Young Matt, who had been dancing with Mandy Ford, came up behind the group just in time to hear their remarks. Two or three who saw him within hearing tried to warn the speakers, but while everybody around them saw the situation, the two men caught the frantic signals of their friends too late. The music suddenly stopped. The dancers were still. By instinct every eye in the room was fixed upon the little group, as the jokers turned to face the object of their jests. The big mountaineer took one long step toward the two who had spoken, his brow dark with rage, his huge fists clenched. But, even as his powerful muscles contracted for the expected blow, the giant came to a dead stop. Slowly his arm relaxed. His hand dropped to his side. Then, turning deliberately, he walked to the door, the silent crowd parting to give him way. As the big man stepped from the room, a gasp of astonishment escaped from the company, and the two jokers, with frightened faces, broke into a shrill, nervous laughter. Then a buzz of talk went round; the fiddlers struck up again; the callers shouted; the dancers stamped, and bowed, and swung their partners as they sang. And out in the night under the trees, at the edge of the gloomy forest, the strongest man in the hills was saying over and over to the big, white faced sorrel, “I don’t dare do it. I don’t dare. Dad Howitt wouldn’t. He sure wouldn’t.” Very soon two figures left the house, and hurried toward a bunch of saddle horses near by. They had untied their animals, and were about to mount, when suddenly a huge form stepped from the shadows to their horses’ heads. “Put up your guns, boys,” said Young Matt calmly. “I reckon you know that if I’d wanted trouble, it would o’ been all over before this.” The weapons were not drawn, and the big man continued, “Dad Howitt says a feller always whips himself every time he fights when there ain’t no—no principle evolved. I don’t guess Dad would see ary principle in this, ’cause there might be some truth in what you boys said. I reckon I am somethin’ at playin’ a fool, but it would o’ been a heap safer for you to let folks find it out for themselves.” “We all were jest a foolin’, Matt,” muttered one. “That’s alright,” returned the big fellow; “But you’d better tie up again and go back into the house and dance a while longer. Folks might think you was scared if you was to leave so soon.” CHAPTER XVI. ON THE WAY HOME. Not until the party was breaking up, and he saw Sammy in the doorway, did Young Matt go back to the house. When they had ridden again out of the circle of light, and the laughter and shouting of the guests was no longer heard, Sammy tried in vain to arouse her silent escort, chatting gaily about the pleasures of the evening. But all the young man’s reserve had returned. When she did force him to speak, his responses were so short and cold that at last the girl, too, was silent. Then, man-like, he wished she would continue talking.