CHAPTER XXVII
YOU'LL COME BACK A MAN
It was after dark when the old man, pale, and his knees still shaking with the terrible strain and excitement of it all, reached his cabin on the mountain. The cheers of the grand-stand still echoed in his ears, and, shut his eyes as he would, he still saw Ben Butler, stretched out on the track struggling for the little breath that was in him.
Jack Bracken walked in behind the old man carrying a silken sack which sagged and looked heavy.
The grandfather caught up Shiloh first and kissed her. Then he sat down with the frail form in his arms and looked earnestly at her with his deep piercing eyes.
“Where's the ole hoss,” began his wife, her eyes beginning to snap. “You've traded him off an' I'll bet you got soaked, Hillard Watts—I can tell it by that pesky, sheepish look in yo' eyes. You never cu'd trade horses an' I've allers warned you not to trade the ole roan.”
“Wal, yes,” said the Bishop. “I've traded him for this—” and his voice grew husky with emotion—“for this, Tabitha, an', Jack, jes' pour it out on the table there.”
It came out, yellow waves of gold. The light shone on them, and as the tired eyes of little Shiloh peeped curiously at them, each one seemed to throw to her a kiss of hope, golden tipped and resplendent.