The outlaw dryly replied, “It did!”
Alice added: “It was in the middle of the night, too; but Mr. Smith was very nice about it. He slept outdoors without a word of complaint.”
Ward had figured the situation to conclusion: “Smith is a poacher,” and though he had a savage dislike of these illicit game-slaughterers, he could not but be glad of the presence of this particular outlaw, and resolved to overlook his trade in gratitude for his cabin and service.
The outlaw helped Adams and Ward to clear away the snow for a tent, and Alice, seeing the three men thus amicably joined in her defense, could not find it in her heart to condemn one of them as a criminal. Here in the white isolation of the peaks the question of crime and its punishment became personal. To have this man’s fate in her hand was like grasping the executioner’s sword for herself.
“If women had to punish criminals themselves, with their own hand,” she asked, “how many of them would do it?”
Peggy came in and whispered to her: “No one else seems to have recognized him. He may get away safely. I hope he will. Shall we tell the men who he is?”
“Yes, we shall have to do that soon, but I’m afraid they won’t take the sentimental view of him that we do. I tremble to think of what they will do when they know.”
Ward explained to Adams: “Our friend Smith here is a poacher—but as our account stands I don’t feel it my duty to report him, do you?”
“No; Peggy tells me he has acted like a gentleman all through.”
In this spirit they made themselves comfortable for the night.