THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS
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 tonight. 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 tomorrow afternoon, Sammy?"
"Yes, you had better go now, and come back tomorrow."
"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
238
