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.