“I loved her—I loved—her. She was my natural mate—my other self. I belonged to her—she to me. I—I can’t tell you of that summer—when we were together—alone in the hills—the beautiful hills—away from the sham and the ugliness of the world that men have made. The beauty and inspiration of it all I put into my pictures, and I knew because of that they were good—I knew they would win a place for me—and—they did. Most of all—I put it there,” (He pointed to the painting on the wall) “and the crowd saw it and felt it, and did not know what it was. But I knew—I knew—all the time, I knew. Oh!—if that short summer could have been lengthened—into years, what might I not have done? Oh, God! That men—can be—so blind—so blind!” For a time he lay exhausted, his face still turned toward the picture, but with eyes closed as though he dreamed. Then suddenly, he started up again, raising himself on his elbows, his eyes opened wide, and on his face a look of wondering gladness. They drew near. “Do—do—you—hear? She is calling—she is calling again. Yes—sweetheart—yes, dear. I—I am—com—” Then, Old Matt and Aunt Mollie led the shepherd from the room. And this way runs the trail that follows the lower level, where those who travel, as they go, look always over their shoulders with eyes of dread, and the gloomy shadows gather long before the day is done. CHAPTER XLIII. POOR PETE. They buried the artist in the cave as he had directed, close under the wall on the ledge above the cañon, with no stone or mark of any sort to fix the place. The old mine which he had discovered was reached by one of the side passages far below in the depth of the mountain. The grave would never be disturbed. For two weeks longer, Dr. Coughlan staid with his friend; out on the hills with him all day, helping to cook their meals at the ranch, or sitting on the porch at the Matthews place when the day was gone. When the time finally came that he must go, the little physician said, as he grasped the shepherd’s hand, “You’re doing just right, Daniel; just right. Always did; always did. Blast it all! I would stay, too, but what would Sarah and the girls do? I’ll come again next spring, Daniel, sure, sure, if I’m alive. Don’t worry, no one will ever know. Blast it all! I don’t like to leave you, Daniel. Don’t like it at all. But you are right, right, Daniel.” The old scholar stood in the doorway of his cabin to watch the wagon as it disappeared in the forest. He heard it rattle across the creek bottom below the ruined cabin under the bluff. He waited until from away up on Compton Ridge the sound of wheels came to him on the breeze that slipped down the mountain side. Still he waited, listening, listening, until there were only the voices of the forest and the bleating of the sheep in the corral. Slipping a book in his pocket, and taking a luncheon for himself and Pete he opened the corral gate and followed his flock to the hills.