“Then we’d better be hitting the trail.”
Falkner walked to the door and flung it open. He looked out upon a world of white-blanketed hills. The sun was throwing from them a million sparkles of light.
“Gimme that kid,” the outlaw said roughly. “We gotta get him down to breakfast. Here! You take my gun.”
Ruth wrapped up the baby warmly and handed him to Falkner. The man broke trail to the point where the draw struck the road. He looked to the right, then to the left. Safety lay for him in the mountains; for her and Rowan, junior, at the Circle Diamond, which was three miles nearer than Yerby’s ranch. The way up the cañon would be harder to travel than the way down. There was a chance that they could not make it through the snow, even a probability.
“Which way?” asked Ruth.
He turned to the left toward the Circle Diamond. The heart of the girl leaped. The convict had put the good of the child before his own.
The day had turned warm, so that before they had travelled half an hour the snow was beginning to get soft and slushy. The going was heavy. Ruth was not wearing her heavy, high-laced boots, but the shoes she was accustomed to use indoors. Soon her stockings were wringing wet and the bottoms of her skirts were soaked. It was mostly a downhill grade, but within the hour she was fagged. It cost an effort to drag her foot up for each step. She did not want to be a quitter, but at last she had to speak:
“I can’t go any farther. Leave me here and send the boys to get me. Mrs. Stovall will look after the baby.”
The outlaw stopped. There was grudging admiration in the glance he gave her.
“You can make it. We’re through the worst part. Soon we’ll be in the foothills, and there the snow is real light.” After a moment he added: “We ain’t runnin’ for a train. Take your time.”