Ward and the outlaw were discussing plans for getting out of the
basin when Adams came in to say, “A couple of other weary wanderers
are turning up.”
“The sheriff!” instantly exclaimed Alice, her face whitening in
swift dismay.
In that moment the forester was transformed. With a weapon in his
hand he stood aside, his eyes on the door, a scowl of battle on his
face. He resembled a wolf with bared fangs ready to die desperately.
Ward, quick to read his purpose, interposed. “Wait!” he commanded.
“Stay here; I’ll see them. Don’t be rash.”
As he passed out into the firelight the outlaw, without relaxing his
vigilance, said in a low voice, “Well, girl, I reckon here’s where I
say good night.”
“Don’t resist,” she pleaded. “Don’t fight, please! Please! What is
the use? Oh, it’s too horrible! If you resist they will kill you!”
There was no fear in his voice as he replied: “They may not; I’m
handy with my gun.”
She was breathless, chilled by the shadow of the impending tragedy.
“But that would be worse. To kill them would only stain your soul
the deeper. You must not fight!”
“It’s self-defense.”
“But they are officers of the law.”
“No matter; I will not be taken alive.”
She moaned in her distress, helplessly wringing her hands. “O God!
Why should I be witness of this?”
“You won’t be. If this is the sheriff I am going to open that door
and make a dash. What happens will happen outside. You need not see
it. I’m sorry you have to hear it. But I give you my word--if you
must hear something I will see to it that you hear as little as
possible.”
The latch clicked--he stepped back, and again stood waiting, silent,
rigid, ready to act, murderous in design.
Mrs. Adams entered quickly, and, closing the door behind her,
hurriedly whispered: “It’s the sheriff. Hide! The men will hold them
as long as they can. Hide!”
The outlaw looked about and smiled. “Where?” he asked, almost
humorously. “I’m not a squirrel.”
“Under the bunk. See, there is room.”
He shook his head. “No, I refuse to crawl. I won’t sneak. I never
have. I take ’em as they come.”
“For my sake,” pleaded Alice. “I can’t bear to see you killed. Hide
yourself. Go to the door,” she said to Peggy. “Don’t let them in.
Tell Freeman--” She rose and stood unsteadily, forgetful of her own
pain.
Mrs. Adams urged her to lie down, but she would not. The moments
passed in suspense almost too great to be endured.
“Listen!” commanded the outlaw. “They’re coming in.”
As they harkened Ward’s voice rose clearly. “You can’t miss the
camp,” he was saying, as if speaking to some one at a distance.
“Just keep the trail in the snow and you’ll find them. I’m sorry we
can’t put you up--but you see how it is.”
“They’re going!” exclaimed Alice. “Thank God, they’re going!”
“It can’t be they’ll go without searching the shack,” the fugitive
muttered, in no measure relaxing his attitude of watchful menace.
“They’re playing a game on us.”
Again the latch clicked, and this time it was Ward who confronted
the outlaw’s revolver mouth.
“It’s all right,” Ward called, instantly understanding the
situation. “They’re gone. The old man was about played out, for
they’ve been fighting snow all day, but I told him we couldn’t take
care of them here and they have gone on down to the camp. He thinks
you got over the divide. You are all right for the present.”
“They’ll come back,” replied the other. “It only puts the deal off a
few hours. They’ll return, trailin’ the whole camp after them. What
can I do? My horse is down there in the herd.”
“That’s bad,” exclaimed Ward. “I wonder if I could get him for you?”
“If I had him he’s weak and hungry, and the high places are feet
deep in drifts. It doesn’t signify. I’m corralled any way you look
at it, and the only thing left is to fight.”
“There’s our trail to the glacier,” Ward musingly suggested; “it’s a
pretty deep furrow--you might make it that way.”
A spark of light leaped into the man’s eyes. “How far up does it
run? Where does it end?”
“In Glacier Basin, just at timber-line.”
The outlaw pondered, speaking his thoughts aloud. “From there across
to the Indian reservation there isn’t a wolf track.... It’s a man’s
job crossing there, almost sure death, but it’s my only show.” He
had replaced his weapon in his belt and was weighing his chance, his
eyes fixed on Alice’s face. To leave this shelter, this warm circle
of light, this sweet girlish presence, and plunge into the dark, the
cold, and the snow, was hard. No one but a man of unconquerable
courage would have considered it. This man was both desperate and
heroic. “It’s my only chance and I’ll take it,” he said, drawing his
breath sharply. “I’ll need your prayers,” he added, grimly, with
eyes that saw only the girl. “If I fail you’ll find me up there. I
carry my sleeping-powder with me.” He touched his revolver as he
spoke.
Alice’s mind, sweeping out over that desolate expanse, had a
moment’s vision of him as he would appear toiling across those
towering cliffs, minute as a fly, and her heart grew small and sick.
“Why don’t you stay and take your lawful punishment?” she asked.
“You will surely perish up there in the cold. Wait for sunlight at
least.”
“I’m ready to stay and to die here, near you,” he replied, with a
significant glance.
“No, no, not that!” she cried out. “Talk to him, Freeman; persuade
him to give himself up. I’ve done my best to influence him. Don’t
let him uselessly sacrifice himself.”
Ward perceived something hidden in her voice, some emotion which was
more than terror, deeper than pity, but his words were grave and
kindly. “It is a frightful risk, young man, but the trail to the
glacier is your only open road. The sheriff is tired. Even if he
finds out that you are here he may not come back to-night. He will
know you cannot escape. You can’t stir without leaving a telltale
mark. If you could only get below the snow on the west slope--”
“Whichever trail I take it’s good-by,” interrupted the fugitive,
still addressing Alice. “If there was anything to live for--if you’d
say the word!”--she knew what he meant--“I’d stay and take my
schooling.” He waited a moment, and she, looking from his asking
face to Ward’s calm brow, could not utter a sound. What could she
promise? The outlaw’s tone softened to entreaty. “If you’ll only say
I may see you again on the other side of the range ’twill keep my
heart warm. Can’t you promise me that? It’s mighty little.”
He was going to almost certain death, and she could not refuse this.
“You may write to me--” she faltered. “You know my address--”
He struck the little book in his pocket. “Yes, I have it safe. Then
I may see you again?”
Alice, supported by Mrs. Adams, unsteadily rose. “Yes, yes, only go.
They are coming back! I can hear them.”
He took her hand. “Good-by,” he said, chokingly. “You’ve given me
heart.” He bent swiftly and kissed her forehead. “I’ll win! You’ll
hear from me.”
“Hurry!” she wildly cried. “I hear voices!”
He caught up his hat and opened the door. As he faced them his lips
were resolute and his eyes glowing. “It’s only good night,” he said,
and closed the door behind him.
“Hold!” shouted Ward. “You must take some food.” He tore the door
open. “Wait--”
Even as he spoke a pistol-shot resounded through the night. It cut
through the deathly silence of the forest like a spiteful curse, and
was answered by another--then, after a short pause, a swift-tearing
volley followed.
“They are killing him!” cried Alice.
They brought him in and laid him at her feet. He had requested this,
but when she bent to peer into his face he had gone beyond speech.
Limp and bloody and motionless he lay, with eyes of unfathomable
regret and longing, staring up at her, and as the men stood about
with uncovered heads she stooped to him, forgetful of all else;
knelt to lay her hand upon his brow.
“Poor boy! Poor boy!” she said, her eyes blinded with tears.
His hand stirred, seeking her own, and she took it and pressed it in
both of hers. “Jesus be merciful!” she prayed, softly.
He smiled faintly in acknowledgment of her presence and her prayer,
and in this consolation died.
Wonderingly, with imperious frown, she rose and confronted the
sheriff. “How is it that you are unhurt? Did he not fight?”
“That’s what I can’t understand, miss,” he answered. “He fired only
once, and then into the air. ’Pears like he wanted to die.”
Alice understood. His thought was of her. “You shall hear as little
as possible,” he had said.
“And you killed him--as he surrendered,” she exclaimed, bitterly,
and turned toward the dead man, whose face was growing very peaceful
now, and with a blinding pain in her eyes she bent and laid a final
caressing hand upon his brow.
As she faced the sheriff again she said, with merciless severity:
“I’d rather be in his place than yours.” Then, with a tired droop in
her voice, she appealed to Ward: “Take me away from here. I’m tired
of this savage world.”