The Shepherd of the Hills

by Harold Bell Wright

“Well, one day, when we was out on the range a ridin’ for stock—she’d often go with me that way—we met a stranger over there at the deer lick in the big low gap, coming along the Old Trail. He was as fine a lookin’ man as you ever see, sir; big and grand like, with lightish hair, kind, of wavy, and a big mustache like his hair, and fine white teeth showing when he smiled. He was sure good lookin’, damn him! and with his fine store clothes and a smooth easy way of talkin’ and actin’ he had, ’tain’t no wonder she took up with him. We all did. I used to think God never made a finer body for a man. I know now that Hell don’t hold a meaner heart than the one in that same fine body. And that’s somethin’ that bothers me a heap, Mr. Howitt.

“As I say, our girl was built like Sammy Lane, and so far as looks go she was his dead match. I used to wonder when I’d look at them together if there ever was such another fine lookin’ pair. I ain’t a goin’ to tell you his name; there ain’t no call to, as I can see. There might be some decent man named the same. But he was one of these here artist fellows and had come into the hills to paint, he said.”

A smothered exclamation burst from the listener.

Mr. Matthews, not noticing, continued: “He sure did make a lot of pictures and they seemed mighty nice to us, ’though of course we didn’t know nothin’ about such things. There was one big one he made of Maggie that was as natural as life. He was always drawin’ of her in one way or another, and had a lot of little pictures that didn’t amount to much, and that he didn’t never finish. But this big one he worked at off and on all summer. It was sure fine, with her a standin’ by the ranch spring, holdin’ out a cup of water, and smilin’ like she was offerin’ you a drink.”

It was well that the night had fallen. At Old Matt’s words the stranger shrank back in his chair, his hand raised as if to ward off a deadly blow. He made a sound in his throat as if he would cry out, but could not from horror or fear. But the darkness hid his face, and the mountaineer, with mind intent upon his story, did not heed.

“He took an old cabin at the foot of the hill near where the sheep corral is now, and fixed it up to work in. The shack had been built first by old man Dewey, him that the mountain’s named after. It was down there he painted the big picture of her a standin’ by the big spring. We never thought nothin’ about her bein’ with him so much. Country folks is that way, Mr. Howitt, ’though we ought to knowed better; we sure ought to knowed better.” The old giant paused and for some time sat with his head bowed, his forgotten pipe on the floor.

“Well,” he began again; “he stopped with us all that summer, and then one day he went out as usual and didn’t come back. We hunted the hills out for signs, thinkin’ maybe he met up with some trouble. He’d sent all his pictures away the week before, Jim Lane haulin’ them to the settlement for him.

“The girl was nigh about wild and rode with me all durin’ the hunt, and once when we saw some buzzards circlin’, she gave a little cry and turned so white that I suspicioned maybe she got to thinkin’ more of him than we knew. Then one afternoon when we were down yonder in the Hollow, she says, all of a sudden like, ‘Daddy, it ain’t no use a ridin’ no more. He ain’t met up with no trouble. He’s left all the trouble with us.’ She looked so piqued and her eyes were so big and starin’ that it come over me in a flash what she meant. She saw in a minute that I sensed it, and just hung her head, and we come home.

“She just kept a gettin’ worse and worse, Mr. Howitt; ’peared to fade away like, like I watched them big glade lilies do when the hot weather comes. About the only time she would show any life at all was when someone would go for the mail, when she’d always be at the gate a waitin’ for us.

“Then one day, a letter come. I brung it myself. She give a little cry when I handed it to her, and run into the house, most like her old self. I went on out to the barn to put up my horse, thinkin’ maybe it was goin’ to be alright after all; but pretty soon, I heard a scream and then a laugh. ’Fore God, sir, that laugh’s a ringin’ in my ears yet. She was ravin’ mad when I got to her, a laughin’, and a screechin’, and tryin’ to hurt herself, all the while callin’ for him to come.