The valley lay like a ribbon thrown into the midst of the encompassing hills.  The grass which grew there was soft and fine and abundant; the trees which sprang from its dark, rich mould were tall and great of girth.  A bright stream flashed through it, and the sunshine fell warm upon the grass and changed the tassels of the maize into golden plumes.  Above the valley, east and north and south, rose the hills, clad in living green, mantled with the purpling grape, wreathed morn and eve with trailing mist.  To the westward were the mountains, and they dwelt apart in a blue haze.  Only in the morning, if the mist were not there, the sunrise struck upon their long summits, and in the evening they stood out, high and black and fearful, against the splendid sky.  The child who played beside the cabin door often watched them as the valley filled with shadows, and thought of them as a great wall between her and some land of the fairies which must needs lie beyond that barrier, beneath the splendor and the evening star.  The Indians called them the Endless Mountains, and the child never doubted that they ran across the world and touched the floor of heaven.

In the hands of the woman who was spinning the thread broke and the song died in the white throat of the girl who stood in the doorway.  For a moment the two gazed with widening eyes into the green September world without the cabin; then the woman sprang to her feet, tore from the wall a horn, and, running to the door, wound it lustily.  The echoes from the hills had not died when a man and a boy, the one bearing a musket, the other an axe, burst from the shadow of the forest, and at a run crossed the greensward and the field of maize between them and the women.  The child let fall her pine cones and pebbles, and fled to her mother, to cling to her skirts, and look with brown, frightened eyes for the wonder that should follow the winding of the horn.  Only twice could she remember that clear summons for her father:  once when it was winter and snow was on the ground, and a great wolf, gaunt and bold, had fallen upon their sheep; and once when a drunken trader from Germanna, with a Pamunkey who had tasted of the trader’s rum, had not waited for an invitation before entering the cabin.  It was not winter now, and there was no sign of the red-faced trader or of the dreadful, capering Indian.  There was only a sound in the air, a strange noise coming to them from the pass between the hills over which rose the sun.

The man with the musket sent his voice before him as he approached the group upon the doorstep:  “Alce, woman!  What’s amiss?  I see naught wrong!”

His wife stepped forward to meet him.  “There’s naught to see, William.  It’s to hear.  There was a noise.  Molly and I heard it, and then we lost it.  There it is again!”

Fronting the cabin, beyond the maize field and the rich green grass and the placid stream, rose two hills, steep and thickly wooded, and between them ran a narrow, winding, and rocky pass.  Down this gorge, to the listening pioneer, now came a confused and trampling sound.

“It is iron striking against the rocks!” he announced.  “The hoofs of horses”

“Iron!” cried his wife.  “The horses in Virginia go unshod!  And what should a troop of horse do here, beyond the frontier, where even the rangers never come?”

The man shook his head, a frown of perplexity upon his bronzed and bearded face.  “It is the sound of the hoofs of horses,” he said, “and they are coming through the pass.  Hark!”

A trumpet blew, and there came a noise of laughter.  The child pressed close to her brother’s side.  “Oh, Robin, maybe ’t is the fairies!”

Out from the gloom of the pass into the sunshine of the valley, splashing through the stream, trampling the long grass, laughing, and calling one rider to the other, burst a company of fifty horsemen.  The trumpet blew again, and the entire party, drawing rein, stared at the unexpected maize field, the cabin, and the people about the door.

Between the intruders and the lonely folk, whose nearest neighbors were twenty miles away, was only a strip of sunny grass, dotted over with the stumps of trees that had been felled lest they afford cover for attacking savages.  A man, riding at the head of the invading party, beckoned, somewhat imperiously, to the pioneer; and the latter, still with his musket in the hollow of his arm, strode across the greensward, and finding himself in the midst, not of rude traders and rangers, but of easy, smiling, periwigged gentlemen, handsomely dressed and accoutred, dropped the butt of his gun upon the ground, and took off his squirrel-skin cap.

“You are deep in the wilderness, good fellow,” said the man who had beckoned, and who was possessed of a stately figure, a martial countenance, and an air of great authority.  “How far is it to the mountains?”

The pioneer stared at the long blue range, cloudlike in the distance.  “I don’t know,” he answered.  “I hunt to the eastward.  Twenty miles, maybe.  You’re never going to climb them?”

“We are come out expressly to do so,” answered the other heartily, “having a mind to drink the King’s health with our heads in the clouds!  We need another axeman to clear away the fallen trees and break the nets of grapevine.  Wilt go along amongst our rangers yonder, and earn a pistole and undying fame?”

The woodsman looked from the knot of gentlemen to the troop of hardy rangers, who, with a dozen ebony servants and four Meherrin Indians, made up the company.  Under charge of the slaves were a number of packhorses.  Thrown across one was a noble deer; a second bore a brace of wild turkeys and a two-year-old bear, fat and tender; a third had a legion of pots and pans for the cooking of the woodland cheer; while the burden of several others promised heart’s content of good liquor.  From the entire troop breathed a most enticing air of gay daring and good-fellowship.  The gentlemen were young and of cheerful countenances; the rangers in the rear sat their horses and whistled to the woodpeckers in the sugar-trees; the negroes grinned broadly; even the Indians appeared a shade less saturnine than usual.  The golden sunshine poured upon them all, and the blue mountains that no Englishman had ever passed seemed for the moment as soft and yielding as the cloud that slept along their summits.  And no man knew what might be just beyond the mountains:  Frenchmen, certainly, and the great lakes and the South Sea:  but, besides these, might there not be gold, glittering stones, new birds and beasts and plants, strange secrets of the hills?  It was only westward-ho! for a week or two, with good company and good drink

The woodsman shifted from one foot to the other, but his wife, who had now crossed the grass to his side, had no doubts.

“You’ll not go, William!” she cried.  “Remember the smoke that you saw yesterday from the hilltop!  If the Northern Indians are on the warpath against the Southern, and are passing between us and the mountains, there may be straying bands.  I’ll not let you go!”

In her eagerness she clasped his arm with her hands.  She was a comely, buxom dame, and the circle on horseback, being for the most part young and gallant, and not having seen a woman for some days, looked kindly upon her.

“And so you saw a smoke, goodwife, and are afraid of roving Indians?” said the gentleman who had spoken before.  “That being the case, your husband has our permission to stay behind.  On my life, ’t is a shame to ride away and leave you in danger of such marauders!”

“Will your Excellency permit me to volunteer for guard duty?” demanded a young man who had pressed his horse to the leader’s side.  “It’s odds, though, that when you return this way you’ll find me turned Papist.  I’ll swear your Excellency never saw in Flanders carved or painted saint so worthy of your prayers as yonder breathing one!”

The girl Molly had followed her parents, and now stood upon a little grassy knoll, surveying with wide brown eyes the gay troop before her.  A light wind was blowing, and it wrapped her dress of tender, faded blue around her young limbs, and lifted her loosened hair, gilded by the sunshine into the likeness of an aureole.  Her face was serious and wondering, but fair as a woodland flower.  She had placed her hand upon the head of the child who was with her, clinging to her dress.  The green knoll formed a pedestal; behind was the sky, as blue as that of Italy; the two figures might have been some painted altar-piece.

The sprightly company, which had taken for its motto “Sic juvat transcendere montés,” looked and worshiped.  There was a moment of silent devotion, broken by one of the gentlemen demanding if ’t were not time for dinner; another remarked that they might go much farther and fare much worse, in respect of a cool, sweet spot in which to rest during the heat of the afternoon; and a third boldly proposed that they go no farther at all that day.  Their leader settled the question by announcing that, Mr. Mason’s suggestion finding favor in his sight, they would forthwith dismount, dine, drink red wine and white, and wear out the heat of the day in this sylvan paradise until four of the clock, when the trumpet should sound for the mount; also, that if the goodwife and her daughter would do them the honor to partake of their rustic fare, their healths should be drunk in nothing less than Burgundy.

As he spoke he swung himself from the saddle, pulled out his ruffles, and raised his hat.  “Ladies, permit me,” a wave of his hand toward his escort, who were now also on foot.  “Colonel Robertson, Captain Clonder, Captain Brooke, Mr. Haward, Mr. Beverley, Dr. Robinson, Mr. Fontaine, Mr. Todd, Mr. Mason, all of the Tramontane Order.  For myself, I am Alexander Spotswood, at your service.”

The pioneer, standing behind his wife, plucked her by the sleeve.  “Ecod, Alce, ’t is the Governor himself!  Mind your manners!”

Alce, who had been a red-cheeked dairymaid in a great house in England, needed no admonition.  Her curtsy was profound; and when the Governor took her by the hand and kissed her still blooming cheek, she curtsied again.  Molly, who had no memories of fine gentlemen and the complaisance which was their due, blushed fire-red at the touch of his Excellency’s lips, forgot to curtsy, and knew not where to look.  When, in her confusion, she turned her head aside, her eyes met those of the young man who had threatened to turn Papist.  He bowed, with his hand upon his heart, and she blushed more deeply than before.

By now every man had dismounted, and the valley was ringing with the merriment of the jovial crew.  The negroes led the horses down the stream, lightened them of saddle and bridle, and left them tethered to saplings beneath which the grass grew long and green.  The rangers gathered fallen wood, and kindled two mighty fires, while the gentlemen of the party threw themselves down beside the stream, upon a little grassy rise shadowed by a huge sugar-tree.  A mound of turf, flanked by two spreading roots, was the Governor’s chair of state, and Alce and Molly he must needs seat beside him.  Not one of his gay company but seemed an adept in the high-flown compliment of the age; out of very idleness and the mirth born of that summer hour they followed his Excellency’s lead, and plied the two simple women with all the wordy ammunition that a tolerable acquaintance with the mythology of the ancients and the polite literature of the present could furnish.  The mother and daughter did not understand the fine speeches, but liked them passing well.  In their lonely lives, a little thing made conversation for many and many a day.  As for these golden hours, the jingle and clank and mellow laughter, the ruffles and gold buttons and fine cloth, these gentlemen, young and handsome, friendly-eyed, silver-tongued, the taste of wine, the taste of flattery, the sunshine that surely was never yet so bright, ten years from now they would still be talking of these things, still wishing that such a day could come again.

The negroes were now busy around the fires, and soon the cheerful odor of broiling meat rose and blended with the fragrance of the forest.  The pioneer, hospitably minded, beckoned to the four Meherrins, and hastening with them to the patch of waving corn, returned with a goodly lading of plump, green ears.  A second foraging party, under guidance of the boy, brought into the larder of the gentry half a dozen noble melons, golden within and without.  The woman whispered to the child, and the latter ran to the cabin, filled her upgathered skirts with the loaves of her mother’s baking, and came back to the group upon the knoll beneath the sugar-tree.  The Governor himself took the bread from the little maid, then drew her toward him.

“Thanks, my pretty one,” he said, with a smile that for the moment quite dispelled the expression of haughtiness which marred an otherwise comely countenance.  “Come, give me a kiss, sweeting, and tell me thy name.”

The child looked at him gravely.  “My name is Audrey,” she answered, “and if you eat all of our bread we’ll have none for supper.”

The Governor laughed, and kissed the small dark face.  “I’ll give thee a gold moidore, instead, my maid.  Odso! thou’rt as dark and wild, almost, as was my little Queen of the Saponies that died last year.  Hast never been away from the mountains, child?”

Audrey shook her head, and thought the question but a foolish one.  The mountains were everywhere.  Had she not been to the top of the hills, and seen for herself that they went from one edge of the world to the other?  She was glad to slip from the Governor’s encircling arm, and from the gay ring beneath the sugar-tree; to take refuge with herself down by the water side, and watch the fairy tale from afar off.

The rangers, with the pioneer and his son for their guests, dined beside the kitchen fire, which they had kindled at a respectful distance from the group upon the knoll.  Active, bronzed and daring men, wild riders, bold fighters, lovers of the freedom of the woods, they sprawled upon the dark earth beneath the walnut-trees, laughed and joked, and told old tales of hunting or of Indian warfare.  The four Meherrins ate apart and in stately silence, but the grinning negroes must needs endure their hunger until their masters should be served.  One black detachment spread before the gentlemen of the expedition a damask cloth; another placed upon the snowy field platters of smoking venison and turkey, flanked by rockahominy and sea-biscuit, corn roasted Indian fashion, golden melons, and a quantity of wild grapes gathered from the vines that rioted over the hillside; while a third set down, with due solemnity, a formidable array of bottles.  There being no chaplain in the party, the grace was short.  The two captains carved, but every man was his own Ganymede.  The wines were good and abundant:  there was champagne for the King’s health; claret in which to pledge themselves, gay stormers of the mountains; Burgundy for the oreads who were so gracious as to sit beside them, smile upon them, taste of their mortal fare.

Sooth to say, the oreads were somewhat dazed by the company they were keeping, and found the wine a more potent brew than the liquid crystal of their mountain streams.  Red roses bloomed in Molly’s cheeks; her eyes grew starry, and no longer sought the ground; when one of the gentlemen wove a chaplet of oak leaves, and with it crowned her loosened hair, she laughed, and the sound was so silvery and delightful that the company laughed with her.  When the viands were gone, the negroes drew the cloth, but left the wine.  When the wine was well-nigh spent, they brought to their masters long pipes and japanned boxes filled with sweet-scented.  The fragrant smoke, arising, wrapped the knoll in a bluish haze.  A wind had arisen, tempering the blazing sunshine, and making low music up and down the hillsides.  The maples blossomed into silver, the restless poplar leaves danced more and more madly, the hemlocks and great white pines waved their broad, dark banners.  Above the hilltops the sky was very blue, and the distant heights seemed dream mountains and easy of climbing.  A soft and pleasing indolence, born of the afternoon, the sunlight, and the red wine, came to dwell in the valley.  One of the company beneath the spreading sugar-tree laid his pipe upon the grass, clasped his hands behind his head, and, with his eyes on the azure heaven showing between branch and leaf, sang the song of Amiens of such another tree in such another forest.  The voice was manly, strong, and sweet; the rangers quit their talk of war and hunting to listen, and the negroes, down by the fire which they had built for themselves, laughed for very pleasure.

When the wine was all drunken and the smoke of the tobacco quite blown away, a gentleman who seemed of a somewhat saturnine disposition, and less susceptible than his brother adventurers to the charms of the wood nymphs, rose, and declared that he would go a-fishing in the dark crystal of the stream below.  His servant brought him hook and line, while the grasshoppers in the tall grass served for bait.  A rock jutting over the flood formed a convenient seat, and a tulip-tree lent a grateful shade.  The fish were abundant and obliging; the fisherman was happy.  Three shining trophies had been landed, and he was in the act of baiting the hook that should capture the fourth, when his eyes chanced to meet the eyes of the child Audrey, who had left her covert of purple-berried alder, and now stood beside him.  Tithonus, green and hale, skipped from between his fingers, and he let fall his line to put out a good-natured hand and draw the child down to a seat upon the rock.  “Wouldst like to try thy skill, moppet?” he demanded.

The child shook her head.  “Are you a prince?” she asked, “and is the grand gentleman with, the long hair and the purple coat the King?”

The fisherman laughed.  “No, little one, I’m only a poor ensign.  The gentleman yonder, being the representative in Virginia of my Lord of Orkney and his Majesty King George the First, may somewhat smack of royalty.  Indeed, there are good Virginians who think that were the King himself amongst us he could not more thoroughly play my Lord Absolute.  But he’s only the Governor of Virginia, after all, bright eyes.”

“Does he live in a palace, like the King?  My father once saw the King’s house in a place they call London.”

The gentleman laughed again.  “Ay, he lives in a palace, a red brick palace, sixty feet long and forty feet deep, with a bauble on top that’s all afire on birth-nights.  There are green gardens, too, with winding paths, and sometimes pretty ladies walk in them.  Wouldst like to see all these fine things?”

The child nodded.  “Ay, that I would!  Who is the gentleman that sang, and that now sits by Molly?  See! with his hand touching her hair.  Is he a Governor, too?”

The other glanced in the direction of the sugar-tree, raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, and returned to his fishing.  “That is Mr. Marmaduke Haward,” he said, “who, having just come into a great estate, goes abroad next month to be taught the newest, most genteel mode of squandering it.  Dost not like his looks, child?  Half the ladies of Williamsburgh are enamored of his beaux yeux.”

Audrey made no answer, for just then the trumpet blew for the mount, and the fisherman must needs draw in and pocket his hook and line.  Clear, high, and sweet, the triumphant notes pierced the air, and were answered from the hills by a thousand fairy horns.  The martial-minded Governor would play the soldier in the wilderness; his little troop of gentlemen and rangers and ebony servants had come out well drilled for their tilt against the mountains.  The echoes were still ringing, when, with laughter, some expenditure of wit, and much cheerful swearing, the camp was struck.  The packhorses were again laden, the rangers swung themselves into their saddles, and the gentlemen beneath the sugar-tree rose from the grass, and tendered their farewells to the oreads.

Alce roundly hoped that their Honors would pass that way again upon their return from the high mountains, and the deepening rose of Molly’s cheeks and her wistful eyes added weight to her mother’s importunity.  The Governor swore that in no great time they would dine again in the valley, and his companions confirmed the oath.  His Excellency, turning to mount his horse, found the pioneer at the animal’s head.

“So, honest fellow,” he exclaimed good-naturedly, “you will not with us to grave your name upon the mountain tops?  Let me tell you that you are giving Fame the go-by.  To march against the mountains and overcome them as though they were so many Frenchmen, and then to gaze into the promised land beyond Odso, man, we are as great as were Cortez and Pizarro and their crew!  We are heroes and paladins!  We are the Knights of”

His horse, impatient to be gone, struck with a ringing sound an iron-shod hoof against a bit of rock.  “The Knights of the Horseshoe,” said the gentleman nearest the Governor.

Spotswood uttered a delighted exclamation:  “’Gad, Mr. Haward, you’ve hit it!  Well-nigh the first horseshoes used in Virginia the number we were forced to bring along the sound of the iron against the rocks the Knights of the Horseshoe!  ’Gad, I’ll send to London and have little horseshoes little gold horseshoes made, and every man of us shall wear one.  The Knights of the Golden Horseshoe!  It hath an odd, charming sound, eh, gentlemen?”

None of the gentlemen were prepared to deny that it was a quaint and pleasing title.  Instead, out of very lightness of heart and fantastic humor, they must needs have the Burgundy again unpacked, that they might pledge at once all valorous discoverers, his Excellency the Governor of Virginia, and their new-named order.  And when the wine was drunk, the rangers were drawn up, the muskets were loaded, and a volley was fired that brought the echoes crashing about their heads.  The Governor mounted, the trumpet sounded once more, and the joyous company swept down the narrow valley toward the long, blue, distant ranges.

The pioneer, his wife and children, watched them go.  One of the gentlemen turned in his saddle and waved his hand.  Alce curtsied, but Molly, at whom he had looked, saw him not, because her eyes were full of tears.  The company reached and entered a cleft between the hills; a moment, and men and horses were lost to sight; a little longer, and not even a sound could be heard.

It was as though they had taken the sunshine with them; for a cloud had come up from the west, and the sun was hidden.  All at once the valley seemed a sombre and lonely place, and the hills with their whispering trees looked menacingly down upon the clearing, the cabin, and the five simple English folk.  The glory of the day was gone.  After a little more of idle staring, the frontiersman and his son returned to their work in the forest, while Alce and Molly went indoors to their spinning, and Audrey sat down upon the doorstep to listen to the hurry of voices in the trees, and to watch the ever-deepening shadow of the cloud above the valley.