“That is what I mean, Miss Hope. I suspect that cabin to be the rendezvous of those fellows, and I half believe Hawley to be their leader.”
“Then you will report all this to the authorities?”
He smiled grimly, his lips compressed.
“I hardly think so; at least, not for the present. I am not blood-thirsty, or enamored of man-hunting, but I happen to have a personal interest in this particular affair which I should prefer to settle alone.” He paused, swiftly reviewing the circumstances of their short acquaintance, and as suddenly determining to trust her discretion. Deep down in his heart he rather wanted her to know. “The fact of the matter is, that Neb and I here were the ones that particular posse were trailing.”
“You!” her voice faltered. “He said those men were under arrest for murder, and had broken jail.”
“He also said it was easy to convict men in this country if you only knew how. It is true we broke jail, but only in order to save our lives; it was the only way. Technically, we are outlaws, and now run the risk of immediate re-arrest by returning north of the Arkansas. We came to you fugitives; I was charged with murder, the negro with assault. So, you see, Miss Hope, the desperate class of men you are now associating with.”
The slight bitterness in his tone stung the girl into resentment. She was looking straight at him, but in the gloom he could not discern the expression of her eyes.
“I don't believe it,” she exclaimed decisively, “you—you do not look like that!”
“My appearance may be sufficient to convince you,” he returned, rather dryly, “but would weigh little before a Western court. Unfortunately, the evidence was strong against me; or would have been had the case ever come to a trial. The strange thing about it was that both warrants were sworn out by the same complainant, and apparently for a similar purpose—'Black Bart' Hawley.”
“What purpose?”