Ward perceived something hidden in her voice, some emotion which was more than terror, deeper than pity, but his words were grave and kindly. "It is a frightful risk, young man, but the trail to the glacier is your only open road. The sheriff is tired. Even if he finds out that you are here he may not come back to-night. He will know you cannot escape. You can't stir without leaving a telltale mark. If you could only get below the snow on the west slope--" "Whichever trail I take it's good-by," interrupted the fugitive, still addressing Alice. "If there was anything to live for--if you'd say the word!"--she knew what he meant--"I'd stay and take my schooling." He waited a moment, and she, looking from his asking face to Ward's calm brow, could not utter a sound. What could she promise? The outlaw's tone softened to entreaty. "If you'll only say I may see you again on the other side of the range 'twill keep my heart warm. Can't you promise me that? It's mighty little." He was going to almost certain death, and she could not refuse this. "You may write to me--" she faltered. "You know my address--" He struck the little book in his pocket. "Yes, I have it safe. Then I may see you again?" Alice, supported by Mrs. Adams, unsteadily rose. "Yes, yes, only go. They are coming back! I can hear them." He took her hand. "Good-by," he said, chokingly. "You've given me heart." He bent swiftly and kissed her forehead. "I'll win! You'll hear from me." "Hurry!" she wildly cried. "I hear voices!" He caught up his hat and opened the door. As he faced them his lips were resolute and his eyes glowing. "It's only good night," he said, and closed the door behind him. "Hold!" shouted Ward. "You must take some food." He tore the door open. "Wait--" Even as he spoke a pistol-shot resounded through the night. It cut through the deathly silence of the forest like a spiteful curse, and was answered by another--then, after a short pause, a swift-tearing volley followed. "They are killing him!" cried Alice. * * * * * They brought him in and laid him at her feet. He had requested this, but when she bent to peer into his face he had gone beyond speech. Limp and bloody and motionless he lay, with eyes of unfathomable regret and longing, staring up at her, and as the men stood about with uncovered heads she stooped to him, forgetful of all else; knelt to lay her hand upon his brow. "Poor boy! Poor boy!" she said, her eyes blinded with tears. His hand stirred, seeking her own, and she took it and pressed it in both of hers. "Jesus be merciful!" she prayed, softly. He smiled faintly in acknowledgment of her presence and her prayer, and in this consolation died. Wonderingly, with imperious frown, she rose and confronted the sheriff. "How is it that you are unhurt? Did he not fight?" "That's what I can't understand, miss," he answered. "He fired only once, and then into the air. 'Pears like he wanted to die."