She crept away from the cave door near which the others
sat enjoying the balmy midsummer afternoon, beckoning to one of her
brothers to follow her, as the big fellow did unquestioningly, for
Lightfoot had been, almost from young girlhood, the dominant force in the
family, even the strong father, though it was contrary to the spirit of
the time, admiring and yielding to his one daughter without much comment.
The great, hulking youth, well armed and ready for any adventure, joined
her, nothing both, and the two disappeared, like shadows, in the depths of
the forest.
Lightfoot had been the housekeeper in the cave of Hilltop, the cave of the
greatest hunter of the region, young despite the years which had
encompassed him, and father of two boys who were fine specimens of the
better men of the time. They were splendid whelps, and this slim thing,
whom they had cared for as she grew, dominated them easily, though the age
was not one of vast family affection, while chivalry, of course, did not
exist. Hilltop's wife had died two years before, and Lightfoot, with
unconscious force, had taken her mother's place. There was none other with
woman's ways to help the men in the rock-guarded home on the windy hill.
Hilltop had not been altogether unthinking all this time. He had often
looked upon his daughter's friend, the jolly, swart and well-fed Moonface,
and had much approved of her, but, today, as he listened to her story, he
did not pay such attention as was demanded by the interest of the theme.
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