“She’ll be all right to-morrow, I think. And thank you again for helping her. Good night, sir.”
Scott turned down the mountain and left the old man standing in the moonlight looking after him. He liked old Jarred; he was a man and a gentleman. He did not wonder that he held the Waits at bay almost unaided. One man like that could overawe a whole tribe of cowards such as the Waits appeared to be.
And when Scott paused outside the hotel for a moment before going in, he glanced admiringly up at the silvered mountainside where that staunch old man was nursing his hate with such undaunted courage.
CHAPTER XI
A VISIT TO JARRED’S CABIN
After breakfast the next morning Scott started back up the mountain. It was a beautiful morning. A light haze still lay like a blanket over the valley but the mountain ridges glistened in the sunshine. The woods seemed alive with birds everywhere he looked and many of them were new to him. It was the kind of morning that made a man feel as though he would never get tired, and Scott walked with a light step. The gloom of the night before had left him and everything seemed as bright as the mountain tops. He felt as though everything must come out all right.
As he passed the Sanders’ cabin the old man was sweeping off his little front porch. “Morning,” he called cheerfully, “going up to beard the lion in his den, are you?”
“Yes,” Scott said, “and I am not a bit scared either. I met him last night and I liked him. He seems like a real man.”
“Last night?” the old man repeated doubtfully.
“Yes, your little friend Vic fell off her horse down below here and hurt herself a little and I took her home.”
“Oh!” Mr. Sanders exclaimed as though some mystery had been solved. “That’s how it happened. I was wondering how you got into old Jarred’s house at night. Vic was not hurt bad, was she?”