25
The afternoon and night of pay-day in Benton, during which Allie Lee wasbarred in her room, were hideous, sleepless, dreadful hours. Her earswere filled with Benton's roar--whispers and wails and laughs; thickshouts of drunken men; the cold voices of gamblers; clink of gold andclink of glasses; a ceaseless tramp and shuffle of boots; pistol-shotsmuffled and far away, pistol-shots ringing and near at hand; the angryhum of brawling men; and strangest of all this dreadful roar werethe high-pitched, piercing voices of women, in songs without soul, inlaughter without mirth, in cries wild and terrible and mournful.
Allie lay in the dark, praying for the dawn, shuddering at this strifeof sound, fearful that any moment the violence of Benton would burstthrough the flimsy walls of her room to destroy her. But the roarswelled and subsided and died away; the darkness gave place to graylight and then dawn; the sun arose, the wind began to blow. Now Bentonslept, the sleep of sheer exhaustion.
Her mirror told Allie the horror of that night. Her face was white; hereyes were haunted by terrors, with great dark shadows beneath. She couldnot hold her hands steady.
Late that afternoon there were stirrings and sounds in Durade's hall.The place had awakened. Presently Durade himself brought her food anddrink. He looked haggard, worn, yet radiant. He did not seem to noteAllie's condition or appearance.
"That deaf and dumb fool who waited on you is gone," said Durade."Yesterday was pay-day in Benton... Many are gone... Allie, I won fiftythousand dollars in gold!"
"Isn't that enough?" she asked.
He did not hear her, but went on talking of his winnings, of gold, ofgames, and of big stakes coming. His lips trembled, his eyes glittered,his fingers clawed at the air.
For Allie it was a relief when Durade left her. He had almost reachedthe apex of his fortunes and the inevitable end. Allie realized that ifshe were ever to lift a hand to save herself she must do so at once.
This was a fixed and desperate thought in her mind when Durade calledher to her work.
Allie always entered that private den of Durade's with eyes cast down.She had been scorched too often by the glances of men. As she went inthis time she felt the presence of gamblers, but they were quieter thanthose to whom she had become accustomed. Durade ordered her to fetchdrinks, then he went on talking, rapidly, in excitement, elated,boastful, almost gay.
Allie did not look up. As she carried the tray to the large table sheheard a man whisper low: "By jove!... Hough, that's the girl!"
Then she heard a slight, quick intake of breath, and the exclamation,"Good God!"
Both voices thrilled Allie. The former seemed the low, well-modulated,refined, and drawling speech of an Englishman; the latter was keen,quick, soft, and full of genuine emotion. Allie returned to her chair bythe sideboard before she ventured to look up. Durade was playing cardswith four men, three of whom were black-garbed, after the manner ofprofessional gamblers. The other player wore gray, and a hat of unusualshape, with wide, loose, cloth band. He removed his hat as he caughtAllie's glance, and she associated the act with the fact of herpresence. She thought that this must be the man whose voice hadproclaimed him English. He had a fair face, lined and shadowed anddissipated, with tired blue eyes and a blond mustache that failed toaltogether hide a well-shaped mouth. It was the kindest and saddest faceAllie had ever seen there. She read its story. In her extremity she hadacquired a melancholy wisdom in the judgment of the faces of themen drifting through Durade's hall. What Allie had heard in thisEnglishman's voice she saw in his features. He did not look at heragain. He played cards wearily, carelessly, indifferently, with his mindplainly on something else.
"Ancliffe, how many cards?" called one of the black-garbed men.
The Englishman threw down his cards. "None," he said.
The game was interrupted by a commotion in the adjoining room, which wasthe public gambling-hall of Durade's establishment.
"Another fight!" exclaimed Durade, impatiently. "And only Mull andFresno showed up to-day."
Harsh voices and heavy stamps were followed by a pistol-shot. Duradehurriedly arose.
"Gentlemen, excuse me," he said, and went out. One of the gamblers alsoleft the room, and another crossed it to peep through the door.
This left the Englishman sitting at the table with the last gambler,whose back was turned toward Allie. She saw the Englishman lean forwardto speak. Then the gambler arose and, turning, came directly toward her.
"My name is Place Hough," he said, speaking rapidly and low. "I am agambler--but gentleman. I've heard strange rumors about you, and now Isee for myself. Are you Allie Lee?"
Allie's heart seemed to come to her throat. She shook all over, and shegazed with piercing intensity at the man. When he had arisen from thetable he had appeared the same black-garbed, hard-faced gambler as anyof the others. But looked at closely, he was different. Underneath thecold, expressionless face worked something mobile and soft. His eyeswere of crystal clearness and remarkable for a penetrating power. Theyshone with wonder, curiosity, sympathy.
Allie instinctively trusted the voice and then consciously trusted theman. "Oh, sir, I am--distressed--ill from fright!" she faltered. "If Ionly dared--"
"You dare tell me," he interrupted, swiftly. "Be quick. Are you herewillingly with this man?"
"Oh no!"
"What then?"
"Oh, sir--you do not think--I--"
"I knew you were good, innocent--the moment I laid eyes on you,... Whoare you?"
"Allie Lee. My father is Allison Lee."
"Whew!" The gambler whistled softly and, turning, glanced at the door,then beckoned Ancliffe. The Englishman arose. In the adjoining roomssounds of strife were abating.
"Ancliffe, this girl is Allie Lee--daughter of Allison Lee--a big manof the U.P.R.... Something terribly wrong here." And he whispered toAncliffe.
Allie became aware of the Englishman's scrutiny, doubtful, sad, yet kindand curious. Indeed these men had heard of her.
"Hough, you must be mistaken," he said.
Allie felt a sudden rush of emotion. Her opportunity had come. "I amAllie Lee. My mother ran off with Durade--to California. He used her asa lure to draw men to his gambling-hells--as he uses me now... Two yearsago we escaped--started east with a caravan. The Indians attacked us. Icrawled under a rock--escaped the massacre. I--"
"Never mind all your story," interrupted Hough. "We haven't time forthat. I believe you... You are held a close prisoner?"
"Oh yes--locked and barred. I never get out. I have been threatenedso--that until now I feared to tell anyone. But Durade--he is going mad.I--I can bear it no longer."
"Miss Lee, you shall not bear it," declared Ancliffe. "We'll take youout of here."
"How?" queried Hough, shortly.
Ancliffe was for walking right out with her, but Hough shook his head.
"Listen," began Allie, hurriedly. "He would kill me the instant I triedto escape. He loved my mother. He does not believe she is dead. He livesonly to be revenged upon her... He has a desperate gang here. Fresno,Mull, Stitt, Black, Grist, Dayss, a greaser called Mex, and others--allthe worst of bad men. You cannot get me out of here alive except by sometrick."
"How about bringing the troops?"
"Durade would kill me the first thing."
"Could we steal you out at night?"
"I don't see how. They are awake all night. I am barred in, watched... Better work on Durade's weakness. Gold! He's mad for gold. When thefever's on him he might gamble me away--or sell me for gold."
Hough's cold eyes shone like fire in ice. He opened his lips tospeak--then quickly motioned Ancliffe back to the table. They had justseated themselves when the two gamblers returned, followed by Durade. Hewas rubbing his hands in satisfaction.
"What was the fuss about?" queried Hough, tipping the ashes off hiscigar.
"Some drunks after money they had lost."
"And got thrown out for their pains?" inquired Ancliffe.
"Yes. Mull and Fresno are out the
re now."
The game was taken up again. Allie sensed a different note in it. Thegambler Hough now faced her in his position at the table; and behindevery card he played there seemed to be intense purpose and tremendousforce. Ancliffe soon left the game. But he appeared fascinated whereformerly he had been indifferent. Soon it developed that Hough, by hisspirit and skill, was driving his opponents, inciting their passion forplay, working upon their feelings. Durade seemed the weakest gambler,though he had the best luck. Good luck balanced his excited play. Thetwo other gamblers pitted themselves against Hough.
The shadows of evening had begun to darken the room when Durade calledfor lights. A slim, sloe-eyed, pantherish-moving Mexican came in toexecute the order. He wore a belt with a knife in it and looked like abrigand. When he had lighted the lamps he approached Durade and spoke inSpanish. Durade replied in the same tongue. Then the Mexican went out.One of the gamblers lost and arose from the table.
"Gentlemen, may I go out for more money and return to the game?" heasked.
"Certainly," replied Hough.
Durade assented with bad grace.
The game went on and grew in interest. Probably the Mexican had reportedthe fact of its possibilities, or perhaps Durade had sent out word ofsome nature. For one by one his villainous lieutenants came in, steppingsoftly, gleaming-eyed.
"Durade, have you stopped play outside?" queried Hough.
"Supper-time. Not much going on," replied Mull.
Hough watched this speaker with keen coolness.
"I did not address you," he said.
Durade, catching the drift, came out of his absorption of play longenough to say that with a big game at hand he did not want to risk anyinterruption. He spoke frankly, but he did not look sincere.
Presently the second gambler announced that he would consider it a favorto be allowed to go out and borrow money. Then he left hurriedly. Duradeand Hough played alone; and the luck seesawed from one to the otheruntil both the other players returned. They did not come alone. Twomore black-frocked, black-sombreroed, cold-faced individuals accompaniedthem.
"May we sit in?" they asked.
"With pleasure," replied Hough.
Durade frowned and the glow left his face. Though the luck was stillwith him, it was evident that he did not favor added numbers. Yet theman's sensitiveness to any change immediately manifested itself when hewon the first large stake. His radiance returned and also his vanity.
Hough interrupted the game by striking the table with his hand. Thesound seemed hard, metallic, yet his hand was empty. Any attentiveobserver would have become aware that Hough had a gun up his sleeve. ButDurade did not catch the significance.
"I object to that man leaning over the table," said Hough, and hepointed to the lounging Fresno.
"Thet so?" leered the ugly giant. He looked bold and vicious.
"Do not address me," ordered Hough.
Fresno backed away silently from the cold-faced gambler.
"Don't mind him, Hough," protested Durade. "They're all excited. Bigstakes always work them up."
"Send them out so we can play without annoyance."
"No," replied Durade, sharply. "They can watch the game."
"Ancliffe," called Hough, just as sharply, "fetch some of my friends towatch this game. Don't forget Neale and Larry King."
Allie, who was watching and listening with strained faculties, nearlyfainted at the sudden mention of her lover Neale and her friend Larry.She went blind for a second; the room turned round and round; shethought her heart would burst with joy.
The Englishman hurried out.
Durade looked up with a passionate and wolfish swiftness.
"What do you mean?"
"I want some of my friends to watch the game," replied Hough.
"But I don't allow that red-headed cowboy gun-fighter to come into myplace."
"That is regrettable, for you will make an exception this time...Durade, you don't stand well in Benton. I do."
The Spaniard's eyes glittered. "You insinuate--SENOR--"
"Yes," interposed Hough, and his cold, deliberate voice dominated theexplosive Durade. "Do you remember a gambler named Jones?... He wasshot in this room... If _I_ should happen to be shot here--in the sameway--you and your gang would not last long in Benton!"
Durade's face grew livid with rage and fear. And in that moment the maskwas off. The nature of the Spaniard stood forth. Another manifest factwas that Durade had not before matched himself against a gambler ofHough's caliber.
"Well, are you only a bluff or do we go on with the game?" inquiredHough.
Durade choked back his rage and signified with a motion of his hand thatplay should be resumed.
Allie fastened her eyes upon the door. She was in a tumult of emotion.Despite that, her mind revolved wild and intermittent ideas as to therisk of letting Neale see and recognize her there. Yet her joy was sooverpowering that she believed if he entered the door she would rush tohim and trust in God to save her. In God and Reddy King! She rememberedthe cowboy, and a thrill linked all her emotions. Durade and his gangwould face a terrible reckoning if Reddy King ever entered to see herthere.
Moments passed. The gambling went on. The players spoke low; thespectators were silent. Discordant sounds from outside disturbed thequiet.
Allie stared fixedly at the door. Presently it opened. Ancliffe enteredwith several men, all quick in movement, alert of eye. But Neale andLarry King were not among them. Allie's heart sank like lead. Therevulsion of feeling, the disappointment, was sickening. She sawAncliffe shake his head, and divined in the action that he had not beenable to find the friends Hough wanted particularly. Then Allie feltthe incredible strangeness of being glad that Neale was not to find herthere--that Larry was not to throw his guns on Durade's crowd. Theremight be a chance of her being liberated without violence.
This reaction left her weak and dazed for a while. Still she heard thelow voices of the gamesters, the slap of cards and clink of gold. Herwits had gone from her ever since the mention of Neale. She flounderedin a whirl of thoughts and fears until gradually she recoveredself-possession. Whatever instinct or love or spirit had guided herhad done so rightly. She had felt Neale's presence in Benton. It wasstingingly sweet to realize that. Her heart swelled with pangs offullest measure. Surely he again believed her dead. Soon he wouldcome upon her--face to face--somewhere. He would learn she wasalive--unharmed--true to him with all her soul. Indians, renegadeSpaniards, Benton with its terrors, a host of EVIL men, not these noranything else could keep her from Neale forever. She had believed thatalways, but never as now, in the clearness of this beautiful spiritualinsight. Behind her belief was something unfathomable and great. Notthe movement of progress as typified by those men who had dreamed of therailroad, nor the spirit of the unconquerable engineers as typified byNeale, nor the wildness of wild youth like Larry King, nor the heroiclabor and simplicity and sacrifice of common men, nor the inconceivablepassion of these gamblers for gold, nor the mystery hidden in the madlaughter of these fallen women, strange and sad on the night wind--notany of these things nor all of them, wonderful and incalculable as theywere, loomed so great as the spirit that upheld Allie Lee.
When she raised her head again the gambling scene had changed. Onlythree men played--Hough, Durade, and another. And even as Allie lookedthis third player threw his cards into the deck and with silent gesturerose from the table to take a position with the other black-garbedgamblers standing behind Hough. The blackness of their attire contrastedstrongly with the whiteness of their faces. They had lost gold, whichfact meant little to them. But there was something big and significantin their presence behind Hough. Gamblers leagued against a crookedgambling-hell! Durade had lost a fortune, yet not all his fortune. Heseemed a haggard, flaming-eyed wreck of the once debonair Durade. Hishair was wet and dishevelled, his collar was open, his hand wavered.Blood trickled down from his lower lip. He saw nothing except the gold,the cards, and that steel-nerved, gray-faced, implacable Hough
. Behindhim lined up his gang, nervous, strained, frenzied, with eyes on thegold--hate-filled, murderous eyes.
Allie slipped into her room, leaving the door ajar so she could peepout, and there she paced the floor, waiting, listening for what shedared not watch. The gambler Hough would win all that Durade had, andthen stake it against her. That was what Allie believed. She had nodoubts of Hough's winning her, too, but she doubted if he could take heraway. There would be a fight. And if there was a fight, then that mustbe the end of Durade. For this gambler, Hough, with his unshakablenerve, his piercing eyes, his wonderful white hands, swift as light--hewould at the slightest provocation kill Durade.
Suddenly Allie was arrested by a loud, long suspiration--a heave ofheavy breaths in the room of the gamblers. A chair scraped, noisilybreaking the silence, which instantly clamped down again.
"Durade, you're done!" It was the cold, ringing voice of Hough.
Allie ran to the door, peeped through the crack. Durade sat there likea wild beast bound. Hough stood erect over a huge golden pile on thetable. The others seemed stiff in their tracks.
"There's a fortune here," went on Hough, indicating the gold. "All Ihad--all our gentlemen opponents had--all YOU had... I have won it all!"
Durade's eyes seemed glued to that dully glistening heap. He could noteven look up at the coldly passionate Hough.
"All! All!" echoed Durade.
Then Hough, like a striking hawk, bent toward the Spaniard. "Durade,have you anything more to bet?"
Durade was the only man who moved. Slowly he arose, shaking in everylimb, and not till he became erect did he unrivet his eyes from thatyellow heap on the table.
"Senor--do you--mock me?" he gasped, hoarsely.
"I offer you my winnings--ALL--FOR THE GIRL YOU HAVE HERE!"
"You are crazy!" ejaculated the Spaniard.
"Certainly... But hurry! Do you accept?"
"Senor, I would not sell that girl for all the gold of the Indies,"replied Durade, instantly. No vacillation--no indecision in him here.Hough's offer held no lure for this Spaniard who had committed manycrimes for gold.
"BUT YOU'LL GAMBLE HER!" asserted Hough, and now indeed his words weremockery. In one splendid gesture he swept his winnings into the middleof the table, and the gold gave out a ringing clash. As a gambler heread the soul of his opponent.
Durade's jaw worked convulsively, as if he had difficulty in holding itfirm enough for utterance. What he would not sell for any price he wouldrisk on a gambler's strange faith in chance.
"All my winnings against this girl," went on Hough, relentlessly. Scornand a taunting dare and an insidious persuasion mingled with the passionof his offer. He knew how to inflame. Durade, as a gambler, was aweakling in the grasp of a giant. "Come!... Do you accept?"
Durade's body leaped, as if an irresistible current had been shot intoit.
"Si, Senor!" he cried, with power and joy in his voice. In that moment,no doubt the greatest in his life of gambling, he unconsciously wentback to the use of his mother tongue.
Actuated by one impulse, Hough and Durade sat down at the table. Theothers crowded around. Fresno lurched close, with a wicked gleam in hiseyes.
"I was onto Hough," he said to his nearest ally. "It's the girl he'safter!"
The gamblers cut the cards for who should deal. Hough won. For himvictory seemed to exist in the suspense of the very silence, in thecharged atmosphere of the room. He began to shuffle the cards. His handswere white, shapely, perfect, like a woman's, and yet not beautiful.The spirit, the power, the ruthless nature in them had no relation tobeauty. How marvelously swift they moved--too swift for the gaze tofollow. And the incomparable dexterity with which he manipulated thecards gave forth the suggestion as to what he could do with them. Inthose gleaming hands, in the flying cards, in the whole intenseness ofthe gambler there showed the power and the intent to win. The crookedDurade had met his match, a match who toyed with him. If there were anelement of chance in this short game it was that of the uncertainty oflife, not of Durade's chance to win. He had no chance. No eye, nohand could have justly detected Hough in the slightest deviation fromhonesty. Yet all about the man in that tense moment proved what agambler really was.
Durade called in a whisper for two cards, and he received them withtrembling fingers. Terrible hope and exultation transformed his face.
"I'll take three," said Hough, calmly. With deliberate care andslowness, in strange contrast to his former motions, he took, one byone, three cards from the deck. Then he looked at them, and just ascalmly dropped all his cards, face up, on the table, disclosing what heknew to be an unbeatable hand.
Durade stared. A thick cry escaped him.
Swiftly Hough rose. "Durade, I have won." Then he turned to his friends."Gentlemen, please pocket this gold."
With that he stepped to Allie's door. He saw her peering out. "Come,Miss Lee," he said.
Allie stepped out, trembling and unsteady on her feet.
The Spaniard now seemed compelled to look up from the gold Hough'scomrades were pocketing. When he saw Allie another slow and remarkabletransformation came over him. At first he started slightly at Hough'shand on Allie's arm. The radiance of his strange passion for gold, thathad put a leaping glory into his haggard face, faded into a dark andmounting surprise. A blaze burned away the shadows. His eyes betrayedan unsupportable sense of loss and the spirit that repudiated it. For asingle instant he was magnificent--and perhaps in that instant raceand blood spoke; then, with bewildering suddenness, surely with thesuddenness of a memory, he became a black, dripping-faced victim ofunutterable and unquenchable hate.
Allie recoiled in the divination that Durade saw her mother in her. Nomemory, no love, no gold, no wager, could ever thwart the Spaniard.
"Senor, you tricked me!" he whispered.
"I beat you at your own game," said Hough. "My friends and your menheard the stake--saw the game."
"Senor, I would not--bet--that girl--for any stake!"
"You have LOST her... Let me warn you, Durade. Be careful, once in yourlife!... You're welcome to what gold is left there."
Durade shoved back the gold so fiercely that he upset the table, and itscontents jangled on the floor. The spill and the crash of a scatteredfortune released Durade's men from their motionless suspense. They beganto pick up the coins.
The Spaniard was halted by the gleam of a derringer in Hough's hand.Hissing like a snake, Durade stood still, momentarily held back by afear that quickly gave place to insane rage.
"Shoot him!" said Ancliffe, with a coolness which proved his foresight.
One of Hough's friends swung a cane, smashing a lamp; then with likeswift action he broke the other lamp, instantly plunging the room intodarkness. This appeared to be the signal for Durade's men to breakloose into a mad scramble for the gold. Durade began to scream and rushforward.
Allie felt herself drawn backward, along the wall, through her door.It was not so dark in there. She distinguished Hough and Ancliffe. Thelatter closed the door. Hough whispered to Allie, though the din in theother room made such caution needless.
"Can we get out this way?" he asked.
"There's a window," replied Allie.
"Ancliffe, open it and get her out. I'll stop Durade if he comes in.Hurry!"
While the Englishman opened the window Hough stood in front of the doorwith both arms extended. Allie could just see his tall form in the palegloom. Pandemonium had begun in the other room, with Durade screamingfor lights, and his men yelling and fighting for the gold, and Hough'sfriends struggling to get out. But they did not follow Hough into thisroom and evidently must have thought he had escaped through the otherdoor.
"Come," said Ancliffe, touching Allie.
He helped her get out, and followed laboriously. Then he softly calledto Hough. The gambler let himself down swiftly and noiselessly.
"Now what?" he muttered.
They appeared to be in a narrow alley between a house of boards and ahouse of canvas. Excited vo
ices sounded inside this canvas structure andevidently alarmed Hough, for with a motion he enjoined silence and ledAllie through the dark passage out into a gloomy square surrounded bylow, dark structures. Ancliffe followed close behind.
The night was dark, with no stars showing. A cool wind blew in Allie'sface, refreshing her after her long confinement. Hough began gropingforward. This square had a rough board floor and a skeleton framework.It had been a house of canvas. Some of the partitions were stillstanding.
"Look for a door--any place to get out," whispered Hough to Ancliffe, asthey came to the opposite side of this square space. Hough, with Allieclose at his heels, went to the right while Ancliffe went to the left.Hough went so far, then muttering, drew Allie back again to the pointwhence they had started. Ancliffe was there.
"No place! All boarded up tight," he whispered.
"Same on this side. We'll have to--"
"Listen!" exclaimed Ancliffe, holding up his hand.
There appeared to be noise all around, but mostly on the other sideof the looming canvas house, behind which was the alleyway that led toDurade's hall. Gleams of light flashed through the gloom. Durade'shigh, quick voice mingled with hoarser and deeper tones. Some one inthe canvas house was talking to Durade, who apparently must have been inAllie's room and at her window.
"See hyar, Greaser, we ain't harborin' any of your outfit, an' we'llplug the fust gent we see," called a surly voice.
Durade's staccato tones succeeded it. "Did you see them?"
"We heerd them gettin' out the winder."
Durade's voice rose high in Spanish curses. Then he called:
"Fresno--Mull--take men--go around the street. They can't get away ...You, Mex, get down in there with the gang."
Lower voices answered, questioning, eager, but indistinct.
"Kill him--bring her back--and you can have the gold," shouted Durade.
Following that came the heavy tramp of boots and the low roar of angrymen.
Hough leaned toward Ancliffe. "They've got us penned in."
"Yes. But it's pretty dark here. And they'll be slow. You watch while Itear a hole through somewhere," replied Ancliffe.
He was perfectly cool and might have been speaking of some casualincident. He extinguished his cigarette, dropped it, then put on hisgloves.
Hough loomed tall and dark. His face showed pale in the shadow. He stoodwith his elbows stiff against his sides, a derringer in each hand.
"I wish I had heavier guns," he said.
Allie's thrill of emotion spent itself in a shudder of realization.Calmly and chivalrously these two strangers had taken a stand againsther enemies and with a few cool words and actions had accepted whatevermight betide.
"I must tell you--oh, I must!" she whispered, with her hand on Hough'sarm. "I heard you send for Neale and Larry King... It made my heartstop!... Neale--Warren Neale is my sweetheart. See, I wear his ring!...Reddy King is my dearest friend--my brother!..."
Hough bent low to peer into Allie's face--to see her ring. Then heturned to Ancliffe.
"How things work out!... I always suspected what was wrong with Neale.Now I know--after seeing his girl."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Ancliffe.
"Well, I'll block Durade's gang. Will you save the girl?"
"Assuredly," answered the imperturbable Englishman. "Where shall I takeher?"
"Where CAN she be safe? The troop camp? No, too far,... Aha! take her toStanton. Tell Stanton the truth. Stanton will hide her. Then find Nealeand King."
Hough turned to Allie. "I'm glad you spoke--about Neale," he said, andthere was a curious softness in his voice. "I owe him a great deal.I like him... Ancliffe will get you out of here--and safely back toNeale."
Allie knew somehow--from something in his tone, his presence--that hewould never leave this gloomy inclosure. She heard Ancliffe ripping aboard off the wall or fence, and that sound seemed alarmingly loud. Thevoices no longer were heard behind the canvas house. The wind whippedthrough the bare framework. Somewhere at a distance were music andrevelry. Benton's night roar had begun. Over all seemed to hang amenacing and ponderous darkness.
Suddenly a light appeared moving slowly from the most obscure corner ofthe space, perhaps fifty paces distant.
Hough drew Allie closer to Ancliffe. "Get behind me," he whispered.
A sharp ripping and splitting of wood told of Ancliffe's progress; alsoit located the fugitives for Durade's gang. The light vanished; quickvoices rasped out; then stealthy feet padded over the boards.
Allie saw or imagined she saw gliding forms black against the palegloom. She was so close to Ancliffe that he touched her as he worked.Turning, she beheld a ray of light through an aperture he had made.
Suddenly the gloom split to a reddish flare. It revealed dark forms. Agun cracked. Allie heard the heavy thud of a bullet against the wall.Then Hough shot. His derringer made a small, spiteful report. It wasfollowed by a cry--a groan. Other guns cracked. Bullets pattered on thewood. Allie heard the spat of lead striking Hough. It had a sickeningsound. He moved as if from a blow. A volley followed and Allie saw thebright flashes. All about her bullets were whistling and thudding. Sheknew with a keen horror every time Hough was struck. Hoarse yells andstrangling cries mixed with the diminishing shots.
Then Ancliffe grasped her and pushed her through a vent he had made.Allie crawled backward and she could see Hough still standing in front.It seemed that he swayed. Then as she rose further her view was cut off.Although she had not looked around, she was aware of a dimly lightedstoreroom. Outside the shots had ceased. She heard something heavy fallsuddenly; then a patter of quick, light footsteps.
Ancliffe essayed to get through the opening feet first. It was a tightsqueeze, or else some one held him back. There came a crashing of wood;Ancliffe's body whirled in the aperture and he struggled violently.Allie heard hissing, sibilant Spanish utterances. She stood petrified,certain that Durade had attacked Ancliffe. Suddenly the Englishmancrashed through, drawing a supple, twisting, slender man with him. Heheld this man by the throat with one hand and by the wrist with theother. Allie recognized Durade's Mexican ally. He gripped a knife andthe blade was bloody.
Once inside, where Ancliffe could move, he handled the Mexican withdeliberate and remorseless ease. Allie saw him twist and break the armwhich held the knife. Not that sight, but the eyes of the Mexican madeAllie close her own. When she opened them, at a touch, Ancliffe stoodbeside her and the Mexican lay quivering. Ancliffe held the bloodyknife; he hid it under his coat.
"Come," he said. His voice seemed thin.
"But Hough! We must--"
Ancliffe's strange gesture froze Allie's lips. She followed him--clungclose to him. There were voices near--and persons. All seemed to fallback before the Englishman. He strode on. Indeed, his movements appearedunnatural. They went down a low stairway, out into the dark. Lights werethere to the right, and hurrying forms. Ancliffe ran with her in theother direction. Only dim, pale lamps shone through tents. Down thisside street it was quiet and dark. Allie stumbled, too. He turned acorner and proceeded rapidly toward bright lights. The houses loomedbig. Down that way many people passed to and fro. Allie's sensesrecognized a new sound--a confusion of music, dancing, hilarity, alldistinct, near at hand. She could scarcely keep up with Ancliffe. He didnot speak nor look to right or left.
At the corner of a large house--a long structure which sent out gleamsof light--Ancliffe opened a door and pulled Allie into a hallway, darknear at hand, but brilliant at the other end. He drew her along thispassage, striding slower now and unsteadily. He turned into anotherhall lighted by lamps. Music and gaiety seemed to sweep stunninglyinto Allie's face. But Allie saw only one person there--a Negress. AsAncliffe halted, the Negress rose from her seat. She was frightened.
"Call Stanton--quick!" he panted. He thrust gold at her. "Tell no oneelse!"
Then he opened a door, pushed Allie into a handsomely furnished parlor,and, closing the door, staggered to a couch, upon which he fell. His
face wore a singular look, remarkable for its whiteness. All its weary,careless indifference had vanished.
As he lay back his hands loosed their hold of his coat and fell away allbloody. The knife slid to the floor. A crimson froth flecked his lips.
"Oh--Heaven! You were--stabbed!" gasped Allie, sinking to her knees.
"If Stanton doesn't come in time--tell her what happened--ask her tofetch Neale to you," he said. He spoke with extreme difficulty and afluttering told of blood in his throat. Allie could not speak. Shecould not pray. But her sight and her perception were abnormally keen.Ancliffe's strange, dear gaze rested upon her, and it seemed to Alliethat he smiled, not with lips or face, but in spirit. How strange andbeautiful.
Then Allie heard a rush of silk at the door. It opened--closed. A womanof fair face, bare of arm and neck, glittering with diamonds, sweptinto the parlor. She had great, dark-blue eyes full of shadows and theyflashed from Ancliffe to Allie and back again.
"What's happened? You're pale as death!... Ancliffe! Your hands--yourbreast!... My God!"
She bent over him. "Stanton, I've been--cut up--and Hough is--dead."
"Oh, this horrible Benton!" cried the woman.
"Don't faint... Hear me. You remember we were curious about agirl--Durade had in his place. This is she--Allie Lee. She is innocent.Durade held her for revenge. He had loved--then hated her mother...Hough won all Durade's gold--and then the girl... But we had to fight...Stanton, this Allie Lee is Neale's sweetheart... He believes her dead...You hide her--bring Neale to her."
Quickly she replied, "I promise you, Ancliffe, I promise... Howstrange--what you tell!... But not strange for Benton!... Ancliffe!Speak to me!--Oh, he is going!"
With her first words a subtle change passed over Ancliffe. It was therelease of his will. His whole body sank. Under the intense whitenessof his face a cold gray shade began to creep. His last conscious instantspent itself in the strange gaze Allie had felt before, and now shehad a vague perception that in some way it expressed a blessing and adeliverance. The instant the beautiful light turned inward, as if toillumine the darkness of his soul, she divined what he had once been,his ruin, his secret and eternal remorse--and the chance to die that hadmade him great.
So, forgetful of the other beside her, Allie Lee watched Ancliffe,sustained by a nameless spirit, feeling with tragic pity her duty as awoman--to pray for him, to stay beside him, that he might not be alonewhen he died.
And while she watched, with the fading of that singular radiance, therereturned to his face a slow, careless weariness.
"He's gone!" murmured Stanton, rising. A dignity had come to her. "Dead!And we knew nothing of him--not his real name--nor his place ... Buteven Benton could not keep him from dying like an English gentleman."
She took Allie by the hand, led her out of the parlor and across thehall into a bedroom. Then she faced Allie, wonderingly, with all awoman's sympathy, and something else that Allie sensed as a sweet andpoignant wistfulness.
"Are you--Neale's sweetheart?" she asked, very low.
"Oh--please--find him--for me!" sobbed Allie.
The tenderness in this woman's voice and look and touch was what Allieneeded more than anything, and it made her a trembling child. Howstrangely, hesitatingly, with closing eyes, this woman reached to foldher in gentle arms. What a tumult Allie felt throbbing in the fullbreast where she laid her head.
"Allie Lee!... and he thinks you dead," she murmured, brokenly. "I willbring him--to you."
When she released Allie years and shadows no longer showed in her face.Her eyes were tear-wet and darkening; her lips were tremulous. At thatmoment there was something beautiful and terrible about her.
But Allie could not understand.
"You stay here," she said. "Be very quiet... I will bring Neale."
Opening the door, she paused on the threshold, to glance down the hallfirst, and then back to Allie. Her smile was beautiful. She closed thedoor and locked it. Allie heard the soft swish of silk dying away.