THE COMMON YELLER KIND.
Mr. Howitt stood quietly by the corral gate when the horseman rode up.
It was Wash Gibbs, on his way home from an all day visit with friends
on the river.
When the big mountaineer took the short cut through Mutton Hollow, he
thought to get well past the ranch before the light failed. No matter
how well fortified with the courage distilled by his friend, Jennings,
the big man would never have taken the trail by the old ruined cabin
alone after dark. He had evidently been riding at a good pace, for his
mule’s neck and flanks were wet with sweat. Gibbs, himself, seemed
greatly excited, and one hand rested on the pistol at his hip, as he
pulled up in front of the shepherd.
Without returning Mr. Howitt’s greeting, he pointed toward the two
empty chairs in front of the house, demanding roughly, “Who was that
with you before you heard me comin’?”
“Sammy Lane was here a few minutes ago,” replied the shepherd.
Gibbs uttered an oath, “She was, was she? Well, who was th’ man?”
“There was no man,” returned the other. “Young Matt and Pete were here
for supper, but they went as soon as the meal was finished, before
Sammy came.”
“Don’t you try to lie to me!” exclaimed the big man, with another burst
of language, and a threatening movement with the hand that rested on
the pistol.
Mr. Howitt was startled. Never in his life before had such words been
addressed to him. He managed to reply with quiet dignity, “I have no
reason for deceiving you, or anyone else, Mr. Gibbs. There has been no
man here but myself, since Matt and Pete left after supper.” The
shepherd’s manner carried conviction, and Gibbs hesitated, evidently
greatly perplexed. During the pause, Brave growled again, and faced
toward the cliff below the corral, his hair bristling.
“What’s th’ matter with that dog?” said Gibbs, turning uneasily in his
saddle, to face in the direction the animal was looking.
“What is it, Brave?” said Mr. Howitt. The only answer was an uneasy
whine, followed by another growl, all of which said plainly, in dog
talk, “I don’t know what it is, but there is something over there on
that cliff that I don’t like.”
“It must be some animal,” said the shepherd.
“Ain’t no animal that makes a dog act like that. Did any body pass
while you was a sittin’ there, jest before I come in sight?”
“Not a soul,” answered the other. “Did you meet someone down the road?”
The big man looked at the shepherd hard before he answered, in a
half-frightened, half-bullying tone, “I seed something in th’ road
yonder, an’ hit disappeared right by th’ old shack under th’ bluffs.”
He twisted around in his saddle again, facing the cliff with its dense
shadows and dim twilight forms, as he muttered, “If I was only right
sure, I—” Then swinging back he leaned toward the man on the ground;
“Look a here, Mister. There’s them that ’lows there’s things in this
here Holler t’ be afeared of, an’ I reckon hit’s so. There’s sure been
hell t’ pay at that there cabin down yonder. I ain’t a sayin’ what hit
was I seed, but if hit war anywhere else, I’d a said hit was a man; but
if hit was a man, I don’t know why you didn’t see him when he come
past; er else you’re a lyin’. I jest want t’ tell you, you’re right
smart of a stranger in these here parts, even if you have been a
workin’ fer Ol’ Matt all summer. You’re too blame careful ’bout talkin’
’bout yourself, or tellin’ whar you come from, t’ suit some folks. Some
strangers are alright, an’ again some ain’t. But we don’t aim t’ have
nobody in this here neighborhood what jumps into th’ brush when they
see an honest man a comin’.”
As he finished speaking, Gibbs straightened himself in the saddle, and
before Mr. Howitt could reply, the dun mule, at a touch of the spur,
had dashed away up the road in the direction taken by Sammy Lane.
It was quite dark in the heavy timber of the Hollow by the time Sammy
had reached the edge of the open ground on the hill side, but once on
the higher level, clear of the trees, the strong glow of the western
sky still lighted the way. From here it was not far to the girl’s home,
and, as she climbed a spur of Dewey, Sammy saw the cabin, and heard
distinctly the sweet strain’s of her father’s violin. On top of the
rise, the young woman paused a moment to enjoy the beauties of the
evening, which seemed to come to her with a new meaning that night. As
she stood there, her strong young figure was clearly outlined against
the sky to the man who was riding swiftly along the road over which she
had just passed.
Sammy turned when she heard the quick beating of the mule’s feet; then,
recognizing the huge form of the horseman, as he came out of the woods
into the light, she started quickly away towards her home; but the mule
and its rider were soon beside her.
“Howdy, Sammy.” Gibbs leaped from the saddle, and, with the bridle rein
over his arm, came close to the girl. “Fine evening for a walk.”
“Howdy,” returned the young woman, coolly, quickening her pace.
“You needn’t t’ be in such a powerful hurry,” growled Wash. “If you’ve
got time t’ talk t’ that old cuss at th’ ranch, you sure got time t’
talk t’ me.”
Sammy turned angrily. “You’d better get back on your mule, and go about
your business, Wash Gibbs. When I want you to walk with me, I’ll let
you know.”
“That’s alright, honey,” exclaimed the other insolently. “I’m a goin’
your way just th’ same; an’ we’ll mosey ’long t’gether. I was a goin’
home, but I’ve got business with your paw now.”
“Worse thing for Daddy, too,” flashed the girl. “I wish you’d stay away
from him.”
Wash laughed; “Your daddy couldn’t keep house ’thout me, nohow. Who was
that feller talkin’ with you an’ th’ old man down yonder?”
“There wasn’t nobody talkin’ to us,” replied Sammy shortly.
“That’s what he said, too,” growled Gibbs; “but I sure seed somebody a
sneakin’ into th’ brush when I rode up. I thought when I was down there
hit might o’ been a hant; but I know hit was a man, now. There’s
somethin’ mighty funny a goin’ on around here, since that feller come
int’ th’ neighborhood; an’ he’ll sure find somethin’ in Mutton Holler
more alive than Ol’ Matt’s gal if he ain’t careful.”
The girl caught her breath quickly. She knew the big ruffian’s methods,
and with good reason feared for her old friend, should he even
unconsciously incur the giant’s displeasure.
As they drew near the house, Wash continued, “Young Matt he was there
too. Let me tell you I ain’t forgot ’bout his big show at th’ mill last
spring; he’ll have t’ do a heap better’n he done then, when I get
’round t’ him.”
Sammy laughed scornfully, “’Pears like you ain’t been in no hurry t’
try it on. I ain’t heard tell of Young Matt’s leaving th’ country yet.
You’d better stay away from Jennings’ still though, when you do try
it.” Then, while the man was tying his mule to the fence, she ran into
the cabin to greet her father with a hysterical sob that greatly
astonished Jim. Before explanations could be made, a step was heard
approaching the door, and Sammy had just time to say, “Wash Gibbs,” in
answer to her father’s inquiring look, when the big man entered. Mr.
Lane arose to hang his violin on its peg.
“Don’t stop fer me, Jim,” said the newcomer. “Jest let her go. Me an’
Sammy’s been havin’ a nice little walk, an’ some right peart music
would sound mighty fine.” Gibbs was angered beyond reason at Sammy’s
last words, or he would have exercised greater care.
Sammy’s father made no reply until the girl had left the room, but
whatever it was that his keen eye read in his daughter’s face, it made
him turn to his guest with anything but a cordial manner, and there was
that in his voice that should have warned the other.
“So you and Sammy went for a walk, did you?”
“She was comin’ home from th’ sheep ranch, an’ I caught up with her,”
explained Gibbs. “I ’lowed as how she needed company, so I come ’long.
I seemed t’ be ’bout as welcome as usual,” he added with an ugly grin.
“Meanin’ that my girl don’t want your company, and told you so?” asked
the other softly.
Wash answered with a scowl; “Sammy’s gettin’ too dad burned good fer me
since Ollie’s uncle took him in. An’ now, this here old man from
nowhere has come, it’s worse than ever. She’ll put a rope ’round our
necks th’ first thing you know.”
Jim’s right hand slipped quietly inside his hickory shirt, where the
button was missing, as he drawled, “My girl always was too good for
some folks. And it’s about time you was a findin’ it out. She can’t
help it. She was born that way. She’s got mighty good blood in her
veins, that girl has; and I don’t aim to ever let it be mixed up with
none of the low down common yeller kind.”
The deliberate purpose of the speaker was too evident to be mistaken.
The other man’s hand flew to his hip almost before Mr. Lane had
finished his sentence. But Wash was not quick enough. Like a flash
Jim’s hand was withdrawn from inside the hickory shirt, and the giant
looked squarely into the muzzle of Jim Lane’s ever ready, murderous
weapon.
In the same even voice, without the slightest allusion to the
unfinished movement of the other, Mr. Lane continued, “I done told you
before that my girl would pick her own company, and I ain’t never
feared for a minute that she’d take up with such as you. Ollie Stewart
ain’t so mighty much of a man, maybe, but he’s clean, he is, and the
stock’s pretty good. Now you can just listen to me, or you can mosey
out of that door, and the next time we meet, we will settle it for
good, without any further arrangement.”
As Sammy’s father talked, the big figure of his visitor relaxed, and
when Jim had finished his slow speech, Wash was leaning forward with
his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front. “We ain’t got no
call t’ fight, now, Jim,” he said in a tone of respect. “We got
something else t’ think about; an’ that’s what I come here fer t’night.
I didn’t aim t’, ’til I seed what I did at th’ ranch down yonder. I
tell you hit’s time we was a doin’ somethin’.”
At this, Mr. Lane’s face and manner changed quickly. He put up his
weapon, and the two men drew their chairs close together, as though
Death had not a moment before stretched forth his hand to them.
For an hour they sat talking in low tones. Sammy in the next room had
heard the conversation up to this point, but now only an occasional
word reached her ears. Gibbs seemed to be urging some action, and her
father was as vigorously protesting. “I tell you, Jim, hit’s th’ only
safe way. You didn’t use t’ be so squeamish.” Several times the old
shepherd was mentioned, and also the stranger whom Wash had seen that
evening. And once, the trembling girl heard Young Matt’s name. At
length the guest rose to go, and Mr. Lane walked with him to the gate.
Even after the big man was mounted, the conversation still continued;
Wash still urging and Jim still protesting.
When his visitor was gone, Mr. Lane came slowly back to the house.
Extinguishing the light, he seated himself in the open doorway, and
filled his pipe. Sammy caught the odor of tobacco, and a moment later
Jim heard a light, quick step on the floor behind him. Then two arms
went around his neck; “What is it, Daddy? What is it? Why don’t you
drive that man away?”
“Did you hear us talkin’?” asked the man, an anxious note in his voice.
“I heard you talkin’ to him about pesterin’ me, but after that, you
didn’t talk so loud. What is the matter, Daddy, that he could stay and
be so thick with you after the things you said? I was sure he’d make
you kill him.”
Jim laughed softly; “You’re just like your mother, girl. Just like her,
with the old blood a backin’ you up.” Then he asked a number of
questions about Mr. Howitt, and her visit to the ranch that evening.
As Sammy told him of her ambition to fit herself for the place that
would be hers, when she married, and repeating the things that Mr.
Howitt had told her, explained how the shepherd had promised to help,
Jim expressed his satisfaction and delight. “I knowed you was a
studyin’ about something, girl,” he said, “but I didn’t say nothin’,
’cause I ’lowed you’d tell me when you got ready.”
“I didn’t want to say nothing ’til I was sure, you see,” replied the
daughter. “I aimed to tell you as soon as I got home to-night, but Wash
Gibbs didn’t give me no chance.”
The man held her close “Dad Howitt sure puts the thing just right,
Sammy. It’ll be old times come back, when you’re a lady in your own
house with all your fine friends around; and you’ll do it, girl; you
sure will. Don’t never be afraid to bank on the old blood. It’ll see
you through.” Then his voice broke; “You won’t never be learned away
from your old Daddy, will you, honey? Will you always stand by Daddy,
like you do now? Will you let me and Young Matt slip ’round once in a
while, just to look at, you, all so fine?”
“Daddy Jim, if you don’t—hush—I’ll—I’ll—” she hid her face on his
shoulder.
“There, there, honey; I was only funnin’. You’ll always be my Sammy;
the only boy I ever had. You just naturally couldn’t be nothin’ else.”
Long after his daughter had gone to her room and to her bed, the
mountaineer sat in the doorway, looking into the dark. He heard the
short bark of a fox in the brush back of the stable; and the wild cry
of a catamount from a cliff farther down the mountain was answered by
another from the timber below the spring. He saw the great hills
heaving their dark forms into the sky, and in his soul he felt the
spirit of the wilderness and the mystery of the hour. At last he went
into the house to close and bar the door.
Away down in Mutton Hollow a dog barked, and high up on Old Dewey near
Sammy’s Lookout, a spot of light showed for a moment, then vanished.