The Shepherd of the Hills

THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS
BY HAROLD BELL WRIGHT

TO FRANCES, MY WIFE
IN MEMORY OF THAT BEAUTIFUL SUMMER IN THE OZARK
HILLS, WHEN, SO OFTEN, WE FOLLOWED THE OLD TRAIL
AROUND THE RISE OF MUTTON HOLLOW--THE TRAIL THAT
IS NOBODY KNOWS HOW OLD--AND FROM SAMMY'S
LOOKOUT WATCHED THE DAY GO OVER THE WESTERN
RIDGES.

"That all with one consent praise new-born gawds, Tho they are made
and moulded of things past, And give to dust that is a little gilt More
laud than gilt o'er-dusted."
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT 3; SC. 3.
CHAPTER I.
THE STRANGER.
It was corn-planting time, when the stranger followed the Old Trail into
the Mutton Hollow neighborhood.
All day a fine rain had fallen steadily, and the mists hung heavy over
the valley. The lower hills were wrapped as in a winding sheet; dank
and cold. The trees were dripping with moisture. The stranger looked
tired and wet.
By his dress, the man was from the world beyond the ridges, and his

carefully tailored clothing looked strangely out of place in the mountain
wilderness. His form stooped a little in the shoulders, perhaps with
weariness, but he carried himself with the unconscious air of one long
used to a position of conspicuous power and influence; and, while his
well-kept hair and beard were strongly touched with white, the brown,
clear lighted eyes, that looked from under their shaggy brows, told of
an intellect unclouded by the shadows of many years. It was a face
marked deeply by pride; pride of birth, of intellect, of culture; the face
of a scholar and poet; but it was more--it was the countenance of one
fairly staggering under a burden of disappointment and grief.
As the stranger walked, he looked searchingly into the mists on every
hand, and paused frequently as if questioning the proper course.
Suddenly he stepped quickly forward. His ear had caught the sharp ring
of a horse's shoe on a flint rock somewhere in the mists on the
mountain side above. It was Jed Holland coming down the trail with a
week's supply of corn meal in a sack across his horse's back.
As the figure of the traveler emerged from the mists, the native checked
his horse to greet the newcomer with the customary salutation of the
backwoods, "Howdy."
The man returned Jed's greeting cordially, and, resting his satchel on a
rock beside the narrow path, added, "I am very glad to meet you. I fear
that I am lost."
The voice was marvelously pure, deep, and musical, and, like the
brown eyes, betrayed the real strength of the man, denied by his gray
hair and bent form. The tones were as different from the high keyed,
slurring speech of the backwoods, as the gentleman himself was unlike
any man Jed had ever met. The boy looked at the speaker in wide-eyed
wonder; he had a queer feeling that he was in the presence of a superior
being.
Throwing one thin leg over the old mare's neck, and waving a long arm
up the hill and to the left, Jed drawled, "That thar's Dewey Bal'; down
yonder's Mutton Holler." Then turning a little to the right and pointing
into the mist with the other hand, he continued, "Compton Ridge is

over thar. Whar was you tryin' to git to, Mister?"
"Where am I trying to get to?" As the man repeated Jed's question, he
drew his hand wearily across his brow; "I--I--it doesn't much matter,
boy. I suppose I must find some place where I can stay to- night. Do
you live near here?"
"Nope," Jed answered, "Hit's a right smart piece to whar I live. This
here's grindin' day, an' I've been t' mill over on Fall Creek; the
Matthews mill hit is. Hit'll be plumb dark 'gin I git home. I 'lowed you
was a stranger in these parts soon 's I ketched sight of you. What might
YER name be, Mister?"
The other, looking back over the way he had come, seemed not to hear
Jed's question, and the native continued, "Mine's Holland. Pap an' Mam
they come from Tennessee. Pap he's down in th' back now, an' ain't
right peart, but he'll be 'round in a little, I reckon. Preachin' Bill he
'lows hit's good fer a feller t' be down in th' back onct in a while; says if
hit warn't fer that we'd git to standin' so durned proud an' straight we'd
go plumb over backwards."
A bitter smile crossed the face of the older man. He evidently applied
the native's philosophy in a way unguessed by Jed. "Very true, very
true, indeed," he mused. Then he turned to Jed, and asked, "Is there a
house near here?"
"Jim Lane lives up the trail 'bout half a