"And that proves your worth. Your duty it always has been--to stand by your chief. Oh, I love him!... He seems so much younger today. You have encouraged them all... Oh, dear Neale, there is something n.o.ble in what you can do for him. Can't you see it?"

"Yes, Allie, indeed I do."

"Promise me--never to fail him again."

"I promise."

"No matter what happens to me. I am alive, safe, well... and I'm yours.

But something might happen--you can never tell, and I don't refer particularly to Durade and his gang. I mean, life and everything is uncertain out here. So promise me, no matter what happens, that you'll stand by your work."

"I promise that, too," replied Neale, huskily. "But you frighten me. You fear--for yourself?"

"No, I don't," she protested.

"Fate could not be so brutal--to take you from me. Anyway, I'll not think of it."

"Do not. Nor will I... I wouldn't have asked you--only this night has shown me your opportunity. I'm so proud--so proud. You'll be great some day."

"Well, if you're so proud--if you think I'm so wonderful--why haven't you rewarded me for that little job today?"

"Reward you!... How?"

"How do you suppose?"

She was pale, eloquent, grave. But he was low-voiced, gay, intense.

"Dear Neale--what--what can I do?... I have nothing... so big a thing as you did today!"

"Child! You can kiss me."

Allie's sweet gravity changed. She smiled. "I sh.o.r.e can, as Larry used to say. That's my privilege. But you spoke of a reward. My kisses--they are yours--and as many as the--the grains of sand out there. But they are not reward."

"No?... Listen. For just one kiss--if I had to earn it so--I would dig that roadbed out there, carry every tie and rail with my bare hands, drive every spike--"

"Neale, you talk like a boy. Something, indeed, has gone to your head."

"Yes, indeed, it has. It's your face--In the moonlight."

She hid her blushes for a moment on his breast.

"I--I want to be serious," she whispered. "I want to thank G.o.d for my good fortune. To think of you and your work!... The future! And you--you only want kisses."

"Well, since your future must be largely made up of kisses, suppose you begin your work--right now."

"Oh, you're teasing! Yet when you ask of me--whatever you ask--I have no mind--no will. Something drags at me... I feel it now--as I used to--when you made me wade the brook."

"Oh! That's my sweetest memory of you. How it haunted me!"

They stood silent for a while. Out in the moon--blanched s.p.a.ce the sentries trod monotonously. A coyote yelped, sharp and wild. The wind moaned low. Suddenly Neale shook himself, as if awakening.

"Allie, it grows late. We must say good night... Today has been blessed.

I am grateful to the depths of my heart... But I won't let you go--until my reward--"

She raised her face, white and n.o.ble in the moonlight.

19

Neale slept in a tent, and when he was suddenly awakened it was bright daylight. His ears vibrated to a piercing blast. For an instant he could not distinguish the sound. But when it ceased he knew it had been a ringing bugle-call. Following that came the voices and movements of excited troopers.

He rolled from his blankets to get into boots and coat and rush out. The troopers appeared all around him in hurried orderly action. Neale asked a soldier what was up.

"Redskins, b'gorra--before brikfast!" was the disgusted reply.

Neale thought of Allie and his heart contracted. A swift glance on all sides, however, failed to see any evidence of attack on the camp.

He espied General Lodge and Colonel Dillon among a group before the engineers' quarters. Neale hurried up.

"Good morning, Neale," said the chief, grimly. "You're back on the job, all right."

And Colonel Dillon added, "A little action to celebrate your return, Neale!"

"What's happened?" queried Neale, shortly.

"We just got a telegraph message: 'Big force--Sioux.' That's all. The operator says the wire was cut in the middle of the message."

"Big force--Sioux!" repeated Neale. "Between here and Benton?"

"Of course. We sent a scout on horseback down along the line."

"Neale, you'll find guns inside. Help yourself," said General Lodge.

"You'll take breakfast with us in the cabin. We don't know what's up yet. But it looks bad for us--having the women here. This cabin is no fort."

"General, we can have all those railroad ties hustled here and throw up defenses," suggested the officer.

"That's a good idea. But the troopers will have to carry them. That work-train won't get out here today."

"It's not likely. But we can use the graders from the camp up the line... Neale, go in and get guns and a bite to eat. I'll have a horse here ready for you. I want you to ride out after those graders."

"All right," replied Neale, rapidly. "Have you told--Do the women know yet what's up?"

"Yes. And that girl of yours has nerve. Hurry, Neale."

Neale rode away on his urgent errand without having seen Allie. His orders had been to run the horse. It was some distance to the next grading camp--how far he did not know. And the possibility of his return being cut off by Indians had quickened Neale into a realization of the grave nature of the situation.

He had difficulty climbing down and up the gorge, but, once across it, there was the graded road-bed, leading straight to the next camp. This road-bed was soft, and not easy going for a horse. Neale found better ground along the line, on hard ground, and here he urged the fresh horse to a swift and steady gait.