We made some tea and ate a hearty breakfast, while the men watched us.  And as we ate, Tish held the moving-picture business up to contumely and scorn.

“Lady,” said one of the prostrate men, “aren’t you going to give us anything to eat?”

“People,” Tish said, ignoring him, “who would ordinarily cringe at the sight of a wounded beetle sit through bloody murders and go home with the obsession of crime.”

“I hope you won’t take it amiss,” said the man again, “if I say that, seeing it’s our flour and bacon, you either ought to feed us or take it away and eat it where we can’t see you.”

“I take it,” said Tish to the girl, pouring in more batter, “that you yourself would never have thought of highway robbery had you not been led to it by an overstimulated imagination.”

“I wish,” said the girl rudely, “that you wouldn’t talk so much.  I’ve got a headache.”

When we had finished Tish indicated the frying-pan and the batter.  “Perhaps,” she said, “you would like to bake some cakes for these friends of yours.  We have a long trip ahead of us.”

But the girl replied heartlessly that she hoped they would starve to death, ignoring their pitiful glances.  In the end it was our own tender-hearted Aggie who baked pancakes for them and, loosening their hands while I stood guard, saw that they had not only food but the gentle refreshment of fresh tea.  Tish it was, however, who, not to be outdone in magnanimity, permitted them to go, one by one, to the stream to wash.  Escape, without horses or weapons, was impossible, and they realized it.

By nine o’clock we were ready to return.  And here a difficulty presented itself.  There were six prisoners and only three of us.  The men, fed now, were looking less subdued, although they pretended to obey Tish’s commands with alacrity.

Aggie overheard a scrap of conversation, too, which seemed to indicate that they had not given up hope.  Had Tish not set her heart on leading them into the great hotel at Many Glaciers, and there exposing them to the taunts of angry tourists, it would have been simpler for one of us to ride for assistance, leaving the others there.

In this emergency Tish, putting her hand into her pocket for her scissors to trim a hangnail, happened to come across the policeman’s whistle.

“My gracious!” she said.  “I forgot my promise to that young man!”

She immediately put it to her lips and blew three shrill blasts.  To our surprise they were answered by a halloo, and a moment later the young gentleman himself appeared on the trail.  He was no longer afoot, but was mounted on a pinto pony, which we knew at once for Bill’s.

He sat on his horse, staring as if he could not believe his eyes.  Then he made his way across the stream toward us.

“Good Heavens!” he said.  “What in the name of—­” Here his eyes fell on the girl, and he stiffened.