her mother clear away the table and wash the dishes; and Chad, out of the tail of his eye, saw her surreptitiously feeding greedy Jack, while old Joel still sat by the fire, smoking silently.  Chad stepped outside.  The air was chill, but the mists were rising and a long band of rich, warm light lay over a sloping spur up the river, and where this met the blue morning shadows, the dew was beginning to drip and to sparkle.  Chad could nor stand inaction long, and his eye lighted up when he heard a great bleating at the foot of the spur and the shouts of men and boys.  Just then the old mother called from the rear of the cabin.

“Joel, them sheep air comin’!”

The big form of the old hunter filled the doorway and Jack bounded out between his legs, while little Melissa appeared with two books, ready for school.  Down the road came the flock of lean mountain-sheep, Dolph and Rube driving them.  Behind, slouched the Dillon tribe—­Daws and Whizzer and little Tad; Daws’s father, old Tad, long, lean, stooping, crafty:  and two new ones cousins to Daws—­Jake and Jerry, the giant twins.  “Joel Turner,” said old Tad, sourly, “here’s yo’ sheep!”

Joel had bought the Dillons’ sheep and meant to drive them to the county-seat ten miles down the river.  There had evidently been a disagreement between the two when the trade was made, for Joel pulled out a gray pouch of coonskin, took from it a roll of bills, and, without counting them, held them out.

“Tad Dillon,” he said, shortly, “here’s yo’ money!”

The Dillon father gave possession with a gesture and the Dillon faction, including Whizzer and the giant twins, drew aside together—­the father morose; Daws watching Dolph and Rube with a look of much meanness; little Tad behind him, watching Chad, his face screwed up with hate; and Whizzer, pretending not to see Jack, but darting a surreptitious glance at him now and then, for then and there was starting a feud that was to run fiercely on, long after the war was done.

“Git my hoss, Rube,” said old Joel, and Rube turned to the stable, while Dolph kept an eye on the sheep, which were lying on the road or straggling down the river.  As Rube opened the stable-door, a dirty white object bounded out, and Rube, with a loud curse, tumbled over backward into the mud, while a fierce old ram dashed with a triumphant bleat for the open gate.  Beelzebub, as the Turner mother had christened the mischievous brute, had been placed in the wrong stall and Beelzebub was making for freedom.  He gave another triumphant baa as he swept between Dolph’s legs and through the gate, and, with an answering chorus, the silly sheep sprang to their feet and followed.  A sheep hates water, but not more than he loves a leader, and Beelzebub feared nothing.  Straight for the water of the low ford the old conqueror made and, in the wake of his masterful summons, the flock swept, like a Mormon household, after him.  Then was there a commotion indeed.