“Explain, hell!” ejaculated the mountaineer.  “I ask your pardon, Dad; but you don’t know, not being raised in these woods like me.  Old man Lewis hadn’t done nothing neither, and he explained, too; only he never got through explainin’.  They ain’t got no reason.  They’re drunk.  You’ve never seen Wash Gibbs drunk, and to-night he’s got his whole gang with him.  I don’t know why he’s comin’ after you, but, from what you told me ‘bout his stoppin’ here that evenin’, and what I’ve heard lately, I can guess.  I know what he’ll do when he gets here, if we don’t stop him.  It’ll be all the same to you whether he’s right or wrong.”

Brave came trotting into the cabin through the rear door, and lay down in his corner by the fireplace.  “That’s mighty funny,” said Young Matt.  Then, as he glanced quickly around, “Where’s Pete?”

The boy had slipped away while the two men were talking.  Stepping outside they called several times; but, save the “Wh-w-h-o—­w-h-o-o-o” of an owl in a big tree near the corral, there was no answer.

“The boy’s alright, anyway,” said the young man; “nothin’ in the woods ever hurts Pete.  He’s safer there than he would be here, and I’m glad he’s gone.”

The shepherd did not reply.  He seemed not to hear, but stood as though fascinated by the scene.  He still could not grasp the truth of the situation, but the beauty of the hour moved him deeply.  “What a marvelous, what a wonderful sight!” he said at last in a low tone.  “I do not wonder the boy loves to roam the hills a night like this.  Look, Grant!  See how soft the moonlight falls on that patch of grass this side of the old tree yonder, and how black the shadow is under that bush, like the mouth of a cave, a witch’s cave.  I am sure there are ghosts and goblins in there, with fairies and gnomes, and perhaps a dragon or two.  And see, lad, how the great hills rise into the sky.  How grand, how beautiful the world is!  It is good to live, Matt, though life be sometimes hard, still—­still it is good to live.”

At the old scholar’s words and manner, the mountaineer, too, forgot for a moment the thing that had brought him there, and a look of awe and wonder came over his rugged features, as the shepherd, with his face turned upward and his deep voice full of emotion, repeated, “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handiwork.  Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge.”

The owl left his place in the old tree and flew across the moonlit clearing into the deeper gloom of the woods.  Inside the cabin the dog barked, and through the still night, from down the valley, where the ranch trail crosses the creek, came the rattle of horses’ feet on the rocky floor of the little stream, and the faint sound of voices.  Young Matt started, and again the man of the wilderness was master of the situation.  “They’re comin’, Dad.  We ain’t got no time to lose.”

Re-entering the cabin, Mr. Howitt quieted the dog, while his companion fastened the rear door, and, in the silence, while they waited, a cricket under the corner of the house sang his plaintive song.  The sound of voices grew louder as the horses drew nearer.  Brave growled and would have barked again, but was quieted by the shepherd, who crouched at his side, with one hand on the dog’s neck.