The signal pistol-shots came nearer and nearer, but very slowly; and
as the outlaw sat beside Alice’s couch he took her Bible from his
pocket and said:
“I made a stab at reading this last night.”
She smiled. “I saw you. How did you like it?”
“I didn’t exactly get aboard someway.”
“What was the trouble?”
“I guess it was because I kept thinking of you--and my own place in
the game. Three days ago I didn’t care what became of me, but now I
want a chance. I don’t see any chance coming my way, but if I had
I’d make use of it.” He looked at her a moment in silence, then with
sudden intensity broke forth. “Do you know what you mean to me? When
I look at your face and eyes I’m hungry for you.”
She shrank from him and called to Mrs. Adams.
He went on. “Oh, you needn’t be afraid. I just wanted to say it,
that’s all. If there was only some other way to straighten
myself--but I can’t go to jail. I can’t stand up to be clipped like
a poodle-dog, then put on striped clothing and walk lock-step--I
can’t do it! They’ll put me in for ten years. I’d be old when I got
out.” He shuddered. “No, I won’t do that! I’d rather die here in the
hills.”
She grew white in sympathy. “It is a frightful price to pay for one
insane act, and yet--crime should be punished.”
“I’m getting my punishment now,” he replied, with darkly brooding
glance. “There’s a good old man and two women, my sisters, waiting
for me down the slope. If I could reach home I’d try to live
straight, but it’s a long and dangerous trail between here and
there.”
Peggy now ran into the cabin. “It’s the expedition,” she announced.
“I can see Freeman.”
“I reckon this is where I get off,” said the outlaw in a tone of
mingled relief and dismay.
“No, no!” Alice entreated. “Stay till Freeman comes. He will help
you. Let me explain to him. I know he will not betray you.”
He looked at her again with that intent, longing worship in his
eyes, and answered, “I accept the chance for the sake of one more
hour with you.”
The outlaw stepped to the door, and he saw a man at the head of his
train mid-leg deep in snow, leading his horse, breaking the way for
his followers, who were on foot, crawling, stumbling, and twisting
among the down-timber, unmindful of the old trail.
At sight of that big and resolute leader, with flowing black beard
and ruddy face, the outlaw was filled with jealous sadness. To find
Ward a man of superb physical prowess, the kind that measures peaks
for the fun of it, was disturbing, and without defining his feeling
he was plunged into melancholy musing. And when later Ward entered,
and, stooping over the couch, kissed Alice, the end of his idyl
seemed to him announced.
In the bustle of the moment, in the interchange of anxious, hurried
inquiries, the outlaw stood aside in the corner, unnoticed, till
Alice caught Ward’s arm and said:
“Freeman, this is Mr. Smith, to whom we owe a great deal. He has
taken the utmost care of us. We would have frozen but for him.”
Ward shook hands with the outlaw, but wonderingly asked of Alice,
“But where was Gage?”
The outlaw answered, “Gage got lost and only turned up a couple of
hours ago.”
Ward turned to Alice in horror. “Good Lord! And you were here
alone--crippled--in this storm?”
“No--that’s what I’m telling you. Mr. Smith came and took care of
us. He brought our wood, he cooked for us, he kept our fire going.
He gave up his bed, even his blankets, for us. You should be very
generous to him.”
Ward again reached a hearty hand. “I’m tremendously obliged to you.”
The outlaw quailed under all this praise. “There was mighty little
to do,” he answered. “I only shared my fire with them.”
Ward studied him closer. “Haven’t we met before?”
“No, I reckon not.”
“I’m quite sure I’ve see you somewhere. What are you doing up in
here?”
Alice interposed. “What are we going to do?”
Ward turned to the outlaw. “What would you advise? I’ve only had one
idea, and that was to reach this cabin. Now what would you do?”
The outlaw was ready. “I would send a part of the men with the
horses down the valley to grass and I’d wait here till Miss
Mansfield is able to ride.”
“Will this snow go off?”
“That’s my notion.”
“It’s certain we can’t camp here--the horses must have grass.”
“I’ll be able to ride in a day or two,” Alice said, bravely.
“We could frame up a portable bed and carry you,” suggested the
outlaw; “but it can’t be done to-night, so you’d better send your
outfit down to the marsh to camp. The horses are worn out and so are
the men.”
“Will you guide them to grass and help them find shelter?”
The outlaw hesitated for an instant, and Alice interposed: “No, no!
Let Gage do that. I want Mr. Smith to remain here.”
Ward perceived in her entreaty something of anxiety and fear, and
after the men and horses had started down the slope he turned to the
outlaw and said: “I’m mighty grateful to you, Mr. Smith. It must
have surprised you to find these women here.”
The outlaw dryly replied, “It did!”
Alice added: “It was in the middle of the night, too; but Mr. Smith
was very nice about it. He slept outdoors without a word of
complaint.”
Ward had figured the situation to conclusion: “Smith is a poacher,”
and though he had a savage dislike of these illicit
game-slaughterers, he could not but be glad of the presence of this
particular outlaw, and resolved to overlook his trade in gratitude
for his cabin and service.
The outlaw helped Adams and Ward to clear away the snow for a tent,
and Alice, seeing the three men thus amicably joined in her defense,
could not find it in her heart to condemn one of them as a criminal.
Here in the white isolation of the peaks the question of crime and
its punishment became personal. To have this man’s fate in her hand
was like grasping the executioner’s sword for herself.
“If women had to punish criminals themselves, with their own hand,”
she asked, “how many of them would do it?”
Peggy came in and whispered to her: “No one else seems to have
recognized him. He may get away safely. I hope he will. Shall we
tell the men who he is?”
“Yes, we shall have to do that soon, but I’m afraid they won’t take
the sentimental view of him that we do. I tremble to think of what
they will do when they know.”
Ward explained to Adams: “Our friend Smith here is a poacher--but as
our account stands I don’t feel it my duty to report him, do you?”
“No; Peggy tells me he has acted like a gentleman all through.”
In this spirit they made themselves comfortable for the night.
The sun set gloriously, but the air bit ever sharper, and while
Peggy went about her cooking, assisted by her husband and the
outlaw, Alice pulled Ward down to her bedside and hurriedly began:
“You remember that placard we read in the station--the one about the
train-robber?”
“Yes!”
“Well, this is the man--our Mr. Smith.”
Ward looked at her a moment with reflective eyes, then exclaimed:
“You’re right! I thought I’d seen him somewhere.”
“And the sheriff is after him. He was here yesterday morning.”
“Here?”
“Yes. You see, Mr. Smith stayed with us till he thought the storm
was over, then rode away, intending to cross the divide, but when
the snow began again he turned back. He said he couldn’t leave us
alone. He left us just before dawn, and four or five hours afterward
the sheriff came. Of course he saw the poor fellow’s trail and
instantly set off after him.”
“But why didn’t they meet?”
“Because Mr. Smith came back a different way and then the blizzard
came on and covered up his tracks. He thinks the sheriff has gone on
over the divide. You must help him, Freeman. Help him to get away
and find some way to give him a start. Nobody could have been more
considerate, and I can’t see him taken by these cold-blooded men who
want that two thousand dollars’ reward. He really could have
escaped, only for us. He came back to protect us.”
Ward pondered. “The problem is not so easy of solution. A train
robbery is a pretty serious matter. I’m very grateful to him, but to
connive at his escape is itself a punishable act. Why did you tell
me? I could have passed it over--”
“Because I’m afraid the sheriff may come back at any moment.”
Ward’s brow was troubled. “I could ignore his deed and pretend not
to know who he is, but definitely to assist a bandit to escape is a
very serious matter.”
“I know it is; but remember he gave up his chance to cross the
divide in order to keep us from suffering.”
“I wish you hadn’t told me,” he repeated, almost in irritation. “If
the sheriff only keeps on over the range Smith can take care of
himself.”
As the outlaw re-entered the cabin Alice acknowledged in him
something worth a woman to love. In the older man was power,
security, moral, mental, and physical health, the qualities her
reason demanded in a husband; but in the other was grace and charm,
something wildly admirable. He allured as the warrior, intrepid and
graceful, allured the maiden, as the forest calls the householder.
Something primordial and splendid and very sweet was in her feeling
toward him. There could be no peaceful wedlock there, no security of
home, no comfort, only the exquisite thrill of perilous union, the
madness of a few short weeks--perhaps only a few swift days of
self-surrender, and then, surely, disaster and despair. To yield to
him was impossible, and yet the thought of it was tantalizingly
sweet.
When she looked toward Ward she perceived herself sitting serenely
in matronly grace behind a shining coffee-urn in a well-ordered,
highly civilized breakfast-room, facing a most considerate husband
who nevertheless was able to read the morning paper in her presence.
When she thought of life with the outlaw all was dark, stormy,
confused, and yet the way was lit by his adoring eyes. A magical
splendor lay in the impulse. His love, sudden as it seemed, was
real--she was certain of that. She felt the burning power, the
conjury of its flame, and it made her future with Ward, at the
moment, seem dull and drab.
“Why, why could not such a man and such a passion come with the
orderly and the ethical?” she asked herself.
At the best he was fitted only for the mine or the ranch, and the
thought of life in a lonely valley, even with his love to lighten
it, made her shudder. On one side she was a very practical and
far-seeing woman. The instant she brought her reason to bear on the
problem she perceived that any further acquaintance with this man
was dangerous. They must part here at this moment, and yet she could
not let him go without in some way making him feel her wish to help
him.