing down from the wagon, he caught sight of Young Matt standing in the door of the mill shed. “Hello, Matt,” he called cheerfully; “I ain’t a lookin’ fer you t’ day; ‘tend t’ you some other time. Got more important business jest now.”

  Young Matt made no reply, nor did he move to interfere. In the backwoods every man must fight his own battles, so
long as he fights with men. When Stewart was in danger from the panther, it was different. This was man to man. Sammy, too, reared in the mountains, and knowing the code, waited quietly to see what her lover 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 to Young Matt, and then to the girl on the horse. “That’s right,” he said, 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 man from his horse, catching him with the other hand as he fell, and setting him on his feet in the middle of the road.

  Ollie was like a child in the grasp of his huge tormentor, and, in spite of her indignation, a look of admiration flashed over Sammy’s face at the exhibition of the bully’s wonderful physical strength; an admiration, that only heightened the feeling of shame for 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 struggled feebly a moment and attempted to draw a pistol, whereupon Wash promptly captured the weapon, remarking in a sad tone as he did so, “You hadn’t ought t’ tote such a gun as that, sonny; hit might go off. Hit’s a right pretty little thing, ain’t hit?” he continued, holding his victim with one hand, and examining the pearl handled, nickel plated weapon with great interest. “Hit sure is. 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. Hit ain’t safe.”