Ward and the outlaw were discussing plans for getting out of the basin when Adams came in to say, “A couple of other weary wanderers are turning up.”
“The sheriff!” instantly exclaimed Alice, her face whitening in swift dismay.
In that moment the forester was transformed. With a weapon in his hand he stood aside, his eyes on the door, a scowl of battle on his face. He resembled a wolf with bared fangs ready to die desperately.
Ward, quick to read his purpose, interposed. “Wait!” he commanded. “Stay here; I’ll see them. Don’t be rash.”
As he passed out into the firelight the outlaw, without relaxing his vigilance, said in a low voice, “Well, girl, I reckon here’s where I say good night.”
“Don’t resist,” she pleaded. “Don’t fight, please! Please! What is the use? Oh, it’s too horrible! If you resist they will kill you!”
There was no fear in his voice as he replied: “They may not; I’m handy with my gun.”
She was breathless, chilled by the shadow of the impending tragedy. “But that would be worse. To kill them would only stain your soul the deeper. You must not fight!”
“It’s self-defense.”
“But they are officers of the law.”