Then Ollie rode away, and Sammy, going to her pony, stood petting the little horse, while she watched her lover up the Old Trail, and still there was that wide, questioning look in her eyes. As Ollie passed from sight around the hill above, the girl slipped out of the gate, and a few minutes later stood at the Lookout, where she could watch her lover riding along the ridge. She saw him pass from the open into the fringe of timber near the big gap; and, a few minutes later, saw him reappear beyond the deer lick. Still she watched as he moved along the rim of the Hollow, looking in the distance like a toy man on a toy horse; watched until he passed from sight into the timber again, and was gone. And all the time that questioning look was in her eyes.
Did she blame Ollie that he had played so poorly his part in the scene at the mill. No, she told herself over and over again, as though repeating a lesson; no, Ollie was not to blame, and yet—
She knew that he had spoken truly when he said that there were things that counted for more than brute strength. But was there not something more than brute strength in the incident? Was there not that which lay deeper? something of which the brute strength, after all, was only an expression? The girl stamped her foot impatiently, as she exclaimed aloud, “Oh, why did he not try to do something? He should have forced Wash Gibbs to beat him into insensibility rather than to have submitted so tamely to being played with.”
In the distance she saw the shepherd following his flock down the mountain, and the old scholar, who always watched the Lookout, when in the vicinity, for a glimpse of his pupil, waved his hand in greeting as he moved slowly on after his charges. It was growing late. Her father, too, would be coming home for his supper. But as she rose to go, a step on the mountain side above caught her attention, and, looking up, she saw Pete coming toward the big rock. Sammy greeted the youth kindly, “I haven’t seen Pete for days and days; where has he been?”
“Pete’s been everywhere; an’ course I’ve been with him,” replied the lad with his wide, sweeping gesture. Then throwing himself at full length at the girl’s feet, he said, abruptly, “Pete was here that night, and God, he was here, too. Couldn’t nobody else but God o’ done it. The gun went bang, and a lot more guns went bang, bang, all along the mountains. And the moonlight things that was a dancin’ quit ’cause they was scared; and that panther it just doubled up and died. Matt and Ollie wasn’t hurted nary a bit. Pete says it was God done that; He was sure in the hills that night.”
Sammy was startled. “Matt and Ollie, a panther? What do you mean, boy?”
The troubled look shadowed the delicate face, as the lad shook his head; “Don’t mean nothin’, Sammy, not me. Nobody can’t mean nothin’, can they?”
“But what does Pete mean? Does Pete know about it?”
“Oh, yes, course Pete knows everything. Don’t Sammy know ’bout that night when God was in the hills?” He was eager now, with eyes wide and face aglow.
“No,” said Sammy, “I do not know. Will Pete tell me all about it?”