"Yes; I saw his picture and description on a placard in the railway
station. I recognized him at once."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Well, I liked his looks, and, besides, I wanted to find out if he were
really bad or only unfortunate."
"What has he done?"
"They say he held up a train!"
"Merciful Heavens! a train-robber! What's his real name?"
"The name on the placard was Hall McCord."
"And to think he was in the same room with us last night, and you were
chumming with him! I can't understand you. Are you sure he is the
robber?"
"Yes. He confessed to having tried to rob the express car."
"He seemed such a nice fellow. How did he come to do it?"
Alice concluded not to honor the other girl by bringing her into the
discussion. "Oh, it is hard to say. Need of money, I suppose. Poor boy,
I pity him."
"They'll get him, sure. They can follow his tracks as easy as anything.
I don't suppose I ought to say it, but I hope he'll get away. Don't
you?"
"Yes, I do!" was Alice's fervent response. "But see! it's snowing again.
It may cover his trail."
Peggy went to the door and gazed long and keenly at the peaks. When she
turned her face was solemn. "Allie, this is getting pretty serious for
us. If the men don't come to-day they may get snowed up entirely."
Alice stifled a wail. "Oh, if I were only able to walk I wouldn't mind.
I could help gather fuel and keep the fire going."
"There's plenty of wood for another day, but I'm worried about the men.
Suppose they are up on that glacier?"
"I'm not worried about them, but I know they are worrying about us.
They'll surely start back this morning; but they may not be able to
reach us till night."
The light of the morning had turned gray and feeble. The air was still
and the forest soundless, save now and then when a snow-laden branch
creaked with its burden.
There was something majestic as well as menacing in this all-pervading
solemn hush.
Peggy went about her duties as cheerfully as she could, but with a wider
knowledge of mountaineering than Alice had. She was at heart quite
terrified. "We're going to miss our nice outlaw," she remarked. "He was
so effective as a purveyor of wood." Then she went to the door and
looked out. "That sheriff will never keep his trail," she said.
"What's that?" suddenly asked Alice.
Both listened. "I hear it!" whispered Peggy. "It's a horse--there! Some
one spoke."
"It's Freeman!" Alice joyously called out. "Coohoo!"
No one replied, and Peggy, rushing to the door, met the young outlaw,
who appeared on the threshold with stern, set face.
"Who's been here since I left? Your party?"
Peggy recoiled in surprise and alarm, and Alice cried out, "Why did you
come back?"
"Two men on horseback have been here since I left. Who were they?" His
voice was full of haste.
"One of them said--he was the--the sheriff," Alice replied, faintly.
He smiled then, a kind of terrifying humor in his eyes. "Well, the
chances are he knew. They took my trail, of course, and left in a hurry.
Expected to overhaul me on the summit. They've got their work cut out
for 'em."
"How did they miss you?" the girl asked, huskily.
"Well, you see, when I got up where I could view the sky I was dead sure
we were in for a whooping big snow-storm, and I just couldn't leave you
girls up here all alone, so I struck right down the canyon in the bed of
the creek--the short cut. I don't like to back-trail, anyway; it's a bad
habit to get into. I like to leave as blind a trail as I can." His face
lighted up, grew boyish again. "They're sure up against a cold
proposition about now. They'll lose my track among the rocks, but
they'll figure I've hustled right on over into Pine Creek, and if they
don't freeze to death in the pass they'll come out at Glover's
hay-meadow to-morrow night. How's the wood-pile holding out?"
"Please go!" cried Alice. "Take your chance now and hurry away."
"I'm not used to leaving women in such a fix. The moment I saw that the
blizzard was beginning all over again I turned back."
"You haven't had any breakfast?" said Peggy.
"Nothing to speak of," he replied, dryly. "I wasn't thinking of
breakfast when I pulled out."
"I'll get you some."
Alice could not throw off the burden of his danger. "What will you do
when my people return?"
"I don't know--trust to luck."
"You are very foolish. They are certain to come to-day."
"They won't know who I am if you women don't give me away."
"I'm sure Freeman--Professor Ward--will know you, for he also saw the
placard."
"That's no sign. Suppose he does--maybe he won't think it is his job to
interfere. Anyway"--here his voice became decisive--"I won't leave you
in such a fix as this." His eyes spoke to her of that which his tongue
could not utter. "I wanted an excuse to come back, anyway," he
concluded. "No matter what comes now, my job is here to protect you."
She did not rebuke him, and Peggy--though she wondered at his tone--was
too grateful for his presence even to question Alice's motive in
permitting such remarks.
As for Alice, she felt herself more and more involved in the tangled
skein of his mysterious life. His sudden and reckless abandonment of the
old love which had ruined him, and the new and equally irrational regard
which he now professed for her, filled her with a delicious marveling.
He appealed to a woman's imagination. He had the spice of the unknown.
In her relationship with Ward there was no danger, no mystery--his
courtship narrowly escaped being commonplace. She had accepted his
attentions and expected to marry him, and yet the thought of the union
produced, at its warmest, merely a glow of comfort, a sense of security,
whereas the hint of being loved and protected by this Rob Roy of the
hills, this reckless Rough Rider of the wilderness, was instinct with
romance. Of course his devotion was a crazy folly, and yet, lying there
in her rough bunk, with an impenetrable wall of snow shutting out the
rest of the world, it was hard not to feel that this man and his future
had become an inescapable part of her life--a part which grew in danger
and in charm from hour to hour.
Full two miles above the level of her own home, surrounded by peaks
unscalably wild and lonely, deserted by those who should care for her,
was it strange that she should return this man's adoring gaze with
something of the primal woman's gratitude and submission?
The noon darkened into dusk as they talked, slowly, with long pauses,
and one by one the stirring facts of the rover's life came out. From his
boyhood he had always done the reckless thing. He had known no restraint
till, as a member of the Rough Riders, he yielded a partial obedience to
his commanders. When the excitement of the campaigns was over he had
deserted and gone back to the round-up wagon and the camp-fire.
In the midst of his confidences he maintained a reserve about his family
which showed more self-mastery than anything else about him. That he was
the black sheep of an honorable flock became increasingly evident. He
had been the kind of lad who finds in the West a fine field for
daredevil adventure. And yet there were unstirred deeps in the man. He
was curious about a small book which Alice kept upon her bed, and which
she read from time to time with serene meditation on her face.
"What is that?" he asked.
"My Bible."
"Can I see it?"
"Certainly."
He took it carefully and read the title on the back, then turned a few
of the leaves. "I'm not much on reading," he said, "but I've got a
sister that sends me tracts, and the like." He returned to the fly-leaf.
"Is this your name?"
"Yes."
"'Alice Mansfield,'" he read; "beautiful name! 'New York City'! That's
pretty near the other side of the world to me." He studied the address
with intent look. "I'd like to buy this book. How much will you take for
it?"
"I'll trade it for your weapon," she replied.
He looked at her narrowly. "You mean something by that. I reckon I
follow you. No, I can't do that--not now. If I get into business over
the line I'll disarm, but in this country a fellow needs to be
protected. I want this book!"
"For the fly-leaf?"