The morning was well advanced when a far, faint halloo broke through the
silence of the valley. The ranger stood like a statue, while Peggy cried
out:
"It's one of our men!"
Alice turned to the outlaw with anxious face. "If it's the sheriff stay
in here with me. Let me plead for you. I want him to know what you've
done for us."
The look that came upon his face turned her cold with fear. "If it is
the sheriff--" He did not finish, but she understood.
The halloo sounded nearer and the outlaw's face lightened. "It's one of
your party. He is coming up from below."
Impatiently they waited for the new-comer to appear, and though he
seemed to draw nearer at every shout, his progress was very slow. At
last the man appeared on the opposite bank of the stream. He was covered
with snow and stumbling along like a man half dead with hunger and
fatigue.
"Why, it's Gage!" exclaimed Peggy.
It was indeed the old hunter, and as he drew near his gaunt and
bloodless face was like that of a starved and hunted animal. His first
word was an anxious inquiry, "How are ye?"
"All well," Peggy answered.
"And the crippled girl?"
"Doing nicely. Thanks to Mr. Smith here, we did not freeze. Are you
hungry?"
The guide looked upon the outlaw with glazed, protruding eyes. "Hungry?
I'm done. I've been wallerin' in the snow all night and I'm just about
all in."
"Where are the others?" called Alice from her bed.
Gage staggered to the door. "They're up at timber-line. I left them day
before yesterday. I tried to get here, but I lost my bearin's and got on
the wrong side o' the creek. 'Pears like I kept on the wrong side o' the
hogback. Then my horse gave out, and that set me afoot. I was plum
scared to death about you folks. I sure was."
Peggy put some food before him and ordered him into silence. "Talk
later," she said.
The outlaw turned to Alice. "That explains it. Your Professor Ward
trusted to this man to take care of you and stayed in camp. You can't
blame him."
Gage seemed to have suddenly become old, almost childish. "I never was
lost before," he muttered, sadly. "I reckon something must have went
wrong in my head. 'Pears like I'm gettin' old and foolish."
Alice exchanged glances with the outlaw. It was plain that he was in no
danger from this dazed and weakened old man who could think of nothing
but the loss of his sense of direction.
As the day advanced the sun burned clear. At noon it was warm enough to
leave the door open, and Alice, catching glimpses of the flaming world
of silver and purple and gold, was filled with a desire to quit her dark
corner.
"I'm going to get up!" she exclaimed. "I won't lie here any longer."
"Don't try it!" protested Peggy.
"I'm going to do it!" she insisted. "I can hobble to the door if you
help me."
"I'll carry you," said the outlaw. "Wrap her up and I'll get her a
seat."
And so, while Mrs. Adams wrapped her patient in a blanket, the outlaw
dragged one of the rough, ax-hewn benches to the door and covered it
with blankets. He put a stone to heat and then re-entered just as Alice,
supported by Peggy, was setting foot to the floor. Swiftly,
unhesitating, and very tenderly he put his arms about her and lifted
her to the bench in the doorway before the fire.
It was so sweet to feel that wondrous body in his arms. His daring to do
it surprised her, but her own silent acquiescence, and the shiver of
pleasure which came with the embarrassment of it, confused and troubled
her.
"That's better," he said as he dropped to the ground and drew the
blankets close about her feet. "I'll have a hot stone for you in a
minute."
He went about these ministrations with an inward ecstasy which shone in
his eyes and trembled in his voice. But as she furtively studied his
face and observed the tremor of his hands in tender ministration she
lost all fear of him.
After three days in her dark corner of the hut the sunshine was
wondrously inspiring to the girl, although the landscape on which she
gazed was white and wild as December. It was incredible that only a few
hours lay between the flower-strewn valley of her accident and this
silent and desolate, yet beautiful, wilderness of snow. And so, as she
looked into the eyes of the outlaw, it seemed as though she had known
him from spring to winter, and her wish to help him grew with every hour
of their acquaintanceship.
She planned his defense before Ward and Adams. "When they know how kind
and helpful he has been they can but condone his one rash deed," she
argued in conclusion.
He was sitting at her feet, careless of time, the law, content with her
nearness, and mindful only of her comfort, when a distant rifle-shot
brought him to his feet with the swiftness of the startled stag.
"That's your expedition," he said, "or some one who needs help."
Again the shots rang out, _one_, _two_, _three_--_one_, _two_, _three_.
"It's a signal! It's your party!"
Peggy uttered a cry of joy and rushed outside, but Alice turned an
unquiet gaze on the outlaw. "You'd better fly!"
"What is the use?" he answered, bitterly. "The snow is so deep there is
no show to cross the range, and my horse is weak and hungry."
Gage appeared at the door. "Lemme take your gun, stranger; I want to
answer the signal."
"Where's your own?"
"I left it on my horse," the old man answered, sheepishly.
The young fellow looked at Alice with a keen glitter in his eyes. "I'll
make answer myself," he said; "I'm very particular about my barkers."
Alice, as she heard his revolver's answering word leap into the silent
air and bound and rebound along the cliffs, was filled with a sudden
fear that the sheriff might be guided back by the sound--and this indeed
the fugitive himself remarked as he came back to his seat beside her.
"If he's anywhere on this side of the divide he'll sure come back. But
I've done my best. The Lord God Almighty has dropped the snow down here
and shut me in with you, and I'm not complaining."
There was no answer to be made to this fatalism of utterance, and none
to the worship of his eyes.
"Lift me up!" commanded Alice; "I want to look out and see if I can see
anybody."
The outlaw took her in his arms, supporting her in the threshold in
order that she might see over the vast sea of white. But no human being
was to be seen.
"Take me back--inside," Alice said to the man who had her in his arms.
"I feel cold here."
Once again, and with a feeling that it was, perhaps, for the last time,
he carried her back to her bench and re-enveloped her in her blankets.
"Stay here with me now," she whispered to him, as she looked up into his
face.
And the outlaw, filled with gladness and pride, threw himself on the
floor beside her.