A little old threshing engine, one of the very first to take the
place of the horse power, and itself in turn already pushed to the
wall by improved competitors, rolled the saw or the burr. This
engine, which had been rescued by Mr. Matthews from the scrap-pile
of a Springfield machine shop, was accepted as evidence beyond
question of the superior intelligence and genius of the Matthews
family. In fact, Fall Creek Mill gave the whole Mutton Hollow
neighborhood such a tone of up-to-date enterprise, that folks from
the Bend, or the mouth of the James, looked upon the Mutton Hollow
people with no little envy and awe, not to say even jealousy.

The settlers came to the Matthews mill from far up the creek,
crossing and recrossing the little stream; from Iron Spring and
from Gardner, beyond Sand Ridge, following faint, twisting bridle
paths through the forest; from the other side of Dewey Bald, along
the Old Trail; from the Cove and from the Postoffice at the Forks,
down the wagon road, through the pinery; and from Wolf Ridge and
the head of Indian Creek beyond, climbing the rough mountains.
Even from the river bottoms they came, yellow and shaking with
ague, to swap tobacco and yarns, and to watch with never failing
interest the crazy old engine, as Young Matt patted, and coaxed,
and flattered her into doing his will.

They began coming early that grinding day, two weeks after Mr.
Howitt had been installed at the ranch. But the young engineer was
ready, with a good head of steam in the old patched boiler, and
the smoke was rising from the rusty stack, in a long, twisting
line, above the motionless tree tops.