As the girl walked swiftly away through the thickening dusk of the evening, the shepherd watched her out of sight; then turned toward the corral for a last look at the sheep, to see that all was right for the night. “Brave, old fellow,” he said to the dog who trotted by his side; “are we going to make another mistake, do you think? We have made so many, so many, you know.” Brave looked up into the master’s face, and answered with his low bark, as though to declare his confidence. “Well, well, old dog, I hope you are right. The child has a quick mind, and a good heart; and, if I am not mistaken, good blood. We shall see. We shall see.” Suddenly the dog whirled about, the hair on his back bristling as he gave a threatening growl. A man on a dun colored mule was coming up the road. CHAPTER XIV. THE COMMON YELLER KIND. Mr. Howitt stood quietly by the corral gate when the horseman rode up. It was Wash Gibbs, on his way home from an all day visit with friends on the river. When the big mountaineer took the short cut through Mutton Hollow, he thought to get well past the ranch before the light failed. No matter how well fortified with the courage distilled by his friend, Jennings, the big man would never have taken the trail by the old ruined cabin alone after dark. He had evidently been riding at a good pace, for his mule’s neck and flanks were wet with sweat. Gibbs, himself, seemed greatly excited, and one hand rested on the pistol at his hip, as he pulled up in front of the shepherd. Without returning Mr. Howitt’s greeting, he pointed toward the two empty chairs in front of the house, demanding roughly, “Who was that with you before you heard me comin’?” “Sammy Lane was here a few minutes ago,” replied the shepherd. Gibbs uttered an oath, “She was, was she? Well, who was th’ man?” “There was no man,” returned the other. “Young Matt and Pete were here for supper, but they went as soon as the meal was finished, before Sammy came.” “Don’t you try to lie to me!” exclaimed the big man, with another burst of language, and a threatening movement with the hand that rested on the pistol. Mr. Howitt was startled. Never in his life before had such words been addressed to him. He managed to reply with quiet dignity, “I have no reason for deceiving you, or anyone else, Mr. Gibbs. There has been no man here but myself, since Matt and Pete left after supper.” The shepherd’s manner carried conviction, and Gibbs hesitated, evidently greatly perplexed. During the pause, Brave growled again, and faced toward the cliff below the corral, his hair bristling. “What’s th’ matter with that dog?” said Gibbs, turning uneasily in his saddle, to face in the direction the animal was looking. “What is it, Brave?” said Mr. Howitt. The only answer was an uneasy whine, followed by another growl, all of which said plainly, in dog talk, “I don’t know what it is, but there is something over there on that cliff that I don’t like.”