Jim answered uneasily, “I don’t know, girl. I reckon he’ll be around again after a time.”
There was a pause for a little while; then Sammy, with her arms still about his neck, said, “Daddy, I’m going to stay in the hills with you now. I am going to send Ollie away to-morrow, because as you say, he isn’t our kind. Daddy, Wash Gibbs is not our kind either, is he?”
“You don’t understand, girl, and I can’t tell you now. It all started way back when you was a little trick.”
The young woman answered very gently, “Yes, I know. You have told me that often. But, Daddy, what will—what will our friends think, if you keep on with Wash Gibbs now, after what happened at the mill to-day? Young Matt fought Gibbs because he insulted me and was going to hurt me. You say yourself that it will be war between them now? Will you side with Wash? And if you do, won’t it look like there was just a little, tiny streak of yellow in us?”
This side of the situation had not struck Jim at first. He got up and walked the floor, while the girl, standing quietly by the fireplace, watched him, a proud, fond light in her eyes. Sammy did not 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 was fairly defined, she felt confident that, whatever the cost, the break would be made.
But at this time it was well that she did not know how great the cost of breaking the bond between the two men would be.
Jim stopped before his daughter, and, placing a hand upon each shoulder, said, “Tell me, girl; are you so powerful anxious to have 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. He kissed the girl and said, “I’ll do it, honey. I ain’t afraid to, now.”
SAMMY GRADUATES
THE next day when young Stewart came, the books were all back on the shelf in the main room of the cabin, and Sammy, dressed in a fresh gown of simple goods and fashion, with her hair arranged carefully, as she had worn it the last two months before Ollie’s coming, sat at the window reading.
The man was surprised and a little embarrassed. “Why, what have you been doing to yourself?” he exclaimed.
“I have not been doing anything to myself. I have only done some things to my clothes and hair,” returned the girl.
Then he saw the books. “Why, where did these come from?” He crossed the 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 looked at 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 the way to her favorite spot, high up on the shoulder of Dewey, and there, with Mutton Hollow at their feet and the big hills about them, with the long blue ridges in the distance beyond which lay Ollie’s world, she told him what he feared to learn. The man refused to believe that he heard aright. “You do not understand,” he protested, and he tried to tell her of the place in life that would be hers as his wife. In his shallowness, he talked even of jewels, and dresses, and such things.
“But can all this add one thing to life itself?” she asked. “Is not life really independent of all these things? Do they not indeed cover up the real life, and rob one of freedom? It seems to me 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 these woods, and you can never, now, get away from the world into which you have gone.” She pointed to the distant hills. “It is very, very far over there to where you live. I might, indeed, find many things in your world that would be delightful; but I fear that I should lose the things that after all are, to me, the really big things. I do not feel that the things that are greatest in your life could bring happiness without that which I find here. And there is something here that can bring happiness without what you call 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 have learned some things that I fear you have not. Beside, I know now that I do not love you. I have been slow to find the truth, but I have found it. And this is the one thing that matters, that I found it in time.”
“Did you reach this conclusion at the mill yesterday?” he asked with a sneer.
“No. It came to me here on the rock last evening after you were gone. I heard a strange story; the story of a weak man, a strong man, and a God who was very kind.”
Ollie saw that further persuasion was of no avail, and as he left her, she watched him out of sight for the last time—along the trail that is nobody knows how old. When he was gone, in obedience to an impulse she did not try to understand, she ran down the mountain to the cabin in the Hollow—Young Matt’s cabin. And when the shepherd came in from the hills with his flock he found the house in such order as only a woman’s hand can bring. The table was set, and his supper cooking on the stove.
“Dad,” she asked, “Do you think I know enough now to live in the city?”
The old man’s heart sank. It had come then. Bravely he concealed his feelings, as he assured her in the strongest terms, that she knew 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 with gladness, and there was a note of triumph in the scholar’s voice as he said, “Then you do not regret learning the things I have tried to teach you? You are sure you have no sorrow for the things you are losing.”
“Regret? Dad. Regret?” The young woman drew herself up and lifted her arms. “Oh, Dad, I see it all, now; all that you have been trying in a thousand ways to teach me. You have led me into a new world, the real world, the world that has always been and must always be, and in that world man is king; king because he is a man. And the treasure of his kingdom is the wealth of his manhood.”
“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. “I can lead you no farther, my child,” he said with a smile. “You have passed the final test.”
She came close to him, “Then I want my diploma,” she said, for he had told her about the schools.
Reverently the old scholar kissed her brow. “This is the only diploma I am authorized to give—the love and homage of your teacher.”
“And my degree?” She waited with that wide, questioning look in her eyes.
“The most honorable in all the world—a sure enough lady.”
CASTLE BUILDING
THE corn was big enough to cultivate the first time, and Young Matt with Old Kate was hard at work in the field west of the house.
It was nearly three weeks since the incident at the mill, since which time the young fellow had not met Sammy Lane to talk with her. He had seen her, though, at a distance nearly every day, for the girl had taken up her studies again, and spent most of her time out on the hills with the shepherd. That day he saw her as she turned into the mill road at the lower corner of the field, on her way to the Forks. And he was still thinking of her three hours later, 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 his heart. Under any circumstances it was no small thing to have defeated the champion strong man and terror of the hills. It was a glorious thing to have done the deed for the girl he loved, and under her eyes. Sammy might give herself to Ollie, no
w, and go far away to the great world, but she could never forget the man who had saved her from insult, when her lover was far too weak to save even himself. And Young Matt would stay in the hills alone, but always he would have the knowledge and the triumph of this thing that he had done. Yes, it would be easier now, but still—still the days would be years when there was no longer each morning the hope that somewhere before the day was gone he would see her.
The sun fell hot and glaring on the hillside field, and in the air was the smell of the freshly turned earth. High up in the blue a hawk circled and circled again. A puff of air came sighing through the forest, touched lightly the green blades in the open, slipped over the ridge, and was lost in the sky beyond. Old Kate, with head down, was dreaming of cool springs in shady dells, and a little shiny brown lizard with a bright blue tail crept from under the 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 road below. Young Matt knew the step of that horse, as well as he knew the 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 a voice called, “You’d better be at work. I don’t believe you have ploughed three rows since I passed.”
The big fellow went eagerly down the hill to the fence. “I sure ought to o’ done better’n that, for it’s been long enough since you went by. I always notice, though, that it gets a heap farther to 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 strong man was beaten at his own game. Uncle Ike says, ‘Ba thundas! You tell Young Matt that he’d better come over. A man what can ride Wash Gibbs a bug huntin’ is too blamed good a man t’ stay at home all 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, and laughed. It was good to have Sammy deliver her message in just that way. “I reckon Uncle Ike thinks I ought to go dancin’ all over the hills now, with a chip on my shoulder,” he said.
“I don’t think you’ll do that,” she returned. “Dad Howitt wouldn’t, would he? But I must hurry on now, or Daddy’s supper won’t be ready when he comes in. I stopped to give you these papers for your father.” She handed him the package. “And—and I want to thank you, Matt, for what you did at the mill. All my life you have been fighting for me, and—and I have never done anything for you. I wish I could do something—something that would show you how—how I care.”
Her voice faltered. He was so big and strong, and there was such a look of hopeless love and pain on his rugged face—a face that was as frank and open as a child’s. Here was a man who had no need for the shallow cunning of little fox-like men. This one would go open and bold on his way, and that which he could not take by his strength he would not have. Had she not seen him in battle? Had she not seen his eyes like polished steel points? Deep down in her heart, the woman felt a thrill of triumph that such a man should stand so before her. She must go quickly.
Young Matt climbed slowly up the hill again to his seat on the stump. Here he watched until across the Hollow he saw the pony and his rider come out of the timber and move swiftly along the ridge; watched until they faded into a tiny spot, rounded the mountain and disappeared from sight. Then, lifting his eyes, he looked away beyond the long blue line that marked the distant horizon. Some day 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 from there. What was that world like, he wondered. Between the young man of the mountains and that big world yonder there had always been a closely shut door. He had seen the door open to Ollie, and now 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 others who had done so.
Young Matt felt a strong man’s contempt for the things Ollie had gotten out of the world, but he stood in awe before Mr. Howitt. He told himself, now, that he would look for and find the things yonder that made Dad the man he was. He would carry to the task his splendid strength. Nothing should stop him. And Sammy, when she understood that he was going away to be like the shepherd, would wait awhile to give him his chance. Surely, she would wait when he told her that. But how should he begin?
Looking up again, his eye caught a slow, shifting patch of white on the bench above Lost Creek, where the little stream begins its underground course. The faint bark of a dog came to him through the thin still air, and the patch of white turned off into the trail that leads to the ranch. “Dad!” exclaimed the young man in triumph. Dad should tell him how. He had taught Sammy.
And so while the sunlight danced on the green field, and old Kate slept in the lengthening shadows of the timber, the lad gave himself to his dreams and built his castles—as we all have builded.
His dreaming was interrupted as the supper bell rang, and, with the familiar sound, a multitude of other thoughts came crowding in; the father and mother—they were growing old. Would it do to leave them alone with the graves on the hill yonder, and the mystery of the Hollow? And there was the place to care for, and the 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. Young Matt’s fights never lasted very long. By the time he had unhitched old Kate from the cultivator, it was finished. The lad went down the hill, his bright castles in ruin—even as we all have gone, or must sometime go down the hill with our brightest castles in ruin.
PREPARATION
THAT same night, Mr. Lane told his daughter that he would leave home early the next morning to be gone two days. Jim was cleaning his big forty-five when he made the announcement.
Sammy paused with one hand on the cupboard door to ask, “With Wash Gibbs, Daddy?”
“No, I ain’t goin’ with Wash; but I’ll likely meet up with him before I get back.” There was a hint of that metallic ring in the man’s voice.
The girl placed her armful of dishes carefully on the cupboard shelf; “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 lock of his big revolver. “No, girl, I ain’t forgettin’ nothin’. This here’s the last ride I aim to take with Wash. I’m goin’ to see him to,”—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 ever wanted anything in all my life before. You’re such a good Daddy to me, I never could bear to see you with that bad, bad man.” She was behind his chair now, and, stooping, laid her fresh young cheek against the swarthy, furrowed face.
The man sat like a grim, stone image, his eyes fixed on the gun resting on his knees. Not until she lifted her head to stand erect behind 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 I go to-morrow. I reckon I’m right, but somehow a man can’t never tell about a woman in such things. Will you tell your Daddy, Sammy?”
“Tell what, Daddy Jim?” the girl asked, her hands stealing up to caress her father’s face.
“What answer will you give to Young Matt when he asks you what Ollie 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 in sidin’ with the boy in this here trouble.”
“You couldn’t make a mistake in doing that, Daddy, no matter whether I—no matter what—but perhaps Matt will not ask me what Ollie did.”
Just a ray of humor touched the dark face. “I ain’t makin’ no mistake
there. I know what the man will do.” He laid the gun upon the table, and reaching up caught the girl’s hand. “But I want to know what you’ll say when he asks you. Tell me, honey, so I’ll be plumb 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 to come to me. I never felt this way before, never.”
The mountaineer drew his daughter into his arms, and held her close, as he said, “I ain’t afraid to do it, now, girl.”
The young woman was so occupied with her own thoughts and the emotions aroused by her father’s question, that she failed to note the ominous suggestion that lay under his words. So she entered gaily into his plans for her during his two days’ absence.
Jim would leave early in the morning, and Sammy was to stay with her friend, Mandy Ford, over on Jake Creek. Mr. Lane had arranged with Jed Holland to do the milking, so there would be no reason for the girl’s return until the following evening, and she must promise that she would not come home before that time. Sammy promised laughingly. He need not worry; she and Mandy had not had a 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 the cabin door with his pipe. An hour passed. Sammy was fast asleep. And still the man sat smoking. A half hour more went by. Suddenly the pipe was laid aside, and Jim’s hand crept inside his shirt to find the butt of the revolver. His quick ear had caught the sound of a swiftly moving horse coming down the mountain.
The horse stopped at the gate and a low whistle came out of the darkness. Leaving his seat, Sammy’s father crossed the yard, and, a moment later, the horse with its rider was going on again down the trail toward the valley below and the distant river.
The Shepard of the Hills Page 16
