In the midst of his confidences he maintained a reserve about his family which showed more self-mastery than anything else about him. That he was the black sheep of an honorable flock became increasingly evident. He had been the kind of lad who finds in the West a fine field for daredevil adventure. And yet there were unstirred deeps in the man. He was curious about a small book which Alice kept upon her bed, and which she read from time to time with serene meditation on her face. "What is that?" he asked. "My Bible." "Can I see it?" "Certainly." He took it carefully and read the title on the back, then turned a few of the leaves. "I'm not much on reading," he said, "but I've got a sister that sends me tracts, and the like." He returned to the fly-leaf. "Is this your name?" "Yes." "'Alice Mansfield,'" he read; "beautiful name! 'New York City'! That's pretty near the other side of the world to me." He studied the address with intent look. "I'd like to buy this book. How much will you take for it?" "I'll trade it for your weapon," she replied. He looked at her narrowly. "You mean something by that. I reckon I follow you. No, I can't do that--not now. If I get into business over the line I'll disarm, but in this country a fellow needs to be protected. I want this book!" "For the fly-leaf?" He smiled in return. "You've hit it." She hesitated. "I'll give you the book if you'll promise to read it." He clapped the covers together and put the volume in his pocket. "It's mine! I'll read every word of it, if it takes an age, and here's my hand on it." She gave him her hand, and in this clasp something came to her from his clutching fingers which sobered her. She drew her hand away hastily and said: "If you read that book--and think about it--it will change your whole world." He, too, lost his brightness. "Well, I'm not so anxious to keep up this kind of life. But if anybody changes me it will be you." "Hush!" she warned with lifted finger. He fell back, and after a little silence went out to wait upon the fire. "It seems to me," said Peggy, reprovingly, "that you're too gracious with this mountaineer; he's getting presumptuous." "He doesn't mean to be. It's his unsophisticated way. Anyhow, we can't afford to be captious to our host." "That's true," admitted Peggy. The night shut down with the snow still falling, but with a growing chill in the air. "The flakes are finer," the outlaw announced, as he came in a little later. "That is a good sign. It is growing colder and the wind is changing. It will pinch hard before sun-up, and the worst of it, there's no way to warm the cabin. We can't have the door open to-night. I'm worried about you," he said to Alice. "If only those chumps had left a man-size ax!"