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Updated: June 7, 2025
Suddenly, with a startled cry, she sprang to her feet; then shrank back, white and trembling her big eyes fixed with pleading fear upon the man who stood in the open doorway, regarding her with a curious, triumphant smile. It was James Rutlidge. Sibyl, occupied with her childlike delight, had failed to hear the automobile when it stopped in front of the house.
With a simple "good-by" to her two friends but without even a glance toward their caller, she went back up the canyon, in the direction from which she had come. When the girl had disappeared among the trees, James Rutlidge said, with his meaning smile, "Really, I owe you an apology for dropping in so unexpectedly. Conrad Lagrange interrupted him, curtly. "No apology is due, sir."
The story of the unknown mountain girl's abduction and escape was a news item of a single day; but the disappearance of James Rutlidge kept the press busy for weeks. It may be dismissed here with the simple statement that the mystery has never been solved. Of the unknown man who had taken Sibyl away into the mountains, and who had escaped, the world has never heard.
I really must be going." As she went down the flower-bordered path towards the street, the woman on the porch, again, stretched out her arms appealingly. Then, as Sibyl reached her side, the poor creature clasped the girl in a close embrace, and burst into bitter tears. Upon the return of the Taines and James Rutlidge to the house on Fairlands Heights, Mrs.
"Are you at home this afternoon, Sir Artist?" called Mrs. Taine, gaily, as he went down the walk. "I will always be at home to the right people," he answered, greeting the other members of the party. As they moved toward the house, Mr. Taine choking and coughing, his daughter chattering and exclaiming, and James Rutlidge critically observing, Mrs. Taine dropped a little back to Aaron King's side.
"Don't do that," said the man with the rifle. "I can't murder you in cold blood; but if you attempt to draw your gun, I'll fire." The other stood still. James Rutlidge spoke again, his voice hoarse with emotion; "Listen to me, King. It's useless for me to deny what brought me here. The trail you are following leads to Sibyl Andrés. You had her all summer. I've got her now.
But, unfortunately, he is hampered by lack of adequate capital the bulk of the family wealth having gone with the old man." "Do you mean James Rutlidge the great critic?" exclaimed Aaron King, with increased interest. "The same," answered the other, with his twisted smile. "I thought you would recognize his name. As an artist, you will undoubtedly have much to do with him.
James Rutlidge felt it, and his eyes were beginning to blaze with savage triumph. They were breathing, now, with hoarse, sobbing gasps, that told of the nearness of the finish. Slowly, Aaron King weakened. Rutlidge, spurred to increase his effort, and exerting every ounce of his strength, was bearing the other downward and back. At that instant, the convict and Sibyl Andrés reached the cliff.
The convict was breathing heavily from the exertion of a hard run. "What are you doing here?" demanded Rutlidge, sharply. "What's the matter?" "Some one is following my trail down from Granite Peak." "Well, what are you carrying that rifle for?" said Rutlidge, harshly, with an oath. "There may be others near enough to hear a shot," answered the convict. "Besides, Mr.
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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