Lee did not grant this, nor was there any softening of his cold face.

"I would like to ask you a few questions," he said. "General Lodge here informed me that you saved my--my daughter's life long ago.... Can you tell me what became of her mother?"

"She was in the caravan--ma.s.sacred by Sioux," replied Neale. "I saw her buried. Her grave is not so many miles from here."

Then a tremor changed Allison Lee's expression. He turned away an instant: his hand closed tight; he bit his lips. This evidence of feeling in him relaxed the stony scrutiny of the watchers, and they shifted uneasily on their feet.

Allie stood watching--waiting, with her heart at her lips.

"Where did you take my daughter?" queried Lee, presently.

"To the home of a trapper. My friend--Slingerland," replied Neale, indicating the buckskin-clad figure. "She lived there--slowly recovering. You don't know that she lost her mind--for a while. But she recovered.... And during an absence of Slingerland's--she was taken away."

"Were you and she--sweethearts?"

"Yes."

"And engaged to marry?"

"Of course," replied Neale, dreamily.

"That cannot be now."

"I understand. I didn't expect--I didn't think...."

Allie Lee had believed many times that her heart was breaking, but now she knew it had never broken till then. Why did he not turn to see her waiting there--stricken motionless and voiceless, wild to give the lie to those cold, strange words?

"Then, Neale--if you will not accept anything from me, let us terminate this painful interview," said Allison Lee.

"I'm sorry. I only wanted to tell you--and ask to see--Allie--a moment,"

replied Neale.

"No. It might cause a breakdown. I don't want to risk anything that might prevent my taking the next train with her."

"Going to take her--back East?" asked Neale, as if talking to himself.

"Certainly."

"Then--I--won't see her!" Neale murmured, dazedly.

At this juncture General Lodge stepped out. His face was dark, his mouth stern.

His action caused a breaking of the strange, vise-like clutch--the mute and motionless spell--that had fallen upon Allie. She felt the gathering of tremendous forces in her; in an instant she would show these stupid men the tumult of a woman's heart.

"Lee, be generous," spoke up General Lodge, feelingly. "Let Neale see the girl."

"I said no!" snapped Lee.

"But why not, in Heaven's name?"

"Why? I told you why," declared Lee, pa.s.sionately.

"But, Lee--that implication may not be true. We didn't read all that letter," protested General Lodge.

"Ask him."

Then the general turned to Neale. "Boy--tell me--did this Stanton woman love you--did you strike her? Did you--" The general's voice failed.

Neale faced about with a tragic darkening of his face. "To my shame--it is true," he said, clearly.

Then Allie Lee swept forward. "Oh, Neale!"

He seemed to rise and leap at once. And she ran straight into his arms.

No man, no trouble, no mystery, no dishonor, no barrier--nothing could have held her back the instant she saw how the sight of her, how the sound of her voice, had transformed Neale. For one tumultuous, glorious, terrible moment she clung to his neck, blind, her heart bursting. Then she fell back with hands seeking her breast.

"I heard!" she cried. "I know nothing of Beauty Stanton's letter.... But you didn't shoot her. It was Larry. I saw him do it."

"Allie!" he whispered.

At last he had realized her actual presence, the safety of her body and soul; and all that had made him strange and old and grim and sad vanished in a beautiful transfiguration.

"You know Larry did it!" implored Allie. "Tell them so."

"Yes, I know," he replied. "But I did worse. I--"

She saw him shaken by an agony of remorse; and that agony was communicated to her.

"Neale! she loved you?"

He bowed his head.

"Oh!" Her cry was almost mute, full of an unutterable realization of tragic fatality for her. "And you--you--"

Allison Lee strode between them facing Neale. "See! She knows... and if you would spare her--go!" he exclaimed.

"She knows--what?" gasped Neale, in a frenzy between doubt and certainty.

Allie felt a horrible, nameless, insidious sense of falsity--a nightmare unreality--an intangible Neale, fated, drifting away from her.

"Good-bye--Allie!... Bless you! I'll be--happy--knowing--you're--" He choked, and the tears streamed down his face. It was a face convulsed by renunciation, not by guilt. Whatever he had done, it was not base.

"DON'T LET ME--GO!... _I_--FORGIVE YOU!" she burst out. She held out her arms. "THERE'S NO ONE IN THE WORLD BUT YOU!"

But Neale plunged away, upheld by Slingerland, and Allie's world grew suddenly empty and black.

The train swayed and creaked along through the Night with that strain and effort which told of upgrade. The oil-lamps burned dimly in corners of the coach. There were soldiers at open windows looking out. There were pa.s.sengers asleep sitting up and lying down and huddled over their baggage.

But Allie Lee was not asleep. She lay propped up with pillows and blankets, covered by a heavy coat. Her window was open, and a cool desert wind softly blew her hair. She stared out into the night, and the wheels seemed to be grinding over her crushed heart.