Part 36 (1/2)
”Is it morning?” she asked.
”Just about,” he replied, stretching like a cat.
The dawn came gloriously. The sun in far-splas.h.i.+ng splendor slanted from peak to peak, painting purple shadows on the snow and warming the boles of the tall trees till they shone like fretted gold. The jays cried out as if in exultation of the ending of the tempest, and the small stream sang over its icy pebbles with resolute cheer. It was a land to fill a poet with awe and ecstatic praise--a radiant, imperial, and merciless landscape. Trackless, almost soundless, the mountain world lay waiting for the alchemy of the sun.
VI
The morning was well advanced when a far, faint halloo broke through the silence of the valley. The ranger stood like a statue, while Peggy cried out:
”It's one of our men!”
Alice turned to the outlaw with anxious face. ”If it's the sheriff stay in here with me. Let me plead for you. I want him to know what you've done for us.”
The look that came upon his face turned her cold with fear. ”If it is the sheriff--” He did not finish, but she understood.
The halloo sounded nearer and the outlaw's face lightened. ”It's one of your party. He is coming up from below.”
Impatiently they waited for the new-comer to appear, and though he seemed to draw nearer at every shout, his progress was very slow. At last the man appeared on the opposite bank of the stream. He was covered with snow and stumbling along like a man half dead with hunger and fatigue.
”Why, it's Gage!” exclaimed Peggy.
It was indeed the old hunter, and as he drew near his gaunt and bloodless face was like that of a starved and hunted animal. His first word was an anxious inquiry, ”How are ye?”
”All well,” Peggy answered.
”And the crippled girl?”
”Doing nicely. Thanks to Mr. Smith here, we did not freeze. Are you hungry?”
The guide looked upon the outlaw with glazed, protruding eyes. ”Hungry?
I'm done. I've been wallerin' in the snow all night and I'm just about all in.”
”Where are the others?” called Alice from her bed.
Gage staggered to the door. ”They're up at timber-line. I left them day before yesterday. I tried to get here, but I lost my bearin's and got on the wrong side o' the creek. 'Pears like I kept on the wrong side o' the hogback. Then my horse gave out, and that set me afoot. I was plum scared to death about you folks. I sure was.”
Peggy put some food before him and ordered him into silence. ”Talk later,” she said.
The outlaw turned to Alice. ”That explains it. Your Professor Ward trusted to this man to take care of you and stayed in camp. You can't blame him.”
Gage seemed to have suddenly become old, almost childish. ”I never was lost before,” he muttered, sadly. ”I reckon something must have went wrong in my head. 'Pears like I'm gettin' old and foolish.”
Alice exchanged glances with the outlaw. It was plain that he was in no danger from this dazed and weakened old man who could think of nothing but the loss of his sense of direction.
As the day advanced the sun burned clear. At noon it was warm enough to leave the door open, and Alice, catching glimpses of the flaming world of silver and purple and gold, was filled with a desire to quit her dark corner.
”I'm going to get up!” she exclaimed. ”I won't lie here any longer.”
”Don't try it!” protested Peggy.