“Everybody ‘lowed she was a mighty pretty baby, and, bein’ the only girl, I reckon we made more of her than we did of the boys.  She growed up into a mighty fine young woman too; strong, and full of fire and go, like Sammy Lane.  Seems to wife and me when Sammy’s ’round that it’s our own girl come back and we’ve always hoped that she and Grant would take the ranch down yonder; but I reckon that’s all over, now that Ollie Stewart has come into such a fine thing in the city.  Anyway, it ain’t got nothing to do with this that I’m a tellin’ you.

“She didn’t seem to care nothin’ at all for none of the neighbor boys like most girls do; she’d go with them and have a good time alright, but that was all.  ’Peared like she’d rather be with her brothers or her mother or me.

“Well, one day, when we was out on the range a ridin’ for stock—­ she’d often go with me that way—­we met a stranger over there at the deer lick in the big low gap, coming along the Old Trail.  He was as fine a lookin’ man as you ever see, sir; big and grand like, with lightish hair, kind, of wavy, and a big mustache like his hair, and fine white teeth showing when he smiled.  He was sure good lookin’, damn him! and with his fine store clothes and a smooth easy way of talkin’ and actin’ he had, ’tain’t no wonder she took up with him.  We all did.  I used to think God never made a finer body for a man.  I know now that Hell don’t hold a meaner heart than the one in that same fine body.  And that’s somethin’ that bothers me a heap, Mr. Howitt.

“As I say, our girl was built like Sammy Lane, and so far as looks go she was his dead match.  I used to wonder when I’d look at them together if there ever was such another fine lookin’ pair.  I ain’t a goin’ to tell you his name; there ain’t no call to, as I can see.  There might be some decent man named the same.  But he was one of these here artist fellows and had come into the hills to paint, he said.”

A smothered exclamation burst from the listener.

Mr. Matthews, not noticing, continued:  “He sure did make a lot of pictures and they seemed mighty nice to us, ’though of course we didn’t know nothin’ about such things.  There was one big one he made of Maggie that was as natural as life.  He was always drawin’ of her in one way or another, and had a lot of little pictures that didn’t amount to much, and that he didn’t never finish.  But this big one he worked at off and on all summer.  It was sure fine, with her a standin’ by the ranch spring, holdin’ out a cup of water, and smilin’ like she was offerin’ you a drink.”

It was well that the night had fallen.  At Old Matt’s words the stranger shrank back in his chair, his hand raised as if to ward off a deadly blow.  He made a sound in his throat as if he would cry out, but could not from horror or fear.  But the darkness hid his face, and the mountaineer, with mind intent upon his story, did not heed.