“For you,” he replied. “For me it’s another story.” He felt the desire for a secret consultation which moved her, and on his way back to his corner he halted and fixed his eyes upon her in hungry admiration of her fire-lit face. Then he spoke. “I should have pulled out before the storm quit. They can trail me now. But no matter; I’ve known you.”
She still kept to ambiguous speech. “Wouldn’t it be better to give up and take your—misfortune, and begin again? Professor Ward and I will do all we can to help you.”
“That’s mighty white of you,” he responded, slowly. “But I can’t stand the thought of confinement. I’ve been free as an Injun all my life. Every way of the wind has been open to me. No; just as long as I can find a wild spot I must keep moving. If it comes to ‘hands up!’ I take the short cut.” He tapped his revolver as he spoke.
“You mustn’t do that,” she entreated. “Promise me you won’t think of that!”
He made a stride toward her, but a movement of her companion checked him.
“Is it morning?” Peggy sleepily asked.
“Not quite,” answered the outlaw, “but it’s time for me to be moving. I’d like to hear from you sometime,” he said to Alice, and his voice betrayed his sadness and tenderness. “Where could I reach you?”
She gave her address with a curious sense of wrongdoing.
He listened intently. “I’ll remember that,” he said, “when I’ve forgotten everything else. And now—” He reached his hand to her and she took it.
“Poor boy! I’m sorry for you!” she whispered.