Coming to Ollie’s side, Gibbs said, “Git down, young feller, an’ look at yer saddle.”

“You go on, and let me alone, Wash Gibbs.  I’ve never hurt you.”  Ollie’s naturally high pitched voice was shrill with fear.

Wash paused, looked back at his companion in the wagon; then to Young Matt, and then to the girl on the horse.  “That’s right,” he said, shaking his head with ponderous gravity.  “You all hear him.  He ain’t never hurted me, nary a bit.  Nary a bit, ladies an’ gentlemen.  But, good Lord! look at him!  Hain’t hit awful!” Suddenly he reached out one great arm, and jerked the young man from his horse, catching him with the other hand as he fell, and setting him on his feet in the middle of the road.

Ollie was like a child in the grasp of his huge tormentor, and, in spite of her indignation, a look of admiration flashed over Sammy’s face at the exhibition of the bully’s wonderful physical strength; an admiration, that only heightened the feeling of shame for her lover’s weakness.

Gibbs addressed his victim, “Now, dolly, you an’ me’s goin’ t’ play a little.  Come on, let’s see you dance.”  The other struggled feebly a moment and attempted to draw a pistol, whereupon Wash promptly captured the weapon, remarking in a sad tone as he did so, “You hadn’t ought t’ tote such a gun as that, sonny; hit might go off.  Hit’s a right pretty little thing, ain’t hit?” he continued, holding his victim with one hand, and examining the pearl handled, nickel plated weapon with great interest.  “Hit sure is.  But say, dolly, if you was ever t’ shoot me with that there, an’ I found hit out, I’d sure be powerful mad.  You hear me, now, an’ don’t you pack that gun no more; not in these mountains.  Hit ain’t safe.”

The fellow in the wagon roared with delight at these witticisms, and looked from Young Matt to Sammy to see if they also appreciated the joke.

“Got any more pretties!” asked Gibbs of his victim.  “No?  Let’s see.”  Catching the young man by the waist, he lifted him bodily, and, holding him head downward, shook him roughly.  Again Sammy felt her blood tingle at the feat of strength.

Next holding Ollie with one huge hand at the back of his neck, Wash said, “See that feller in th’ wagon there?  He’s a mighty fine gentleman; friend o’ mine.  Make a bow t’ him.”  As he finished, with his free hand he struck the young man a sharp blow in the stomach, with the result that Stewart did make a bow, very low, but rather too suddenly to be graceful.

The fellow in the wagon jumped up and bowed again and again; “Howdy, Mr. City Man; howdy.  Mighty proud t’ meet up with you; mighty proud, you bet!”

The giant whirled his captive toward the mill.  “See that feller yonder?  I’m goin’ t’ lick him some day.  Make a face at him.”  Catching Ollie by the nose and chin, he tried to force his bidding, while the man in the wagon made the valley ring with his laughter.  Then Wash suddenly faced the helpless young man toward Sammy.  “Now ladies and gentlemen,” he said in the tones of a showman addressing an audience, “this here pretty little feller from th’ city’s goin’ t’ show us Hill-Billies how t’ spark a gal.”