Suddenly she raised her head, and then it was that she saw for the first time the men standing huddled together near the door.  In a flash the truth of the situation dawned upon her.  With a look of indescribable horror upon her face she turned upon Nick, turned upon them all with: 

“You knew, Nick—­you all knew you had ’im!  You knew you had ‘im an’ you’re goin’ to kill ’im!  But you shan’t—­no, you shan’t kill ’im—­you shan’t—­you shan’t . . .!”

Once more she started in pursuit of her lover, but only to fall with her face against the door, sobbing as if her heart would break.

Outside there was nothing in the enchanting scene to suggest finality.  Nature never was more prodigal of her magic beauties.  The sun still shone on the winter whiteness of the majestic mountains; the great arch of sky was still an azure blue; the wild things still roamed the great forest at will.

Life indeed was very beautiful.

Minutes passed and still the Girl wept.

A wonderful thing happened then—­and as suddenly as it was characteristic of these impulsive and tender-hearted men.  In thinking over their action long afterwards the Girl recalled how for an instant she could believe neither her ears nor her eyes.  With Sonora it was credible, at least; but with Rance—­it seemed wonderful to her even when observed through the vista of many years.  And yet, men like Rance more often than not exhibit to the world the worst side of their nature.  It is only when some cataclysm of feeling bursts that their inner soul is disclosed and joyously viewed by eyes which have long been accustomed to judging them solely from the icy and impenetrable reserve which they invariably wear.

And so it came about that Sonora—­first of the two—­went over to her and laid an affectionate hand upon her shoulder.

“Why, Girl,” he said, all the kindliness of his gentle nature flooding his eyes, “the boys an’ me ain’t perhaps realised jest what Johnson stood for you, an’ hearin’ what you said, an’ seein’ you prayin’ over the cuss—­”

Rance’s face lit up scornfully.

“The cuss?” he cut in, objecting to a term which is not infrequently used affectionately.

“Yes, the cuss,” repeated Sonora, all the vindictiveness gone from his heart now.  “I got an idee maybe God’s back of this ’ere game.”

The Girl’s heart was beating fast; she was hoping against hope when, a moment later, she asked: 

“You’re not goin’ to pull the rope on ’im?”

“You mean I set him free,” came from Rance, his tone softer, gentler than anyone had heard it in some time.

“You set ’im free?” repeated the Girl, timidly, and not daring to meet his gaze.

“I let him go,” announced the Sheriff in spite of himself.

“You let ’im go?” questioned the Girl, still in a daze.

“That’s our verdict, an’ we’re prepared to back it up,” declared Sonora with a smile on his weathered face, though the tears streamed down his cheeks.