The convict turned his hunted, fearful, starving face in doubtful bewilderment toward the speaker.
The man with the gun continued, "I got the drop on you to prevent accidents--until I could explain--that's all." He lowered the rifle.
The other went a staggering step forward. "You mean that?" he said in a harsh, incredulous whisper. "You--you're not playing with me?"
"Why should I want to play with you?" returned the other, kindly. "Come, let's get off the trail. I have something to eat, up there." He led the way back to the place where he had left his lunch.
Dropping down upon the ground, the starving man seized the offered food with an animal-like cry; feeding noisily, with the manner of a famished beast. The other watched with mingled pity and disgust.
Presently, in stammering, halting phrases, but in words that showed no lack of education, the wretched creature attempted to apologize for his unseemly eagerness, and endeavored to thank his benefactor. "I suppose, sir, there is no use trying to deny my identity," he said, when James Rutlidge had again assured him of his kindly interest.
"Not at all," agreed the other, "and, so far as I am concerned, there is no reason why you should."
"Just what do you mean by that, sir?" questioned the convict.
"I mean that I am not an officer and have no reason in the world for turning you over to them. I saw you coming along the trail down there and, of course, could not help noticing your condition and guessing who you were. To me, you are simply a poor devil who has gotten into a tight hole, and I want to help you out a bit, that's all."
The convict turned his eyes despairingly toward the canyon below, as he answered, "I thank you, sir, but it would have been better if you had not. Your help has only put the end off for a few hours. They've got me shut in. I can keep away from them, up here in the mountains, but I can't get out. I won't go back to that hell they call prison though--I won't." There was no mistaking his desperate purpose.