It's not the household we'd been expecting to find. It's a lonely
place, Missis." He looked at Sylvie. "I should think you'd prefer going
to some town."

"We're used to it here now," Bella answered.

"How'd your husband happen here, ma'am?"

"His health was poor; he'd heard of this climate, and he wanted to try
trapping. He got on first-rate until the illness came so bad on him, and
Pete's done well ever since. We haven't suffered any."

"No, I guess not. You don't look like you'd suffered."

The talk went on, an awkward, half-disguised cross-questioning as
to Bella's birthplace, her life before she came out, her husband's
antecedents. She was extraordinarily calm, ready and reasonable with her
replies.

"Well, sir"--the sheriff strolled back into the room--"I reckon these
aren't the parties we're after. But look a-here, this is a description
of Ham Rutherford. Likely you might 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, manner
violent. He was deformed, one leg shorter, one shoulder higher than the
other, mouth twisted, and a scar across the nose. He'd been hurt in a
fire when he was a child--"

Sylvie broke into a spontaneous ripple of mirth, the full measure of her
relief. "Goodness," she said with utter spontaneity. "There's certainly
never been a monster like that in this house, has there, Pete?"

It did more than all that had gone before to convince the inquisitors.
From that minute there was a distinct relaxation; the evening, indeed,
turned to one of sociability.

"We hate to inconvenience you, ma'am, but it seems like at this distance
from town we've got to ask you for supper and a place to sleep."

If it had not been for the thought of Hugh in hiding, that supper and
the evening about the hearth would have been to Sylvie a pleasant one.
The men, apparently laying aside all suspicion, were entertaining;
their adventurous lives had bristled with exciting, moving, humorous
experience. It was Sylvie herself, prompted by curiosity, believing
as she did that the monster the sheriff had described bore no possible
resemblance to the man she loved, who asked suddenly:

"Do tell us about the man you're hunting for now--this Rutherford? Tell
us about what he did."

The Easterner gave her a look, and Bella, seeing it, chimed in: "Yes,
sure. Tell us about his crime."

Pete stood up an