Shepherd of the Hills — 18 - Chapters 34 and 35
CHAPTER XXXIV. JIM LANE KEEPS HIS PROMISE.
Sammy, on her tired pony, approached the Lookout on the shoulder of Dewey.
As they drew near a figure rose quickly from its place on the rock, and, running swiftly along the ledge, concealed itself in the clump of cedars above the trail on the southern side of the mountain.
A
moment later the almost exhausted horse and his rider passed, and the figure, slipping from the ledge, followed them 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 know that the money that helped her father over the drought had come through the shepherd;
the Matthews family, too, had been helped the same way.
Surely Dad Howitt was incapable of any crime.
It was all some terrible mistake;
some trap from which her father must be saved.
But Sammy knew, too, that Wash Gibbs and his companions were bad men, who might easily be guilty of the robbery.
To help them escape the officers was quite a different matter.
Leaving the trembling Brownie in a clump of bushes a little way from the clearing, the girl went forward on foot, and behind her still crept the figure that had followed from the Lookout.
Once the figure paused as if undecided which course to pursue.
Close by, two saddle horses that had carried their riders on many a long ride were tied to a tree a few feet from the corner of the barn.
Sammy would have recognized these, but in her excitement she had failed to notice them.
At first the girl saw no light.
Could it be that the officers were wrong?
that there was no one at the cabin after all?
Then a little penciled gleam set her heart throbbing wildly.
Blankets were fastened over the windows.
Sammy remembered that a few days before a bit of chinking had fallen from between the logs in the rear of the cabin.
She had spoken to her father about it, but it was not likely that he had remembered 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 were eleven men; one, the man who had been with Wash Gibbs at the mill, carried his arm in a sling.
The girl outside could hear distinctly every word that was spoken.
Wash, himself, was speaking.
“Well, boys, we’re all here.
Let’s get through and get away.
Bring out the stuff, Jim.
” Mr. Lane went to one corner of the cabin, and, pulling up a loose board of the flooring, drew out two heavy sacks.
As he placed the bags on the table, the men all rose to their feet.
“There it is just as you give it to me,” said Jim.
“But before you go any farther, men, I’ve got something to say.
” The company stirred uneasily, and all eyes turned from Jim to their big leader, while Sammy noticed for the first time that the table had been moved from its usual place, and that her father had taken such a position that the corner of the cabin was directly behind him, with the table in front.
For her life the girl could not have moved.
Slowly Jim swept the group of scowling, wondering faces on the other side of the table.
Then, in his slow drawling speech, he said, “Most of you here was in the old organization.
Tom and Ed and me knows how it started away back, for we was in it at the beginnin’.
Wash, here, was the last man to join, ’fore we was busted, and he was the youngest member, too; bein’ only a boy, but big for his age.
You remember how he was taken in on account of his daddy’s bein’ killed by the gov’ment.
“Didn’t ary one of us fellers that started it ever think the Bald Knobber’s would get to be what they did.
We began it as a kind of protection, times bein’ wild then.
But first we knowed some was a usin’ the order to protect themselves in all kinds of devilment, and things went on that way, ’cause nobody didn’t dare say anything; for if they did they was tried as traitors, and sentenced to the death.
“I ain’t a sayin’, boys, that I was any better than lots of others, for I reckon I done my share.
But when my girl’s mother died, away down there in Texas, I promised her that I’d be a good daddy to my little one, and since then I done the best I know.
“After things quieted down, and I come back with my girl, Wash here got the old crowd, what was left of us, together, and wanted to reorganize again.
I told you then that I’d go in with you and stand by the old oath, so long as it was necessary to protect ourselves from them that might be tryin’ to get even for what had been 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 because I knowed what you’d do for me if I didn’t. And I didn’t dare risk leaving my girl all alone then.
I’ve ’tended every meetin’, and done everything I agreed, and there ain’t a man here can say I ain’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 stop you 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 was against goin’ for the shepherd, and you went when I didn’t know it.
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 to take it ’count of the oath.
“It’s got to be just like it was before.
We come together first to keep each other posted, and save ourselves if there was any call to, and little by little you’ve been led into first one thing and then another, ’till you’re every bit and grain as bad as the old crowd was, only there ain’t so many of you, and you’ve kept me in it ’cause I didn’t dare leave my girl.
” Jim paused.
There was an ominous silence in the room.
With his eyes covering every scowling face in the company, Jim spoke again, “But things has changed for me right smart, since our last meetin’, when you give me this stuff to hold.
You boys all know how I’ve kept Wash Gibbs away from my girl, and there ain’t one of you that don’t know I’m right, knowin’ him as we do.
More’n two weeks ago, when I wasn’t around, he insulted her, and would have done worse, if Young Matt hadn’t been there to take care of her.
I called you here to-night, because I knowed that after what happened at the mill, Wash and Bill would be havin’ a meetin’ as soon as they could get around, and votin’ you all to go against Young Matt and his people.
But I’m goin’ to have my say first.
” Wash Gibbs reached stealthily for his weapon, but hesitated when he saw that the dark faced man noted his movement.
Jim continued, in his drawling tones, but his voice rang cold and clear, “I ain’t never been mealy mouthed with no man, and I’m too old to begin now.
I know the law of the order, and I reckon Gibbs there will try to have you keep it.
You boys have got to say whether you’ll stand by him or me.
It looks like you was goin’ to go with him alright.
But whether you do or don’t, I don’t aim to stay with nobody that stands by such as Wash Gibbs.
I’m goin’ to side with decent folks, who have stood by my girl, and you can do your damnedest.
You take this stuff away from here.
And as for you, Wash Gibbs, if you ever set foot on my place again, if you ever cross my path after to-night I’ll kill you like the measly yeller hound you are.
” As he finished, Jim stood with his back to the corner of the room, his hand inside of the hickory shirt where the button was missing.
While her father was speaking, Sammy forgot everything, in the wild 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.
He belonged to her now, all to her.
She looked toward Wash Gibbs.
Then she remembered the posse, the officers of the law.
They could not know what she knew.
If her father was taken with the others and with the stolen gold, he would be compelled to suffer with the rest.
Yet if she called out to save him, she would save Wash Gibbs and his companions also, and they would menace her father’s life day and night.
The girl drew back from the window.
She must think.
What should she do?
Even as she hesitated, a score of dark forms crept swiftly, silently toward the cabin.
At the same moment a figure left the side of the house near the girl, and, crouching low, ran to the two horses that were tied near the barn.
Sammy was so dazed that for a moment she did not grasp the meaning of those swiftly moving forms.
Then a figure riding one horse and leading another dashed away from the barn and across a corner of the clearing.
The silence was broken by a pistol shot in the cabin.
Like an echo came a shot from the yard, and a voice rang out sharply, _“Halt!
”_ The figure reeled in the saddle, as if to fall, but recovered, and disappeared in the timber.
The same instant there was a rush toward the house—a loud call to surrender—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.
In the other room someone was moving about, and the light from a lamp shone through the door.
At first the girl thought that she had awakened from a night’s sleep, and that it was her father whom she heard, building the fire before calling her, as his custom was.
But no, he was not building the fire, he was scrubbing the floor.
How strange.
She would call presently and ask what he meant by getting up before daylight, and whether he thought to keep her from scolding him by trying 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 remember just what it was.
It was very strange that something seemed to keep her from calling to her father just then.
She would call presently.
She must remember first what that dream was.
She felt that she ought to get up and dress, but she did not somehow wish to move.
She was strangely tired.
It was her dream, she supposed.
Then she discovered that she was already fully dressed, and that her clothing was wet, muddy and torn.
And with this discovery every incident of the night came vividly before her.
She hid her face.
After awhile, she tried to rise to her feet, but fell back weak and dizzy.
Who was that in the other room?
Could it be her father?
Would he never finish scrubbing the floor in that corner?
When she could bear the suspense no longer, she called in a voice that sounded weak and far away; “Daddy, Oh, Daddy.
” Instantly the noise ceased; a step crossed the room; and the shepherd appeared in the doorway.
Placing the lamp on a little stand, the old man drew a chair to the side of the bed, and laid his hand upon her forehead, smoothing back the tangled hair.
He spoke 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 he there at all?
And in her room?
She glanced uneasily about the apartment, 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.
Aunt Mollie will be here in a few minutes.
Matt has gone for her.
When she comes and you are a little stronger, we shall talk.
” The girl caught his hand; “You—you won’t leave me, Dad?
You won’t leave me alone?
I’m afraid, Dad.
I never was before.
” “No, no, my child; I shall not leave you.
But you must have something warm to drink.
I have been preparing it.
” He stepped into the other room, soon returning with a steaming cup.
When she had finished the strengthening draught, Young Matt, with his mother and father, arrived.
While helping the girl into clean, dry clothing, Aunt Mollie spoke soothingly to her, as one would reassure a frightened child.
But Sammy could hear only the three men, moving about in the other room, doing something and talking always in low tones.
She did not speak, but in her brown eyes, that never left the older woman’s face, was that wide, questioning look.
When Mrs. Matthews had done what she could for the comfort of the girl, and the men had finished whatever they were doing in the other room, Sammy said, “Aunt Mollie, I want to know.
I must know.
Won’t you tell Dad to come, please?
” Instinctively she had turned to 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 about it.
” “You will be brave and strong, Sammy?
” Instantly, as ever, her quick mind grasped the meaning that lay back of the words and her face grew deathly white.
Then she answered, “I will be brave and strong.
But first, please open the window, Dad.
” He threw up the sash.
It was morning, and the mists were 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 light that was on the higher ground, and she said softly, “‘I will lift up 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.
Young Matt had been at the ranch with Mr. Howitt since early in the evening, and was taking his leave for the night when they heard horses stopping at the corral, and a voice calling.
Upon their answering, the voice said, “There is trouble at Jim Lane’s. Take these horses and go quick.
” And then as they had run from the house, the messenger had retreated into the shadow of the bluff, saying, “Never mind me.
If you love Sammy, hurry.
” At this they mounted and had ridden as fast as possible.
The old man did not tell the girl that he had found his saddle wet and slippery, and that when he reached the light his hands were red.
They had found the officers ready to leave with their prisoners.
All but two of the men were captured with their booty—Wash Gibbs alone escaping badly hurt, they thought, after killing one of the posse.
When they had asked for Sammy, one of the officers told them that she was at Ford’s over on Jake Creek, but another declared that he had heard a woman scream as they were making the attack.
Young Matt had found her unconscious on the ground behind the cabin.
When the shepherd finished his brief account, the girl said, “Tell me 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 scrubbed the cabin floor, and what the three men who talked so low had been doing in the other room.
She made no outcry, only a moan, as she looked away across the silent 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’m glad—glad they didn’t get you, Daddy.
They never _would_ have believed what I know;
never—never.
” But there were no tears, and the shepherd, seeing after a little touched her hand.
“Everything is ready, dear; would you like to go now?
” “Not just yet, Dad.
I must tell you first how I came to be at home, and why I am glad—oh, so glad, that I was here.
But call the 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 had heard her father say to the men.
When she had finished, she turned her face again to the open window.
The mists were gone.
The landscape lay bright in the sun.
But Sammy could not see.
“It is much better, so much better, as it is, my child,” said the old scholar.
“You see, dear, they would have taken him away.
Nothing could have saved him.
It would have been a living death behind prison walls away from you.
” “Yes, I know, Dad.
I understand.
It is better as it is.
Now, we will go to him, please.
” They led her into the other room.
The floor in the corner of the cabin where the shepherd had washed it was 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 the house until it was all over, save to walk a little way with her teacher.
Young Matt and his father made the coffin of rough boards, sawed at the mill; and from the country round about, the woods-people came to the funeral, or, as they called it in their simple way, the “burying.
” The grave was made in a little glen not far from the house.
When some of the neighbors would have brought a minister from the settlement, Sammy said, “No. ” Dad would say all that 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 away over the mountains and through the woods to their homes, Aunt Mollie with her motherly arm about the girl, said, “Come, honey; you’re our girl now.
As long as you stay in the hills, you shall stay with us.
” And Old Matt added, “You’re the only daughter we’ve got, 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,” and they 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 to Mr. Howitt’s question was, “Pete knows; Pete knows.
” Then in his own way he told something that sent the shepherd to Young Matt, and the two followed the lad to a spot where the buzzards were flying low through the trees.
By the shreds of clothing and the weapons lying near, they knew that the horrid thing, from which as they approached, carrion birds flapped their wings in heavy flight, was all that remained of the giant, Wash Gibbs.
Many facts were brought out at the trial of the outlaws and it was made clear that Jim Lane had met his death at the hands of Wash Gibbs, just at the beginning of the attack, and that Gibbs himself had been wounded a moment later by one of the attacking posse.
Thus does justice live even in the hills.
CHAPTER XXXVI. ANOTHER STRANGER.
