“Just about,” he replied, stretching like a cat.
The dawn came gloriously. The sun in far-splashing splendor slanted from peak to peak, painting purple shadows on the snow and warming the boles of the tall trees till they shone like fretted gold. The jays cried out as if in exultation of the ending of the tempest, and the small stream sang over its icy pebbles with resolute cheer. It was a land to fill a poet with awe and ecstatic praise—a radiant, imperial, and merciless landscape. Trackless, almost soundless, the mountain world lay waiting for the alchemy of the sun.
VI
The morning was well advanced when a far, faint halloo broke through the silence of the valley. The ranger stood like a statue, while Peggy cried out:
“It’s one of our men!”
Alice turned to the outlaw with anxious face. “If it’s the sheriff stay in here with me. Let me plead for you. I want him to know what you’ve done for us.”
The look that came upon his face turned her cold with fear. “If it is the sheriff—” He did not finish, but she understood.
The halloo sounded nearer and the outlaw’s face lightened. “It’s one of your party. He is coming up from below.”
Impatiently they waited for the new-comer to appear, and though he seemed to draw nearer at every shout, his progress was very slow. At last the man appeared on the opposite bank of the stream. He was covered with snow and stumbling along like a man half dead with hunger and fatigue.
“Why, it’s Gage!” exclaimed Peggy.