At the old scholar’s words and manner, the mountaineer, too, forgot for a moment the thing that had brought him there, and a look of awe and wonder came over his rugged features, as the shepherd, with his face turned upward and his deep voice full of emotion, repeated, “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge.” The owl left his place in the old tree and flew across the moonlit clearing into the deeper gloom of the woods. Inside the cabin the dog barked, and through the still night, from down the valley, where the ranch trail crosses the creek, came the rattle of horses’ feet on the rocky floor of the little stream, and the faint sound of voices. Young Matt started, and again the man of the wilderness was master of the situation. “They’re comin’, Dad. We ain’t got no time to lose.” Re-entering the cabin, Mr. Howitt quieted the dog, while his companion fastened the rear door, and, in the silence, while they waited, a cricket under the corner of the house sang his plaintive song. The sound of voices grew louder as the horses drew nearer. Brave growled and would have barked again, but was quieted by the shepherd, who crouched at his side, with one hand on the dog’s neck. The older man smiled to himself. It all seemed to him so like a child’s game. He had watched the mountaineer’s preparation with amused interest, and had followed the young woodsman’s directions, even to the loaded shotgun in his hand, as one would humor a boy in his play. The scholar’s mind, trained to consider the problems of civilization, and to recognize the dangers of the city, refused to entertain seriously the thought that there, in the peaceful woods, in the dead of night, a company of ruffians was seeking to do him harm. The voices had ceased, and the listeners heard only the sound of the horses’ feet, as the party passed the ruined cabin under the bluff. A moment or two later the riders stopped in front of the ranch house. Brave growled again, but was silenced by the hand on his neck. Young Matt was at the window. “I see them,” he whispered. “They’re gettin’ off their horses, and tyin’ them to the corral fence.” The smile on the shepherd’s face vanished, and he experienced a queer sensation; it was as though something gripped his heart. The other continued his whispered report; “They’re bunchin’ up now under the old tree, talkin’ things over. Don’t know what to make of the dog not bein’ around, I reckon. Now they’re takin’ a drink. It takes a lot of whiskey to help ten men jump onto one old man, and him a stranger in the Woods. Now Wash is sendin’ two of them around to the back, so you can’t slip out into the brush. Sh—h—h, here comes a couple more to try the front door.” He slipped quietly across the room to the shepherd’s side. The visitors came softly up to the front door, and tried it gently. A moment later the rear door was tried in the same way.