Sammy was so dazed that for a moment she did not grasp the meaning of those swiftly moving forms.  Then a figure riding one horse and leading another dashed away from the barn and across a corner of the clearing.  The silence was broken by a pistol shot in the cabin.  Like an echo came a shot from the yard, and a voice rang out sharply, “Halt!” The figure reeled in the saddle, as if to fall, but recovered, and disappeared in the timber.  The same instant there was a rush toward the house—­a loud call to surrender—­a woman’s scream—­and then, came to Sammy, blessed, kindly darkness.

CHAPTER XXXV.

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills.”

When Sammy opened her eyes, she was on the bed in her own room.  In the other room someone was moving about, and the light from a lamp shone through the door.

At first the girl thought that she had awakened from a night’s sleep, and that it was her father whom she heard, building the fire before calling her, as his custom was.  But no, he was not building the fire, he was scrubbing the floor.  How strange.  She would call presently and ask what he meant by getting up before daylight, and whether he thought to keep her from scolding him by trying to clean up what he had spilled before she should see it.

She had had a bad dream of some kind, but she could not remember just what it was.  It was very strange that something seemed to keep her from calling to her father just then.  She would call presently.  She must remember first what that dream was.  She felt that she ought to get up and dress, but she did not somehow wish to move.  She was strangely tired.  It was her dream, she supposed.  Then she discovered that she was already fully dressed, and that her clothing was wet, muddy and torn.  And with this discovery every incident of the night came vividly before her.  She hid her face.

After awhile, she tried to rise to her feet, but fell back weak and dizzy, Who was that in the other room?  Could it be her father?  Would he never finish scrubbing the floor in that corner?  When she could bear the suspense no longer, she called in a voice that sounded weak and far away; “Daddy, Oh, Daddy.”

Instantly the noise ceased; a step crossed the room; and the shepherd appeared in the doorway.  Placing the lamp on a little stand, the old man drew a chair to the side of the bed, and laid his hand upon her forehead, smoothing back the tangled hair.  He spoke no word, but in his touch there was a world of tenderness.

Sammy looked at him in wonder.  Where had he come from?  Why was he there at all?  And in her room?  She glanced uneasily about the apartment, and then back to the kind face of her old teacher.  “I—­ don’t think I understand.”

“Never mind, now, dear.  Don’t try to understand just yet.  Aunt Mollie will be here in a few minutes.  Matt has gone for her.  When she comes and you are a little stronger, we shall talk.”