Roxie followed the tall, stooping figure as though in a dream. She was not convinced even now that he intended to fulfill any such purpose. Yet without faltering he led the way through the bushes and out into the road, pausing to wait for her when his long stride took him too far ahead. And more than once she found her own steps lagging. She was urging this man to his death and he was going willingly. Never once did he give any sign of weakening. She watched his big muscular body as it swung along the road in front of her--watched it with a feeling of awe. It was so expressive of life--so vibrant with energy. It did not seem right to kill anything like that--even in the name of justice. Yet Allston, too, had been vibrant with life, and then-- The memory hardened her young face. She grasped the rifle firmly and followed more rapidly. They were nearing the shack. It was a question of only a few more minutes and this issue would be taken out of her hands forever. How long it was she had been gone she did not know, but it seemed like hours. The chances were that by now the searchers were up here. At every turn of the winding road she half expected to see a challenging figure. She peered ahead shrinkingly. But Bud never even glanced up. He plodded on like one in a dream. She paused once--deliberately. Perhaps, if he found himself out of sight of her, he might make a dash for liberty. But his ears apparently were alert, because within three steps he stopped in his turn and swung to see what had become of her. So once again their eyes met. The fool! Why didn’t he take his chance? Once around that little bend he could have swerved into the undergrowth and disappeared. Instead of that he just stood there waiting. His eyes asked nothing of her--nothing of any one. Resting the butt of the rifle on the ground, she leaned upon the barrel as upon a staff. “’Tain’t fer now,” he said encouragingly. It was not far for her, but for him--it might be a journey without end. That thing called law was helpless as long as a man kept in the hills, but once he came down into the valley it had the strength of a giant. She remembered stories--stories told to illustrate the might and majesty of the law; of how certain men had struggled and run and twisted and turned in vain in their attempt to escape the sheriff. And her sympathies always had been with the man--as they were with the fox against the hounds. The law was necessary and should be respected. She had learned that at the Mission school. But the law, too, was a vague outside force--a foreign force. More often than not it was associated with men from the county seat or from that far-off place called Washington.