The Shepherd of the Hills | Page 3

trail before him; and when
the man reached the open ground on the mountain above, and rounded
the shoulder of the hill, he saw the pony, far ahead, loping easily along
the little path. A moment he watched, and horse and rider passed from
sight.
The clouds were drifting far away. The western sky was clear with the
sun still above the hills. In an old tree that leaned far out over the valley,
a crow shook the wet from his plumage and dried himself in the warm
light; while far below the mists rolled, and on the surface of that gray
sea, the traveler saw a company of buzzards, wheeling and circling
above some dead thing hidden in its depth.
Wearily the man followed the Old Trail toward the Matthews place,
and always, as he went, in the edge of the gloomy forest, flitted that
shadowy form.
CHAPTER II.
SAMMY LANE.
Preachin' Bill, says, "Hit's a plumb shame there ain't more men in th'
world built like old man Matthews and that thar boy o' his'n. Men like
them ought t' be as common as th' other kind, an' would be too if folks
cared half as much 'bout breeding folks as they do 'bout raising hogs an'
horses."
Mr. Matthews was a giant. Fully six feet four inches in height, with big
bones, broad shoulders, and mighty muscles. At log rollings and
chopping bees, in the field or at the mill, or in any of the games in
which the backwoodsman tries his strength, no one had ever

successfully contested his place as the strongest man in the hills. And
still, throughout the country side, the old folks tell with pride tales of
the marvelous feats of strength performed in the days when "Old Matt"
was young.
Of the son, "Young Matt," the people called him, it is enough to say
that he seemed made of the same metal and cast in the same mold as
the father; a mighty frame, softened yet by young manhood's grace; a
powerful neck and well poised head with wavy red-brown hair; and
blue eyes that had in them the calm of summer skies or the glint of
battle steel. It was a countenance fearless and frank, but gentle and kind,
and the eyes were honest eyes.
Anyone meeting the pair, as they walked with the long swinging stride
of the mountaineer up the steep mill road that gray afternoon, would
have turned for a second look; such men are seldom seen.
When they reached the big log house that looks down upon the Hollow,
the boy went at once with his axe to the woodpile, while the older man
busied himself with the milking and other chores about the barn.
Young Matt had not been chopping long when he heard, coming up the
hill, the sound of a horse's feet on the Old Trail. The horse stopped at
the house and a voice, that stirred the blood in the young man's veins,
called, "Howdy, Aunt Mollie."
Mrs. Matthews appeared in the doorway; by her frank countenance and
kindly look anyone would have known her at a glance as the boy's
mother. "Land sakes, if it ain't Sammy Lane! How are you, honey?"
"I am alright," answered the voice; "I've come over t' stop with you
to-night; Dad's away again; Mandy Ford staid with me last night, but
she had to go home this evenin'." The big fellow at the woodpile drove
his axe deeper into the log.
"It's about time you was a comin' over," replied the woman in the
doorway; "I was a tellin' the menfolks this mornin' that you hadn't been
nigh the whole blessed week. Mr. Matthews 'lowed maybe you was

sick."
The other returned with a gay laugh, "I was never sick a minute in my
life that anybody ever heard tell. I'm powerful hungry, though. You'd
better put in another pan of corn bread." She turned her pony's head
toward the barn.
"Seems like you are always hungry," laughed the older woman, in
return. "Well just go on out to the barn, and the men will take your
horse; then come right in and I'll mighty soon have something to fill
you up."
Operations at the woodpile suddenly ceased and Young Matt was first
at the barn-yard gate.
Miss Sammy Lane was one of those rare young women whose
appearance is not to be described. One can, of course, put it down that
she was tall; beautifully tall, with the trimness of a young pine, deep
bosomed, with limbs full-rounded, fairly tingling with the life and
strength of perfect womanhood; and it may be said that her face was a
face to go with one through the years, and to live still in one's dreams
when the sap