Now
she began to guess how the law could have placed a price upon his
head. For he belonged out here with the night and the crash of the
storm, with strong, lawless things about him. An awe grew in her,
and she was filled half with dread and half with curiosity at the
thought of facing him, as she must many a time, across the camp-fire.
In a way, he was the ladder by which she climbed to an understanding
of Pierre le Rouge, Red Pierre. For that Pierre, she knew, was to big
Wilbur what Dick himself was to the great mass of law-abiding men.
Accident had cut Wilbur adrift, but it was more than accident which
started Pierre on the road to outlawry; it was the sheer love of
dangerous chance, the glory in fighting other men. This was Pierre.
What was the man for whom Pierre hunted? What was McGurk? Not even the
description of Wilbur had proved very enlightening. Her thought of him
was vague, nebulous, and taking many forms. Sometimes he was tall and
dark and stern. Again he was short and heavy and somewhat deformed of
body.
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