I shall not help the law to kill her simply because she took it
in her own hands to pay that man what she owed him. I shall not be
the one to say that he did not deserve death at her hands, whoever
she may be. No, I shall offer no reward. If you catch her, I shall
be sorry for her, Mr. Sheriff. Believe me, I bear her no grudge."

"But she robbed him," the sheriff had cried.

"From my point of view, Mr. Sheriff, that hasn't anything to do
with the case," was her significant reply.

"Of course, I am not defending HIM."

"Nor am I defending her," she had retorted. "It would appear that
she is able to defend herself."

Now, on the cold, trackless road, she was saying to herself that
she did have a grudge against the woman who had destroyed the life
that belonged to her, who had killed the thing that was hers to
kill. She could not mourn for him. She could only wonder what the
poor, hunted terrified creature would do when taken and made to
pay for the thing she had done.

Once, in the course of her bitter reflections, she spoke aloud in
a shrill, tense voice, forgetful of the presence of the man beside
her:

"Thank God, they will see him now as I have seen him all these
years. They will know him as they have never known him. Thank God
for that!"