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.