Old Matt leaned forward in his chair as if to speak again; then paused; someone was coming up the hill; and soon they distinguished the stalwart form of the son. Sammy coming from the house with an empty bucket met the young man at the gate, and the two went toward the spring together. In silence the men on the porch watched the moon as she slowly pushed her way up through the leafy screen on the mountain wall. Higher and higher she climbed until her rays fell into the valley below, and the drifting mists from ridge to ridge became a sea of ghostly light. It was a weird scene, almost supernatural in its beauty. Then from down at the spring a young girl’s laugh rose clearly, and the big mountaineer said in a low tone, “Mr. Howitt, you’ve got education; it’s easy to see that; I’ve always wanted to ask somebody like you, do you believe in hants? Do you reckon folks ever come back once they’re dead and gone?” The man from the city saw that his big host was terribly in earnest, and answered quietly, “No, I do not believe in such things, Mr. Matthews; but if it should be true, I do not see why we should fear the dead.” The other shook his head; “I don’t know—I don’t know, sir; I always said I didn’t believe, but some things is mighty queer.” He seemed to be shaping his thought for further speech, when again the girl’s laugh rang clear along the mountain side. The young people were returning from the spring. The mountaineer relighted his pipe, while Young Matt and Sammy seated themselves on the step, and Mrs. Matthews coming from the house joined the group. “We’ve just naturally got to find somebody to stay with them sheep, Dad,” said the son; “there ain’t nobody there to-night, and as near as I can make out there’s three ewes and their lambs missing. There ain’t a bit of use in us trying to depend on Pete.” “I’ll ride over on Bear Creek to-morrow, and see if I can get that fellow Buck told us about,” returned the father. “You find it hard to get help on the ranch?” inquired the stranger. “Yes, sir, we do,” answered Old Matt. “We had a good ’nough man ’till about a month ago; since then we’ve been gettin’ along the best we could. But with some a stayin’ out on the range, an’ not comin’ in, an’ the wolves a gettin’ into the corral at night, we’ll lose mighty nigh all the profits this year. The worst of it is, there ain’t much show to get a man; unless that one over on Bear Creek will come. I reckon, though, he’ll be like the rest.” He sat staring gloomily into the night. “Is the work so difficult?” Mr. Howitt asked. “Difficult, no; there ain’t nothing to do but tendin’ to the sheep. The man has to stay at the ranch of nights, though.”