They Of The High Trails Part 39

"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 thought 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 am 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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."

THE LEASER

_--the tenderfoot hay-roller from the prairies--still tries his luck in some abandoned tunnel--sternly toiling for his sweetheart far away._

VIII

THE LEASER

The only pa.s.senger in the car who really interested me was a burly young fellow who sat just ahead of me, and who seemed to be something more than a tourist, for the conductor greeted him pleasantly and the brakeman shook his hand. We were climbing to Cripple Creek by way of the Short Line, but as "the sceneries" were all familiar to me, I was able to study my fellow-pa.s.sengers.

The man before me was very attractive, although he was by no interpretation a gentle type. On the contrary, he looked to be the rough and ready American, rough in phrase and ready to fight. His corduroy coat hunched about his muscular shoulders in awkward lines, and his broad face, inclining to fat, was stern and harsh. He appeared to be about thirty-five years of age.

The more I studied him the more I hankered to know his history. The conductor, coming through, hailed him with: