Snow-Blind

you?" Pete dem

athing fast; he had evidently fl

d bewilderment, her hands clasped, her head turning from side to side. "Look here," whispered Hugh, still absorbed in his own danger, "don't let them know that Sylvie just wandered in here. Don't let them start asking her any questions; it's too

about Hugh's shoulders Pete turned sharply away.

d?" And his: "Trust me, litt

mons: "Quick, can't you, Pe

to the darkness, and Sylvie stood flu

osed to belong to Pete-and now thrust them down into the hiding-place. The boards were rearranged, the rug l

, "tell me what I must do

are Pete's wife. They'll be looking for a different

e won't look

rave. They won't find Hugh. Nobody's ever seen him. Don't shake so, Sylvie. They may not even be after him; this country has sheltered other outlaws, you know. Hush! I hear them. I'll be in the kitchen. Pete, be taking off your outdoor c

d Pete's opening of the door, the scraping of sno

sitor. Chairs were drawn up and cigarettes rolled and lighted. She smelt the sharp sweetness of the smoke. There was brief talk of the weather; Sylvie felt that while they ta

ord, the murderer." Sylvie's h

yish, light-hearted fashion, "that sounds

her's murderer. Now, we've traced Rutherford to this country, and pretty close to this spot. He made a getaway before trial, and he came out here fifteen years ago. About two years later he sent back East for his kid brother-he'd be about your age now, Mr.-what you say your name was?-Ga

y husband, who died six years ago. He's buried out there un

find. It's a lonely place, Missis." He looked at Syl

it here now,"

usband happen

try trapping. He got on first-rate until the illness came so bad

You don't look lik

lla's birthplace, her life before she came out, her husband's anteceden

t have had a glimpse of him since you came into the country. When he made his getaway he was about thirty-two, height five feet eight, ugly, black-haired, noticeable eyes, m

her relief. "Goodness," she said with utter spontaneity. "There's cer

inquisitors. From that minute there was a distinct relax

seems like at this distance from town we've g

ntly laying aside all suspicion, were entertaining; their adventurous lives had bristled with exciting, moving, humorous experience. It was Sylvie herself,

e hunting for now-this Rutherfo

d Bella, seeing it, chimed in: "Y

not want to hear it. The very name of Rutherford that had, in what now seemed to him another age, belonged to Hugh and to him was terrib

er told the truth in his life, I guess, but that only made him all the more entertaining. And he had a temper-phew! Redhot! He'd fly out and storm and strike in all directions. That's what did for him. Some fool quarrel about a book it was, and the man, a frequenter of the shop, a scholar, a scientist, profe

id Sylvie. Bella and Pet

ling, as a general thing

tified in killing another man-I mean to save some o

n all my experience, it's the cowards and the fools that kill, and they do it because they

a smothered passion, "when an insult to

oin's, kind of neater and easier and more becomin' than they are now. Well, Mr. Garth, can we h

m Rutherford's crime. She saw the little dark bookshop, the professor's thin, sneering face, the hideous anger of the cripple, the blow, the dead body, Rutherford's arrest. And when her brain was sick, it would turn for relief to the noble story of Hugh's self-sacrifice, only to

haken sigh and go about her preparations for bre