“You can count on me,” said Jack.  “I’m short of sleep anyhow and a day of rest will do me good.”

Abe went with his friends to the door beyond which the two boys from Clary’s Grove sat as if sound asleep.  It is probable, however, that they had heard what Samson had said to Abe.

“Well, I didn’t know these wild turkeys were roosting here,” Abe laughed.  He roused them from their slumbers and said:  “Boys, you’re trying to saw the day off a little too short.  It’s got to run till you get to Clary’s Grove.  Better take those horses home and feed ’em.”

The boys got up and yawned and stretched themselves and mounted their horses which had been tied to a bar and rode away in the darkness.

Next morning Abe and Samson set out for the woods soon after daylight.

“I like that boy Harry,” said Abe.  “I reckon he’s got good stuff in him.  The way he landed on Bap McNoll was a caution.  I like to see a feller come right up to the scratch, without an invitation just in the nick o’ time, as he did.”

“Did you see him jump in?” Samson asked.

“I saw everything some way.  I saw you when ye loosened the ear o’ John Callyhan.  That tickled me.  But the way I felt yesterday—­honest, it seemed as if I could handle ’em all.  That boy Harry is a likely young colt—­strong and limber and well put together and broad between the eyes.”

“An’ gentle as a kitten,” Samson added.  “There never was a better face on a boy or a better heart behind it.  We like him.”

“Yes, sir.  He’s a well topped young tree—­straight and sound and good timber.  Looks as if that little girl o’ Jack’s was terribly took up with him.  I don’t wonder.  There are not many boys like Harry around here.”

“What kind of a girl is she?” Samson asked.

“Awful shy since the arrow hit her.  She don’t know what it means yet.  She’ll get used to that I reckon.  She’s a good girl and smart as a steel trap.  Her father takes her out on the plains with him shooting.  She can handle a gun as well as anybody and ride a horse as if she had growed to his back.  Every body likes Bim but she has her own way of behaving and sometimes it’s awful new-fashioned.”

Harry Needles went whistling up the road toward the new house with sickle, hoe and trowel.  As he passed the Kelso cabin he whistled the tune of Sweet Nightingale.  It had haunted his mind since he had heard it in the woods.  He whistled as loudly as ever he could and looked at the windows.  Before he had passed Bim’s face looked out at him with a smile and her hand flickered back of the panes and he waved his to her.  His heart beat fast as he hurried along.

“I’m not so very young,” he said to himself.  “I wish I hadn’t put on these old clothes.  Mrs. Traylor is an awful nice woman but she’s determined to make me look like a plow horse.  I don’t see why she couldn’t let me wear decent clothes.”

Sarah had enjoyed mothering the boy.  His health had returned.  His cheeks were ruddy, his dark eyes clear and bright, his tall form erect and sturdy.  Moreover the affectionate care his new friends had given him and his interest in the girl filled his heart with the happiness which is the rain of youth and without which it becomes an arid desert.