Then, a lean sorrel mare came jogging into view, switching her fly-
bitten tail, and on the mare's back, urging him with a long, leafy
switch, sat a woman. Behind her sagged the two loaded ends of a corn-
sack. She rode like the mountain women, facing much to the side, yet
unlike them. Her arms did not flap. She did not bump gawkily up and
down in her saddle. Her blue calico dress caught the sun at a distance,
but her blue sunbonnet shaded and masked her face. She was lithe and
slim, and her violet eyes were profoundly serious, and her lips were as
resolutely set as Joan of Arc's might have been, for Sally Miller had
come only ostensibly to have her corn ground to meal. She had really
come to speak for the absent chief, and she knew that she would be met
with derision. The years had sobered the girl, but her beauty had
increased, though it was now of a chastened type, which gave her a
strange and rather exalted refinement of expression.

Wile McCager came to the mill door, as she rode up, and lifted the
sack from her horse.

"Howdy, Sally?" he greeted.

"Tol'able, thank ye," said Sally. "I'm goin' ter get off."

As she entered the great half-lighted room, where the mill stones
creaked on their cumbersome shafts, the hum of discussion sank to
silence. The place was brown with age and dirt, and powdered with a
coarse dusting of meal. The girl nodded to the mountaineers gathered in
conclave, then, turning to the miller she announced: "I'm going to send for Samson."