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.”