A spark of light leaped into the man’s eyes. “How far up does it run? Where does it end?”
“In Glacier Basin, just at timber-line.”
The outlaw pondered, speaking his thoughts aloud. “From there across to the Indian reservation there isn’t a wolf track.... It’s a man’s job crossing there, almost sure death, but it’s my only show.” He had replaced his weapon in his belt and was weighing his chance, his eyes fixed on Alice’s face. To leave this shelter, this warm circle of light, this sweet girlish presence, and plunge into the dark, the cold, and the snow, was hard. No one but a man of unconquerable courage would have considered it. This man was both desperate and heroic. “It’s my only chance and I’ll take it,” he said, drawing his breath sharply. “I’ll need your prayers,” he added, grimly, with eyes that saw only the girl. “If I fail you’ll find me up there. I carry my sleeping-powder with me.” He touched his revolver as he spoke.
Alice’s mind, sweeping out over that desolate expanse, had a moment’s vision of him as he would appear toiling across those towering cliffs, minute as a fly, and her heart grew small and sick.
“Why don’t you stay and take your lawful punishment?” she asked. “You will surely perish up there in the cold. Wait for sunlight at least.”
“I’m ready to stay and to die here, near you,” he replied, with a significant glance.
“No, no, not that!” she cried out. “Talk to him, Freeman; persuade him to give himself up. I’ve done my best to influence him. Don’t let him uselessly sacrifice himself.”
Ward perceived something hidden in her voice, some emotion which was more than terror, deeper than pity, but his words were grave and kindly. “It is a frightful risk, young man, but the trail to the glacier is your only open road. The sheriff is tired. Even if he finds out that you are here he may not come back to-night. He will know you cannot escape. You can’t stir without leaving a telltale mark. If you could only get below the snow on the west slope—”
“Whichever trail I take it’s good-by,” interrupted the fugitive, still addressing Alice. “If there was anything to live for—if you’d say the word!”—she knew what he meant—“I’d stay and take my schooling.” He waited a moment, and she, looking from his asking face to Ward’s calm brow, could not utter a sound. What could she promise? The outlaw’s tone softened to entreaty. “If you’ll only say I may see you again on the other side of the range ’twill keep my heart warm. Can’t you promise me that? It’s mighty little.”
He was going to almost certain death, and she could not refuse this. “You may write to me—” she faltered. “You know my address—”