In spite of her knowledge of the mountains and her natural
intrepidity of character the wounded girl’s heart sank as the snow
and the night closed down over the tiny cabin in its covert of firs.
To be on foot in such gloom in the heart of such a wilderness, was
sufficiently awe-inspiring, but to be helpless on a hard bed was to
feel the utter inconsequence of humankind. “Suppose the storm blocks
the trails so that the men cannot return for a week? What will we do
for food?”
Each time she heard the outlaw deliver his burden of wood her heart
warmed to him. He was now her comfort and very present stay. “If it
should happen that the trails become impassable he alone will stand
between us and death,” she thought.
The outlaw came in to say, abruptly, “If you weren’t hurt and if I
weren’t in such a hurry I’d rather enjoy this.”
He slashed his sombrero against his thigh as he spoke, and Mrs.
Adams answered his remark without knowledge of its inner meaning.
“You mustn’t think of sleeping outdoors to-night--Mr.----?”
“Smith. I belong to the big family, the Smiths,” he promptly
replied.
“Why don’t you take away that improvised table by the wall and make
your bed there?”
“We’ll need the table,” he responded in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ll
just crawl under it. What’s giving me most trouble is the question
of grub. They didn’t leave you any too much, did they?”
“But you can kill game, can’t you?” asked Peggy.
“We’re pretty high up for elk, and the blue grouse are scarce this
year, but I reckon I can jump a deer or a ground-hog. We won’t
starve, anyway.”
Alice perceived in his voice a note of exultation. He was glad of
his reprieve, and the thought of being her protector, at least for
the night, filled him with joy. She read his mind easily and the
romance of this relationship stirred her own heart. The dramatic
possibilities of the situation appealed to her. At any moment the
men might return and force her into the rôle of defender. On the
other hand, they might be confined for days together in this little
cabin, and in this enforced intimacy Peggy was sure to discover his
secret and his adoration.
The little hovel was filled with the golden light of the blazing
fagots, and through the open door Alice could see the feathery
crystals falling in a wondrous, glittering curtain across the night.
The stream roared in subdued voice as though oppressed by the snows,
and the shadow of the fugitive as he moved about the fire had a
savage, primal significance which awed the girl into silence.
He was very deft in camp work, and cooked their supper for them
almost as well as they could have done it themselves, but he refused
to sit at the table with Peggy. “I’ll just naturally stick to my
slicker, if you don’t mind. I’m wet and my hands are too grimy to
eat with a lady.”
Alice continued to talk to him, always with an under-current of
meaning which he easily read and adroitly answered. This care, this
double meaning, drew them ever closer in spirit, and the girl took
an unaccountable pleasure in it.
After supper he took his seat in the open doorway, and the girl in
the bunk looked upon him with softened glance. She had no fear of
him now; on the contrary, she mentally leaned upon him. Without him
the night would be a terror, the dawn an uncertainty. The brave
self-reliance of his spirit appeared in stronger light as she
considered that for weeks he had been camping alone, and that but
for this accident to her he would be facing this rayless wintry
night in solitude.
He began again to question her. “I wish you’d tell me more about
yourself,” he said, his dark eyes fixed upon her. “I can’t
understand why any girl like you should come up here with a bunch of
rock-sharps. Are you tied up to the professor?”
If Peggy expected her patient to resent this question she must have
been surprised, for Alice merely smiled as if at the impertinence of
a child.
Mrs. Adams replied: “I can tell you that she is--and a very
fortunate girl her friends think her.”
He turned to her with unmoved face. “You mean he’s got money, I
reckon.”
“Money and brains and good looks and a fine position.”
“That’s about the whole works, ain’t it--leastwise he will have it
all when he gets you. A man like that doesn’t deserve what he’s got.
He’s a chump. Do you suppose I’d go off and leave you alone in a
hole like this with a smashed leg? I’d never bring you into such a
country, in the first place. And I certainly wouldn’t leave you just
to study a shack of ice on the mountainside.”
“I urged him to go, and, besides, Peggy is mistaken; we’re not
engaged.”
“But he left you! That’s what sticks in my crop. He can’t be just
right in his head. If I had any chance of owning you I’d never let
you out of my sight. I wouldn’t take a chance. I don’t understand
these city fellows. I reckon their blood is thinned with ice-water.
If I had you I’d be scared every minute for fear of losing you. I’d
be as dangerous to touch as a silver-tip. If I had any place to take
you I’d steal you right now.”
This was more than banter. Even Mrs. Adams perceived the passion
quivering beneath his easy, low-toned speech. He was in truth
playing with the conception of seizing this half-smiling,
half-musing girl whose helpless body was at once a lure and an
inspiration. It was perfectly evident that he was profoundly
stirred.
And so was Alice. “What,” she dared ask herself, “will become of
this?”