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.
Jim waited at the gate until the sound of the horse’s feet had died away in the night. Then he returned to the cabin. But even as he walked toward the house, a dark figure arose from a clump of bushes within a few feet of the spot where Jim and the horseman had met. The figure slipped noiselessly away into the forest.
The next morning Jim carefully groomed and saddled the brown pony for Sammy, then, leading his own horse ready for the road, he came to the cabin door. “Going now, Daddy?” said the girl, coming for the 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 and white. “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 the old folks, too. Remember now, stay at Mandy’s until to-morrow evenin’. Kiss me again, honey. Good-by.”
He mounted hurriedly and rode away at a brisk gallop. Pulling up a moment at the edge of the timber, he turned in the saddle to wave his hand to the girl in the cabin door.