The Man is touched, and tells her that he knows a good deal about the bandit; that he has had a rotten deal straight through life; that there's a streak of decency in him for all the yellow; that he's heard that The Hawk meant to make this his last job ... to go back east again and make a fresh start....
The Girl, star-eyed and pink-cheeked now, tells him of her home "down east," of how keen she was to come to the wild, wonderful west, of how she thinks that "one crowded hour of glorious life" is worth a whole leaden existence. That reminds her of her graduating essay, which she digs out of the trunk, tied with baby-blue ribbon. "One Crowded Hour" was her burning topic, but her hours and days and years have been crowded only with homely toil and poverty and worries.
The Man, softened incredibly, tells her she is the gentlest thing he ever knew.... He takes the blue ribbon and says he's going to keep it for luck. There is a beautiful, wordless moment for her, touched by magic into girlhood again.
Then—shouts, galloping hoofs, shots! The Man springs to his feet, hands on his guns.
Brother, at door of rear room, his old pistol describing wavering circles in his shaking hand, cries hoarsely,
"Harriet Mary, you come here to me! That's not the sheriff! That's The Hawk!"
The Man, with a gentle word to her, tells her to stand aside.... "They'll never put The Hawk in a cage!"
The Girl, after a dazed moment, turns to a veritable fury of resolution. The east-bound train whistles. There is still a chance, if she can get him on board. Sound of posse riding nearer. She makes Man hide under the curtain where her dresses hang.
Brother starts toward the front door but she seizes him roughly, pushing him back toward the bedroom.
"Listen," he gasps, "Harriet Mary—that's The Hawk!"