He sped as fast as he could along the dim trail she had made. The dawn, icy-breathed, soon out-distanced him, permitting him to see Bess’s fleeing form before he had scarcely begun to overtake her. She was just a dark shadow at first against the stretching fields of white; but he never lost sight of her after that. With the brightening dawn he saw her ever more distinctly.
And in the middle distance, west of both of them, he saw the huge, dark form of Doomsdorf bearing down upon her.
She had guessed right as to Doomsdorf. Catching sight of her, he had left their double trail to overtake her. Hoping and believing that Ned had taken his chance of safety and was fleeing eastward, she was leading his enemy ever farther and farther north, away from him.
He was a strong man, this Cornet who had fought the North, but the bitter, scalding tears shot into his eyes at the sight of that strange, hopeless drama on the ice. But not one of them was in self-pity. They were all for the slight figure of the girl, trying still to save him, running so hopelessly from the brute who was even now upon her. To Ned, the scene had lost its quality of horror. It was only unspeakably tragic there behind the rising curtains of the dawn.
She was trying to dodge him now, cutting back and forth as a mouse might try to dodge the talons of a cat,—still trying to save a few little seconds for Ned. She wasn’t aware yet that her trial was all in vain. In an attempt to hold Doomsdorf off as long as possible, she had not paused one instant to assure herself that Ned had gone on east. He had given her his word; likely she trusted him implicitly. The man’s heart seemed to swell, ready to break, in pity for her.
A moment later he saw her slip on the ice, and in dread silence, Doomsdorf’s arms went about her. Neither of them had apparently observed Ned. They only became aware of him as his great shout, half in rage, half in defiance, reached them across the ice.
It was really an instinctive cry. Partly the impulse behind it was to warn Doomsdorf of his presence, hoping thus to call his attention from Bess and thus save the girl immediate insult at his hands. And kneeling upon the girl’s form, like a great bear upon its living prey, Doomsdorf looked up and saw him.
Even at the distance that separated them the startled movement of his head revealed his unutterable amazement. Doubtless he thought that Ned was miles to the east by now. The amazement gave way to boundless triumph as Ned walked calmly toward him. Then while he held the girl prone on the ice with his great knee, Doomsdorf’s rifle made blue lightning in the air.
Ned’s response was to throw his arms immediately into the air in token of complete surrender. He was thinking coolly, his faculties in perfect control; and he knew he must not attempt resistance now. Only death lay that way; at that range Doomsdorf could shatter him lifeless to the ice with one shot from the heavy rifle. It wasn’t enough just to die, thus taking a quick road out of Doomsdorf’s power. Such a course would not aid Bess. And to Bess he owed his duty—to aid Bess, in every way he could, was his last dream.
At first he had had to play the cruel game for the sake of Lenore. That obligation was past now; but it had never, at its greatest, moved him with one-half the ardor as this he bore to Bess. He must not go this route to freedom, or any other, until Bess could go with him. He must not leave her in Doomsdorf’s power.