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!"