At that moment, the figure of a man appeared on
the near-by trail below. It was a pitiful figure--ill-kempt ragged,
half-starved, haggard-faced.
Creeping feebly along the lonely little path--without seeing the man on
the mountainside above--crouching as he walked with a hunted, fearful
air--the poor creature moved toward the point of the spur around which the
trail led beneath the spot where Rutlidge sat.
As the man on the trail drew nearer, the watcher on the rocks above
involuntarily glanced toward the distant Forest Ranger; then back to
the--as he rightly guessed--escaped convict.
There are, no doubt, many moments in the life of a man like James Rutlidge
when, however bad or dominated by evil influences he may be, he feels
strongly the impulse of pity and the kindly desire to help. Undoubtedly,
James Rutlidge inherited from his father those tendencies that made him
easily ruled by his baser passions. His character was as truly the
legitimate product of the age, of the social environment, and of the
thought that accepts such characters. What he might have been if better
born, or if schooled in an atmosphere of moral and intellectual integrity,
is an idle speculation.
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