It was indeed the old hunter, and as he drew near his gaunt and bloodless face was like that of a starved and hunted animal. His first word was an anxious inquiry, “How are ye?”
“All well,” Peggy answered.
“And the crippled girl?”
“Doing nicely. Thanks to Mr. Smith here, we did not freeze. Are you hungry?”
The guide looked upon the outlaw with glazed, protruding eyes. “Hungry? I’m done. I’ve been wallerin’ in the snow all night and I’m just about all in.”
“Where are the others?” called Alice from her bed.
Gage staggered to the door. “They’re up at timber-line. I left them day before yesterday. I tried to get here, but I lost my bearin’s and got on the wrong side o’ the creek. ’Pears like I kept on the wrong side o’ the hog-back. Then my horse gave out, and that set me afoot. I was plum scared to death about you folks. I sure was.”
Peggy put some food before him and ordered him into silence. “Talk later,” she said.
The outlaw turned to Alice. “That explains it. Your Professor Ward trusted to this man to take care of you and stayed in camp. You can’t blame him.”
Gage seemed to have suddenly become old, almost childish. “I never was lost before,” he muttered, sadly. “I reckon something must have went wrong in my head. ’Pears like I’m gettin’ old and foolish.”