Pete’s eyes went wide with fear at the manner of his big friend, and he drew back as if to run, but when Young Matt, throwing himself over on the grass, had hidden his face, a half sad, half knowing look came into the lad’s delicate features; reaching forth a hand, as slim as a girl’s, he stroked the shaggy, red brown head, as he murmured softly, “Poor Matt. Poor Matt. Does it hurt? Is Matt hurt? It’ll be better by-and-by.” The great form on the grass stirred impatiently. The shepherd spoke no word. Pete continued, stroking the big head, and talking in low, soothing tones, as one would hush a child, “Pete don’t know what’s a hurtin’ Young Matt, but it’ll be alright, some day. It’ll sure grow over after awhile. Ain’t nothing won’t grow over after awhile; ’cause God he says so.” Still the older man was silent. Then the giant burst forth in curses, and the shepherd spoke, “Don’t do that, Grant. It’s not like you, lad. You cannot help your trouble that way.” Young Matt turned over to face his friend; “I know it, Dad;” he growled defiantly; “but I just got to say somethin’; I ain’t meanin’ no disrespect to God ’lmighty, and I reckon He ought to know it; but—” he broke forth again. Pete drew back in alarm. “Look your trouble in the face, lad,” said the shepherd; “don’t let it get you down like this.” “Look it in the face!” roared the other. “Good God! that’s just it! ain’t I a lookin’ it in the face every day? You don’t know about it, Dad. If you did, you—you’d cuss too.” He started in again. “I know more than you think, Grant,” said the other, when the big fellow had stopped swearing to get his breath. While he spoke, the shepherd was looking away along the Old Trail. “There comes your trouble now,” he added, pointing to a girl on a brown pony, coming slowly out of the timber near the deer lick. The young man made no reply. Pete, at sight of the girl, started to his feet, but the big fellow pulled him down again, and made the boy understand that he must not betray their position. When Sammy reached the sheep, she checked her pony, and searched the hillside with her eyes, while her clear call went over the mountain, “Oh—h—h—Dad!” Young Matt shook his head savagely at his companion, and even Brave was held silent by a low “Be still” from his master. Again Sammy looked carefully on every side, but lying on the higher ground, and partly hidden by the trees, the little group could not be seen. When there was no answer to her second call, the girl drew a letter from her pocket, and, permitting the pony to roam at will, proceeded to read.