The same instant, Young Matt dropped his useless revolver, and, springing forward, met them on the threshold.

The old shepherd--who had not fired a shot--could scarcely believe his eyes, as he saw the giant catch the nearest man by the shoulder and waist, and, lifting him high above his head, fling him with terrific force full into the faces of his bewildered companions.
Those who were not knocked down by the strange weapon scattered in every direction, crouching low.

For a moment the big fellow was master of the situation, and, standing alone in the doorway, in the full light of the moon, was easily recognized.
"Hell, boys! Hit's Young Matt hisself!" yelled the one who had raised a laugh, by saying that Young Matt was sick and the shepherd was wanted to doctor.
"Yes! It's me, Bill Simpson.

I'm sure ailin' to-night.

I need somebody to go for a doctor powerful bad," returned the young giant.
"We never knowed it war you," whined the other carefully lengthening the distance between the big man on the doorstep and himself.
"No, I reckon not.