“I thought of that, Johnny. Went back to the edge of the clearing the very next day. Had some notion of showing myself. But I didn’t—” Pant broke off abruptly.
“Why?”
“The picture was there, Johnny, pasture, cattle, house and even the girl. There was one slight change. A man sat before the cabin, a tall, thin man in a white suit. Across his knees lay a long-barreled rifle. How that barrel did gleam in the sun! So-o, Johnny, I didn’t go down.”
“He wasn’t looking for you.”
“Probably not. But people do sometimes make mistakes. And really, it didn’t matter.”
This was one time when Pant was mistaken, more mistaken than he could imagine. It did matter. It mattered a great deal.
“Well, I’ll be going, Johnny,” Pant stood up.
“What’s the hurry, Pant? No shadows tonight!”
“There might be, Johnny, you never can tell. Good-night, Johnny.” He was gone.
“The shadow of a glorious past,” Johnny murmured low.