“Daddy Jim, if you don’t—hush—I’ll—I’ll—” she hid her face on his shoulder.
“There, there, honey; I was only funnin’. You’ll always be my Sammy; the only boy I ever had. You just naturally couldn’t be nothin’ else.”
Long after his daughter had gone to her room and to her bed, the mountaineer sat in the doorway, looking into the dark. He heard the short bark of a fox in the brush back of the stable; and the wild cry of a catamount from a cliff farther down the mountain was answered by another from the timber below the spring. He saw the great hills heaving their dark forms into the sky, and in his soul he felt the spirit of the wilderness and the mystery of the hour. At last he went into the house to close and bar the door.
Away down in Mutton Hollow a dog barked, and high up on Old Dewey near Sammy’s Lookout, a spot of light showed for a moment, then vanished.
CHAPTER XV.
THE PARTY AT FORD’S.
Young Matt would have found some excuse for staying at home the night of the party at Ford’s, but the shepherd said he must go.
The boy felt that the long evening with Sammy would only hurt. He reasoned with himself that it would be better for him to see as little as possible of the girl who was to marry Ollie Stewart. Nevertheless, he was singing as he saddled the big white faced sorrel to ride once more over the trail that is nobody knows how old.
Mr. Lane was leading the brown pony from the stable as Young Matt rode up to the gate; and from the doorway of the cabin Sammy called to say that she would be ready in a minute.
“Ain’t seen you for a coon’s age, boy,” said Jim, while they were waiting for the girl. “Why don’t you never come down the Old Trail no more?”
The big fellow’s face reddened, as he answered, “I ain’t been nowhere, Jim. ’Pears like I just can’t get away from the place no more; we’re that busy.”