CHAPTER XXVII. THE CHAMPION. A big wagon, with two men on the seat, appeared coming up the valley road. It was Wash Gibbs and a crony from the river. They had stopped at the distillery on their way, and were just enough under the influence of drink to be funny and reckless. When they caught sight of Ollie Stewart and Miss Lane, Wash said something to his companion, at which both laughed uproariously. Upon reaching the couple, the wagon came to a stop, and after looking at Ollie for some moments, with the silent gravity of an owl, Gibbs turned to the young lady, “Howdy, honey. Where did you git that there? Did your paw give hit to you fer a doll baby?” Young Stewart’s face grew scarlet, but he said nothing. “Can’t hit talk?” continued Gibbs with mock interest. Glancing at her frightened escort, the girl replied, “You drive on, Wash Gibbs. You’re in no condition to talk to anyone.” An ugly leer came over the brutal face of the giant; “Oh, I ain’t, ain’t I? You think I’m drunk. But I ain’t, not so mighty much. Jest enough t’ perten me up a pepper grain.” Then, turning to his companion, who was grinning in appreciation of the scene, he continued, “Here, Bill; you hold th’ ribbens, an’ watch me tend t’ that little job I told you I laid out t’ do first chance I got.” At this, Ollie grew as pale as death. Once he started as if to escape, but he could not under Sammy’s eyes. As Wash was climbing down from the wagon, he caught sight of Young Matt standing in the door of the mill shed. “Hello, Matt,” he called cheerfully; “I ain’t a lookin’ fer you t’ day; ’tend t’ you some other time. Got more important business jest now.” Young Matt made no reply, nor did he move to interfere. In the backwoods every man must fight his own battles, so long as he fights with men. When Stewart was in danger from the panther, it was different. This was man to man. Sammy, too, reared in the mountains, and knowing the code, waited quietly to see what her lover would do. Coming to Ollie’s side, Gibbs said, “Git down, young feller, an’ look at yer saddle.” “You go on, and let me alone, Wash Gibbs. I’ve never hurt you.” Ollie’s naturally high pitched voice was shrill with fear. Wash paused, looked back at his companion in the wagon; then to Young Matt, and then to the girl on the horse. “That’s right,” he said, shaking his head with ponderous gravity. “You all hear him. He ain’t never hurted me, nary a bit. Nary a bit, ladies an’ gentlemen. But, good Lord! look at him! Hain’t hit awful!” Suddenly he reached out one great arm, and jerked the young man from his horse, catching him with the other hand as he fell, and setting him on his feet in the middle of the road. Ollie was like a child in the grasp of his huge tormentor, and, in spite of her indignation, a look of admiration flashed over Sammy’s face at the exhibition of the bully’s wonderful physical strength; an admiration, that only heightened the feeling of shame for her lover’s weakness.