22
To Allie Lee, again a prisoner in the clutches of Durade, the days inBenton had been mysterious, the nights dreadful. In fear and tremblingshe listened with throbbing ears to footsteps and low voices, ceaseless,as of a passing army, and a strange, muffled roar, rising and swellingand dying.
Durade's caravan had entered Benton in the dark. Allie had gotten animpression of wind and dust, lights and many noisy hurried men, anda crowded jumble of tents. She had lived in the back room of a canvashouse. A door opened out into a little yard, fenced high with manyplanks, over or through which she could not see. Here she had beenallowed to walk. She had seen Durade once, the morning after Fresno andhis gang had brought her to Benton, when he had said that meals wouldbe sent her, and that she must stay there until he had secured betterquarters. He threatened to kill her if he caught her in another attemptto escape. Allie might have scaled the high fence, but she was moreafraid of the unknown peril outside than she was of him.
She listened to the mysterious life of Benton, wondering and fearful;and through the hours there came to her the nameless certainty ofsomething tremendous and terrible that was to happen to her. But spiritand hope were unquenchable. Not prayer nor reason nor ignorance was thesource of her sustained and inexplicable courage. A star shone overher destiny or a good angel hovered near. She sensed in a vague andperplexing way that she must be the center of a mysterious cycle ofevents. The hours were fraught with strain and suspense, yet they passedfleetingly. A glorious and saving moment was coming--a meeting thatwould be as terrible as sweet. Benton held her lover Neale and herfriend Larry. They were searching for her. She felt their nearness. Itwas that which kept her alive. She knew the truth with her heart. Andwhile she thrilled at the sound of every step, she also shuddered,for there was Durade with his desperadoes. Blood would be spilled.Somewhere, somehow, that meeting would come. Neale would rush to her.And the cowboy! ... Allie remembered the red blaze of his face, thesingular, piercing blue of his eye, his cool, easy, careless air, hisdrawling speech--and underneath all his lazy gentleness a deadliness ofblood and iron.
So Allie Lee listened to all sounds, particularly to all footsteps,waiting for that one which was to make her heart stand still.
Some one had entered the room adjoining hers and was now fumbling at therude door which had always been barred from the other side. It opened.Stitt, the mute who attended and guarded her, appeared, carryingbundles. Entering, he deposited these upon Allie's bed. Then he madesigns for her to change from the garb she wore to the clothes containedin the bundles. Further, he gave her to understand that she was tohurry, that she was to be taken away. With that he went out, shuttingand barring the door after him.
Allie's hands shook as she opened the packages. That very hour mightbring her freedom. She was surprised to find a complete outfit ofwoman's apparel, well made and of fine material. Benton, then, hadstores and women. Hurriedly she made the change, which was very welcome.The dress did not fit her as well as it might have done, but the bonnetand cloak were satisfactory, as were also the little boots. She found along, dark veil and wondered if she was expected to put that on.
A knocking at the door preceded a call, "Allie, are you ready?"
"Yes," she replied.
The door opened. Durade entered. He appeared thinner than she had everseen him, with more white in or beneath his olive complexion, and therewere marks of strain and of passion on his face. Allie knew he laboredunder some strong, suppressed excitement. More and more he seemed tolose something of his old character--of the stately Spanish manner.
"Put that veil on," he said. "I'm not ready for Benton to see you."
"Are you--taking me away?" she asked.
"Only down the street. I've a new place," he replied. "Come. Stitt willbring your things."
Allie could not see very well through the heavy veil and she stumbledover the rude threshold. Durade took hold of her arm and presently ledher out into the light. The air was hot, windy, dusty. The street wasfull of hurrying and lounging men. Allie heard different snatches ofspeech as she and Durade went on. Some stared and leered at her, atwhich times Durade's hold tightened on her arm and his step quickened.She was certain no one looked at Durade. Some man jostled her, anotherpinched her arm. Her ears tingled with unfamiliar coarse speech.
They walked through heavy sand and dust, then along a board walk, toturn aside before what was apparently a new brick structure, but acloser view proved it to be only painted wood. The place rang hollowwith a sound of hammers. It looked well, but did not feel stableunderfoot. Durade led her through two large hall-like rooms into a smallone, light and newly furnished.
"The best Benton afforded," said Durade, waving his hand. "You'll becomfortable. There are books--newspapers. Here's a door opening intoa little room. It's dark, but there's water, towel, soap. And you've amirror.... Allie, this is luxury to what you've had to put up with."
"It is, indeed," she replied, removing her veil, and then the cloak andbonnet. "But--am I to be shut up here?"
"Yes. Sometimes at night early I'll take you out to walk. But Bentonis--"
"What?" she asked, as he paused.
"Benton will not last long," he finished, with a shrug of his shoulders."There'll be another one of these towns out along the line. We'll gothere. And then to Omaha."
More than once he had hinted at going on eastward.
"I'll find your mother--some day," he added, darkly. "If I didn'tbelieve that I'd do differently by you."
"Why?"
"I want her to see you as good as she left you. Then!... Are you evergoing to tell me how she gave me the slip?"
"She's dead, I told you."
"Allie, that's a lie. She's hiding in some trapper's cabin or among theIndians. I should have hunted all over that country where you met mycaravan. But the scouts feared the Sioux. The Sioux! We had to run. Andso I never got the truth of your strange appearance on that trail."
Allie had learned that reiteration of the fact of her mother's deathonly convinced Durade the more that she must be living. While he hadthis hope she was safe so long as she obeyed him. A dark and sinistermeaning lay covert in his words. She doubted not that he had the natureand the power to use her in order to be revenged upon her mother. Thatpassion and gambling appeared to be all for which he lived.
Suddenly he seized her fiercely in his arms. "You're the picture ofHER!"
Then slowly he released her and the corded red of his neck subsided. Hisaction had been that of a man robbed of all he loved, who remembered, ina fury of violent longing, hate, and despair, what he had lost in life.Allie was left alone.
She gazed around the room that she expected to be her prison for anindefinite length of time. Walls and ceiling were sections, lockingtogether, and in some places she could see through the cracks. One sideopened upon a tent wall; the other into another room; the small glasswindows upon a house of canvas. When Allie put her hand against any partof her room she found that it swayed and creaked. She understood thenthat this house had been made in sections, transported to Benton bytrain, and hurriedly thrown together.
She looked next at the newspapers. How strange to read news of thebuilding of the U. P. R.! The name of General Lodge, chief engineer,made Allie tremble. He had predicted a fine future for Warren Neale. Sheread that General Lodge now had a special train and that he contemplatedan inspection trip out as far as the rails were laid. She read thatthe Pacific Construction Company was reputed to be crossing the SierraNevada, that there were ten thousand Chinamen at work on the road, thatthe day when East and West were to meet was sure to come. Eagerly shesearched, her heart thumping, for the name of Neale, but she did notfind it. She read in one paper that the Sioux were active along the linebetween Medicine Bow and Kearney. Every day the workmen would sight aband of Indians, and, growing accustomed to the sight, they would becomecareless, and so many lost their lives. A massacre had occurred out onthe western end of the road, where the construction gangs were working.Day after d
ay the Sioux had prowled around without attacking, untilthe hardy and reckless laborers lost fear and caution. Then, one day,a grading gang working a mile from the troops was set upon by a band ofswiftly riding warriors, and before they could raise a gun in defensewere killed and scalped in their tracks.
Allie read on. She devoured the news. Manifestly the world was awakeningto the reality of the great railroad. How glad Neale must be! Always hehad believed in the greatness and the reality of the U. P. R. Somewherealong that line he was working--perhaps every night he rode into Benton.Her emotions overwhelmed her as she thought of him so near, and for amoment she could not see the print. Neale would never again believe shewas dead. And indeed she did live! She breathed--she was well, strong,palpitating. She was sitting here in Benton, reading about the buildingof the railroad. She wondered with a pang what her disappearance wouldmean to Neale. He had said his life would be over if he lost her again.She shivered.
Suddenly her eye rested on printed letters, familiar and startling.Allison Lee!
"Allison Lee!" she breathed, very low. "MY FATHER!" And she read thatAllison Lee, commissioner of the U. P. R. and contractor for big jobsalong the line, would shortly leave his home in Council Bluffs, to meetsome of the directors in New York City in the interests of the railroad."If Durade and he ever meet!" she whispered. And in that portent she sawloom on the gambler's horizon another cloud. In his egotism and passionand despair he was risking more than he knew. He could not hope to keepher a prisoner for very long. Allie felt again the gathering surety ofan approaching climax.
"My danger is, he may harm me, use me for his gambling lure, or killme," she murmured. And her prevision of salvation contended with thedark menace of the hour. But, as always, she rose above hopelessness.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the mute, Stitt, whobrought her a few effects left at the former place, and then a trayholding her dinner. That day passed swiftly.
Darkness came, bringing a strange augmentation of the sounds with whichAllie had become familiar. She did not use her lamp, for she had becomeaccustomed to being without one, and she seemed to be afraid of alight. Only a dim, pale glow came in at her window. But the roar ofBenton--that grew as night fell. She had heard something similar inthe gold-camps of California and in the grading-camps where Durade hadlingered; this was at once the same and yet vastly different. She laylistening and thinking. The low roar was that of human beings, andany one of its many constituents seemed difficult to distinguish.Voices--footsteps--movement--music--mirth--dancing--clink of gold andglasses--the high, shrill laugh of a woman--the loud, vacant laugh ofa man--sudden gust of dust-laden wind sweeping overhead... all theseblended in the mysterious sound that voiced the strife and agony ofBenton. For hours it kept her awake; and when she did fall asleep it wasso late in the night that, upon awakening next day, she thought it mustbe noon or later.
That day passed and another night came. It brought a change in thatthe house she was in became alive and roaring. Durade had gotten hisestablishment under way. Allie lay in sleepless suspense. Rough, noisy,thick-voiced men appeared to be close to her, in one of the roomsadjoining hers, and outside in the tents. The room, however, into whichhers opened was not entered. Dawn had come before Allie fell asleep.
Thus days passed during which she saw only the attendant, Stitt, andAllie began to feel a strain that she believed would be even harder onher than direct contact with Benton life. While she was shut up there,what chance had she of ever seeing Neale or Larry even if they were inBenton? Durade had said he would take her outdoors occasionally, but shehad not seen him. Restlessness and gloom began to weigh upon her and shewas in continual conflict with herself. She began to think of disobeyingDurade. Something would happen to him sooner or later, and in that eventwhat was she to do? Why not try and escape? Whatever the evil of Benton,it was possible that she might not fall into bad hands. Anything wouldbe better than her confinement here, with no sight of the sun, with noone to speak to, with nothing to do but brood and fight her fanciesand doubts, and listen to that ceaseless, soft, mysterious din. Alliebelieved she could not long bear that. Now and then occurred a change inher mind which frightened her. It was a regurgitation of the old tide ofsomber horror which had submerged her after the murder of her mother.
She was working herself into a frenzied state when unexpectedly Duradecame to her room. At first glance she hardly knew him. He looked thinand worn; his eyes glittered; his hands shook; and the strange radiancethat emanated from him when his passion for gambling had been crownedwith success shone stronger than Allie had ever seen it.
"Allie, the time's come," he said. He seemed to be looking back into thepast.
"What time?" she asked.
"For you to do for me--as your mother did before you."
"I--I--don't understand."
"Make yourself beautiful!"
"Beautiful!... How?" Allie had an inkling of what it meant, but all hermind repudiated the horrible suggestion.
Durade laughed. He had indeed changed. He seemed a weaker man. Bentonwas acting powerfully upon him.
"How little vanity you have!... Allie, you are beautiful now or at anytime. You'll be so when you're old or dead.... I mean for you to showmore of your beauty.... Let down your hair. Braid it a little. Put on awhite waist. Open it at the neck.... You remember how your mother did."
Allie stared at him, slowly paling. She could not speak. It hadcome--the crisis that she had dreaded.
"You look like a ghost!" Durade exclaimed. "Like she did, years ago whenI told her--this same thing--the first time!"
"You mean to use me--as you used her?" faltered Allie.
"Yes. But you needn't be afraid or sick. I'll always be with you."
"What am I to do?"
"Be ready in the afternoon when I call you."
"I know now why my mother hated you," burst out Allie. For the firsttime she too hated him, and felt the stronger for it.
"She'll pay for that hate, and so will you," he replied, passionately.His physical action seemed involuntary--a shrinking as if from a stab.Then followed swift violence. He struck Allie across the mouth with hisopen hand, a hard blow, almost knocking her down.
"Don't let me hear that from you again!" he continued, furiously.
With that he left the room, closing but not barring the door.
Allie put her hand to her lips. They were bleeding. She tasted her ownwarm and salty blood. Then there was born in her something that burnedand throbbed and swelled and drove out all her vacillations. That blowwas what she had needed. There was a certainty now as to her peril, justas there was imperious call for her to help herself and save herself.
"Neale or Larry will visit Durade's," she soliloquized, with her pulsesbeating fast. "And if they do not come--some one else will... some man Ican trust."
Therefore she welcomed Durade's ultimatum. She paid more heed to thebrushing and arranging of her hair, and to her appearance, than everbefore in her life. The white of her throat and neck mantled red as sheexposed them, intentionally, for the gaze of men. Her beauty was to beused as had been her mother's. But there would be some one who wouldunderstand, some one to pity and help her.
She had not long to meditate and wait. She heard the heavy steps andvoices of men entering the room next hers.
Presently Durade called her. With a beating heart Allie rose and pushedopen the door. From that moment there never would be any more monotonyfor her--nor peace--nor safety. Yet she was glad, and faced the roombravely, for Neale or Larry might be there.
Durade had furnished this larger place luxuriously, and evidentlyintended to use it for a private gambling-den, where he would bringpicked gamesters. Allie saw about eight or ten men who resembled minersor laborers.
Durade led her to a table that had been placed under some shelves whichwere littered with bottles and glasses. He gave her instructions whatto do when called upon, saying that Stitt would help her; then motioningher to a chair, he went back to the men. I
t was difficult for her toraise her eyes, and she could not at once do so.
"Durade, who's the girl?" asked a man.
The gambler vouchsafed for reply only a mysterious smile.
"Bet she's from California," said another. "They bloom like that outthere."
"Now, ain't she your daughter?" queried a third.
But Durade chose to be mysterious. In that he left his guests licensefor covert glances without the certainty which would permit of brutalboldness.
They gathered around a table to play faro. Then Durade called fordrinks. This startled Allie and she hastened to comply with his demand.When she lifted her eyes and met the glances of these men--she had astrange feeling that somehow recalled the California days. Her legs wereweak under her; a hot anger labored under her breast; she had to dragher reluctant feet across the room. Her spirit sank, and then leaped. Itwhispered that looks and words and touches could only hurt and shameher for this hour of her evil plight. They must rouse her resistance andcunning wit. It was a fact that she was helpless for the present. Butshe still lived, and her love was infinite.
Fresno was there, throwing dice with two soldiers. To his ugliness hadbeen added something that had robbed his face of the bronze tingeof outdoor life and had given it red and swollen lines and shades ofbeastly greed. Benton had made a bad man worse.
Mull was there, heavier than when he had ruled the grading-camp, soddenwith drink, thick-lipped and red-cheeked, burly, brutal, and stillshowing in every action and loud word the bully. He was whirling a wheeland rolling a ball and calling out in his heavy voice. With him was alittle, sallow-faced man, like a wolf, with sneaky, downcast eyes andrestless hands. He answered to the name of Andy. These two were engagedin fleecing several blue-shirted, half-drunken spikers.
Durade was playing faro with four other men, or at least there were thatnumber seated with him. One, whose back was turned toward Allie, woreblack, and looked and seemed different from the others. He did not talknor drink. Evidently his winning aggravated Durade. Presently Duradeaddressed the man as Jones.
Then there were several others standing around, dividing their attentionbetween Allie and the gamblers. The door opened occasionally, and eachtime a different man entered, held a moment's whispered conversationwith Durade, and then went out. These men were of the same villainousaspect that characterized Fresno. Durade had surrounded himself withlieutenants and comrades who might be counted upon to do anything.
Allie was not long in gathering this fact, nor that there were subtlesigns of suspicion among the gamesters. Most of them had gotten underthe influence of drink that Durade kept ordering. Evidently he furnishedthis liquor free and with a purpose.
The afternoon's play ended shortly. So far as Allie could see, Jones,the man in black, a pale, thin-lipped, cold-eyed gambler, was the onlyguest to win. Durade's manner was not pleasant while he paid over hisdebts. Durade always had been a poor loser.
"Jones, you'll sit in to-morrow," said Durade.
"Maybe," replied the other.
"Why not? You're winner," retorted Durade, hot-headed in an instant.
"Winners are choosers," returned Jones, with an enigmatic smile. Hishard, cold eyes shifted to Allie and seemed to pierce her, then wentback to Durade and Mull and Fresno. Plain it was to Allie, with herwoman's intuition, that if Jones returned it would not be because hetrusted that trio. Durade apparently made an effort to swallow hisresentment, but the gambling pallor of his face had never been moremarked. He went out with Jones, and the others slowly followed.
Fresno approached Allie.
"Hullo, gurly! You sure look purtier than in thet buckskin outfit," heleered.
Allie got up, ready for fight or defense. Durade had forgotten her.
Fresno saw her glance at the door.
"He's goin' to the bad," he went on, with his big hand indicatingthe door. "Benton's too hot fer his kind. He'll not git up some finemornin'.... An' you'd better cotton to me. You ain't his kin--an' hehates you an' you hate him. I seen thet. I'm no fool. I'm sorta gone onyou. I wish I hadn't fetched you back to him."
"Fresno, I'll tell Durade," replied Allie, forcing her lips to be firm.If she expected to intimidate him she was disappointed.
Fresno leered wisely. "You'd better not. Fer I'll kill him, an' thenyou'll be a sweet little chunk of meat among a lot of wolves!"
He laughed and his large frame lurched closer. He wore a heavy gun anda knife in his belt. Also there protruded the butt of a pistol from theinside of his open vest. Allie felt the heat from his huge body, and shesmelled the whisky upon him, and sensed the base, faithless, malignantanimalism of the desperado. Assuredly, if he had any fear, it was not ofDurade.
"I'm sorta gone on you myself," repeated Fresno. "An' Durade's agreaser. He's runnin' a crooked game. All these games are crooked. ButBenton won't stand for a polite greaser who talks sweet an' gamblescrooked. Mebbe' no one's told you what this place Benton is."
"I haven't heard. Tell me," replied Allie. She might learn from any one.
Fresno appeared at fault for speech. "Benton's a beehive," he replied,presently. "An' when the bees come home with their honey, why, the redants an' scorpions an' centipedes an' rattlesnakes git busy. I've seensome places in my time, but--Benton beats 'em all.... Say, I'll sneakyou out at nights to see what's goin' on, an' I'll treat you handsome.I'm sorta--"
The entrance of Durade cut short Fresno's further speech. "What are yousaying to her?" demanded Durade, in anger.
"I was jest tellin' her about what a place Benton is," replied Fresno.
"Allie, is that true?" queried Durade, sharply.
"Yes," she replied.
"Fresno, I did not like your looks."
"Boss, if you don't like 'em you know what you can do," rejoined Fresno,impudently, and he lounged out of the room.
"Allie, these men are all bad," said Durade. "You must avoid them whenmy back's turned. I cannot run my place without them, so I am compelledto endure much."
Allie's attendant came in with her supper and she went to her room.
Thus began Allie Lee's life as an unwilling and innocent accomplice ofDurade in his retrogression from the status of a gambler to that of acriminal. In California he had played the game, diamond cut diamond. Buthe had broken. His hope, spirit, luck, nerve were gone. The bottle andBenton had almost destroyed his skill at professional gambling.
The days passed swiftly. Every afternoon Durade introduced a new companyto his private den. Few ever came twice. In this there was a grain ofhope, for if all the men in Benton, or out on the road, could only passthrough Durade's hall, the time would come when she would meet Neale orLarry. She lived for that. She was constantly on the lookout for a manshe could trust with her story. Honest-faced laborers were not wantingin the stream of visitors Durade ushered into her presence, but eitherthey were drunk or obsessed by gambling, or she found no opportunity tomake her appeal.
These afternoons grew to be hideous for Allie. She had been subjected toevery possible attention, annoyance, indignity, and insult, outside ofdirect violence. She could only shut her eyes and ears and lips.Fresno found many opportunities to approach her, sometimes in Durade'spresence, the gambler being blind to all but the cards and gold. At suchtimes Allie wished she was sightless and deaf and feelingless. But aftershe was safely in her room again she told herself nothing had happened.She was still the same as she had always been. And sleep obliteratedquickly what she had suffered. Every day was one nearer to that fatefuland approaching moment. And when that moment did come what would allthis horror amount to? It would fade--be as nothing. She would not letwords and eyes harm her. They were not tangible--they had no substancefor her. They made her sick with rage and revolt at the moment, but theyhad no power, no taint, no endurance. They were evil passing winds.
As she saw Durade's retrogression, so she saw the changes in all abouthim. His winnings were large and his strange passion for play increasedwith them. The free gold that enriched Fresno and Mull and Andyon
ly augmented their native ferocity. There were also Durade's otherhelpers--Black, his swarthy doorkeeper, a pallid fellow called Dayss,who always glanced behind him, and Grist, a short, lame, bullet-headed,silent man--all of them under the spell of the green cloth.
With Durade's success had come the craze for bigger stakes, and thesecould only be played for with other gamblers. So the black-frocked,cold-faced sharps became frequent visitors at Durade's. Jones, theprofessional, won on that second visit--a fatal winning for him. Alliesaw the giant Fresno suddenly fling himself upon Jones and bear him tothe floor. Then Allie fled to her room. But she heard curses--a shot--agroan--Durade's loud voice proclaiming that the gambler had cheated--andthen the scraping of a heavy body being dragged out.
This murder horrified Allie, yet sharpened her senses. Providence hadprotected her. Durade had grown rich--wild--vain--mad to pit himselfagainst the coolest and most skilful gamblers in Benton--and thereforehis end was imminent. Allie lay in the dark, listening to Benton'sstrange wailing roar, sad, yet hideous, and out of what she had seen andheard, and from the mournful message on the night wind, she realized howclosely associated were gold and evil and men, and how inevitably theymust lead to lawlessness and to bloodshed and to death.