Turning to his own horse, Ollie placed his foot in the stirrup to mount, when Sammy spoke,—­perhaps she felt that she had been a little unkind—­“You were going to stay to supper,” she said.

“Not to-night,” he answered, gaining his seat in the saddle, and picking up the reins.

“But you are going to leave in the morning, are you not?  You—­you must not go like this.”

He dropped the reins to the horse’s neck again, “Look here, Sammy, do you blame me because I did not fight that big bully?”

Sammy did not reply.

“What could I do?  You know there is not another man in the mountains beside Young Matt who could have done it.  Surely you cannot blame me.”

The young woman moved uneasily, “No, certainly not.  I do not blame you in the least.  I—­but it was very fortunate that Young Matt was there, wasn’t it?” The last sentence slipped out before she knew.

Ollie retorted angrily, “It seems to be very fortunate for him.  He will be a greater hero than ever, now, I suppose.  If he is wise, he will stay in the backwoods to be worshipped for he’ll find that his size won’t count for much in the world.  He’s a great man here, where he can fight like a beast, but his style wouldn’t go far where brains are of value.  It would be interesting to see him in town; a man who never saw a railroad.”

Sammy lifted her head quickly at this, and fixed her eyes on the man’s face with that wide, questioning gaze that reminded one so of her father, “I never saw a railroad, either; not that I can remember; though, I suppose we must have crossed one or two on our way to Texas when I was a baby.  Is it the railroads then that makes one so—­so superior?”

The man turned impatiently in the saddle, “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” she answered slowly.  “I think I do know what you mean.”

Ollie lifted the reins again from his horse’s neck, and angered them nervously.  “I’d better go now; there’s no use talking about this to-night.  I won’t leave in the morning, as I had planned.  I—­ I can’t go like this.”  There was a little catch in his voice.  “May I come again to-morrow afternoon, Sammy?”

“Yes, you had better go now, and come back to-morrow.”

“And Sammy, won’t you try to think that I am not altogether worthless, even if I am not big enough to fight Wash Gibbs?  You are sure that you do not blame me for what happened at the mill?”

“No,” she said; “of course not.  You could not help it.  Why should I blame anyone for that which he cannot help?”

Then Ollie rode away, and Sammy, going to her pony, stood petting the little horse, while she watched her lover up the Old Trail, and still there was that wide, questioning look in her eyes.  As Ollie passed from sight around the hill above, the girl slipped out of the gate, and a few minutes later stood at the Lookout, where she could watch her lover riding along the ridge.  She saw him pass from the open into the fringe of timber near the big gap; and, a few minutes later, saw him reappear beyond the deer lick.  Still she watched as he moved along the rim of the Hollow, looking in the distance like a toy man on a toy horse; watched until he passed from sight into the timber again, and was gone.  And all the time that questioning look was in her eyes.