"Neale almost killed Durade! Broke him! Cut him all up!" said the general, with agitation. "I had it from McDermott, one of my spikers--a reliable man.... Neale was shot--perhaps cut, too.... But he doesn't seem to know it."

Allie sprang up, transfixed and thrilling.

"Neale almost killed--him!" echoed Allison Lee, hoa.r.s.ely. Then followed a sound of a chair falling.

"Indeed, Allison, it's true," broke in a strange voice. "The street's full of men--all talking--all stirred up."

Other men entered the room.

"Is Neale here?" queried General Lodge, sharply.

"They're trying to hold him up--in the office. The boys want to pat him on the back.... Durade was not liked," replied some one.

"Is Neale badly hurt?"

"I don't know. He looked it. He was all b.l.o.o.d.y."

"Colonel Dillon, did you see Neale?" went on the sharp, eager voice.

"Yes. He seemed dazed--wild. Probably badly hurt. Yet he moved steadily.

No one could stop him," answered another strange voice.

"Ah! here comes McDermott!" exclaimed General Lodge. Allie's ears throbbed to a slow, shuffling, heavy tread. Her consciousness received the fact of Neale's injury, but her heart refused to accept it as perilous. G.o.d could not mock her faith by a last catastrophe.

"Sandy--you've seen Neale?"

Allie loved this sharp, keen voice for its note of dread. "Shure.

B'gorra, yez couldn't hilp seein' him. He's as big as a hill an' his shirt's as red as Casey's red wan. I wint to give him the little gun wot Durade pulled on him. Dom' me! he looked roight at me an' niver seen me," replied the Irishman.

"Lee, you will see Neale?" queried General Lodge. There was a silence.

"No," presently came a cold reply. "It is not necessary. He saved me--injury perhaps. I am grateful. I'll reward him."

"How?" rang General Lodge's voice.

"Gold, of course. Neale was a gambler. Probably he had a grudge against this Durade.... I need not meet Neale, it seems, I am somewhat--overwrought. I wish to spare myself further excitement."

"Lee--listen!" returned General Lodge, violently. "Neale is a splendid young man--the nerviest, best engineer I ever knew. I predicted great things for him. They have come true."

"That doesn't interest me."

"You'll hear it, anyhow. He saved the life of this girl who has turned out to be your daughter. He took care of her. He loved her--was engaged to marry her.... Then he lost her. And after that he was half mad. It nearly ruined him."

"I do not credit that. It was gambling, drink--and bad women that ruined him."

"No!"

"But, pardon me, General. If--as you intimate--there was an attachment between him and my unfortunate child, would he have become an a.s.sociate of gamblers and vicious women?"

"He would not. The nature of his fury, the retribution he visited upon this d.a.m.ned Spaniard, prove the manner of man he is."

"Wild indeed. But hardly from a sense of loyalty. These camps breed blood-spillers. I heard you say that."

"You'll hear me say something more, presently," retorted the other, with heat scarcely controlled. "But we're wasting time. I don't insist that you see Neale. That's your affair. It seems to me the least you could do would be to thank him. I certainly advise you not to offer him gold. I do insist, however, that you let him see the girl!"

"No!"

"But, man.... Say, McDermott, go fetch Neale in here."

Allie Lee heard all this strange talk with consternation. An irresistible magnet drew her toward those curtains, which she grasped with trembling hands, ready, but not able, to part them and enter the room. It seemed that in there was a friend of Neale's whom she was going to love, and an enemy whom she was going to hate. As for Neale seeing her--at once--only death could rob her of that.

"General Lodge, I have no sympathy for Neale," came the cold voice of Allison Lee.

There was no reply. Some one coughed. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and a hum of distant voices.

"You forget," continued Lee, "what happened not many hours ago when your train was saved by that dare-devil Casey--the little book held tight in his locked teeth--the letter meant for this Neale from one of Benton's camp-women.... Your engineer read enough. You heard. I heard.... A letter from a dying woman. She accused Neale of striking her--of killing her.... She said she was dying, but she loved him.... Do you remember that, General Lodge?"

"Yes, alas!... Lee, I don't deny that. But--"

"There are no buts."

"Lee, you're hard, hard as steel. Appearances seem against Neale.

I don't seek to extenuate them. But I know men. Neale might have fallen--it seems he must have. These are terrible times. In anger or drink Neale might have struck this woman.... But kill her--No!"

A gleam pierced Allie Lee's dark bewilderment. They meant Beauty Stanton, that beautiful, fair woman with such a white, soft bosom and such sad eyes--she whom Larry King had shot. What a tangle of fates and lives! She could tell them why Beauty Stanton was dying. Then other words, like springing fire, caught Allie's thought, and a sickening ripple of anguish convulsed her. They believed Beauty Stanton had loved Neale--had--Allie would have died before admitting that last thought to her consciousness. For a second the room turned black. Her hold on the curtains kept her from falling. With frantic and terrible earnestness--the old dominance Neale had acquired over her--she clung to the one truth that mattered. She loved Neale--belonged to him--and he was there! That they were about to meet again was as strange and wonderful a thing as had ever happened. What had she not endured? What must he have gone through? The fiery, stinging nature of her new and sudden pain she could not realize.

Again the strong speech became distinct to her.

"... You'll stay here--and you, Dillon.... Don't any one leave this room.... Lee, you can leave, if you want. But we'll see Neale, and so will Allie Lee."

Allie spread the curtains and stood there. No one saw her. All the men faced the door through which sounded slow, heavy tread of boots. An Irishman entered. Then a tall man. Allie's troubled soul suddenly calmed. She saw Neale.

Slowly he advanced a few steps. Another man entered, and Allie knew him by his buckskin garb. Neale turned, his face in the light. And a poignant cry leaped up from Allie's heart to be checked on her lips. Was this her young and hopeful and splendid lover? She recognized him, yet now did not know him. He stood bareheaded, and her swift, all-embracing glance saw the gray over his temples, and the eyes that looked out from across the border of a dark h.e.l.l, and face white as death and twitching with spent pa.s.sion.

"Mr.--Lee," he panted, very low, and the b.l.o.o.d.y patch on his shirt heaved with his breath, "my only--regret--is--I didn't--think to make--Durade--tell the truth.... He lied.... He wanted to--revenge himself--on Allie's mother--through Allie.... What he said--about Allie--was a lie--as black as his heart. He meant evil--for her.

But--somehow she was saved. He was a tiger--playing--and he waited--too long. You must realize--her innocence--and understand. G.o.d has watched over Allie Lee! It was not luck--nor accident. But innocence!... Hough died to save her! Then Ancliffe! Then my old friend--Larry King!

These men--broken--gone to h.e.l.l--out here--felt an innocence that made them--mad--as I have just been.... That is proof--if you need it....

Men of ruined lives--could not rise--and die--as they did--victims of a false impression--of innocence.... They knew!"

Neale's voice sank to a whisper, his eyes intent to read belief in the cold face of Allison Lee.

"I thank you, Neale, for your service to me and your defense of her," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"Sir--I--I--"

"Can I reward you in any way?"

The gray burned out of Neale's face. "I ask--nothing--except that you believe me."