The other went a staggering step forward. "You mean that?" he said in a
harsh, incredulous whisper. "You--you're not playing with me?"
"Why should I want to play with you?" returned the other, kindly. "Come,
let's get off the trail. I have something to eat, up there." He led the
way back to the place where he had left his lunch.
Dropping down upon the ground, the starving man seized the offered food
with an animal-like cry; feeding noisily, with the manner of a famished
beast. The other watched with mingled pity and disgust.
Presently, in stammering, halting phrases, but in words that showed no
lack of education, the wretched creature attempted to apologize for his
unseemly eagerness, and endeavored to thank his benefactor. "I suppose,
sir, there is no use trying to deny my identity," he said, when James
Rutlidge had again assured him of his kindly interest.
"Not at all," agreed the other, "and, so far as I am concerned, there is
no reason why you should."
"Just what do you mean by that, sir?" questioned the convict.
"I mean that I am not an officer and have no reason in the world for
turning you over to them. I saw you coming along the trail down there
and, of course, could not help noticing your condition and guessing who
you were.
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