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Neale, aghast and full of bitter amaze and shame at himself, fled fromthe gambling-hall where he had struck Beauty Stanton. How beside himselfwith rage and torture he had been! That woman to utter Allie Lee's name!Inconceivable! Could she know his story?
He tramped the dark streets, and the exercise and the cool wind calmedhim. Then the whistle of an engine made him decide to leave Benton atonce, on the first train out. Hurriedly he got his baggage and joinedthe throng which even at that late hour was making for the station.
A regret that was pain burned deep in him--somehow inexplicable. He,like other men, had done things that must be forgotten. What fatality inthe utterance of a single name--what power to flay!
From a window of an old coach he looked out upon the dim lights and paletent shapes.
"The last--of Benton!... Thank God!" he murmured, brokenly. Well herealized how Providence had watched over him there. And slowly the trainmoved out upon the dark, windy desert.
It took Neale nearly forty-eight hours to reach the new camp--RoaringCity. A bigger town than Benton had arisen, and more was going up--tentsand clapboard houses, sheds and cabins--the same motley jumble set underbeetling red Utah bluffs.
Neale found lodgings. Being without food or bed or wash for two days andnights was not helpful to the task he must accomplish--the conqueringof his depression. He ate and slept long, and the following day he tooktime to make himself comfortable and presentable before he salliedforth to find the offices of the engineer corps. Then he walked on asdirected, and heard men talking of Indian ambushes and troops.
When at length he reached the headquarters of the engineer corps he wasgreeted with restraint by his old officers and associates; was surprisedand at a loss to understand their attitude.
Even in General Lodge there was a difference. Neale gathered at oncethat something had happened to put out of his chief's mind the interestthat officer surely must have in Neale's trip to Washington. And aftergreeting him, the first thing General Lodge said gave warrant to therumors of trouble with Indians.
"My train was to have been ambushed at Deep Cut," he explained. "Bigforce of Sioux. We were amazed to find them so far west. It would havebeen a massacre--but for Casey.... We have no particulars yet, forthe wire is cut. But we know what Casey did. He ran the gantlet ofthe Indians through that cut.... He was on a gravel-car running wilddown-hill. You know the grade, Neale.... Of course his intention wasto hold up my train--block us before we reached the ambushed cut. Theremust have been a broken brake, for he derailed the car not half amile ahead of us. My engineer saw the runaway flat-car and feared acollision.... Casey threw a railroad tie--on the track--in front ofhim.... We found him under the car--crushed--dying--"
General Lodge's voice thickened and slowed a little. He looked down. Hisface appeared quite pale.
Neale began to quiver in the full presaging sense of a revelation.
"My engineer, Tom Daley, reached Casey's side just the instant before hedied," said General Lodge, resuming his story. "In fact, Daley wasthe only one of us who did see Casey alive.... Casey's last words were'ambush--Sooz--' Deep Cut,' and then 'me fri'nd Neale!'... We were at aloss to understand what he meant--that is, at first. We found Casey withthis little note-book and his pipe tight between his teeth."
The chief gave the note-book to Neale, who received it with a tremblinghand.
"You can see the marks of Casey's teeth in the leather. It was difficultto extract the book. He held on like grim death. Oh! Casey was grimdeath.... We could not pull his black pipe out at all. We left itbetween his set jaws, where it always had been--where it belonged.... Iordered him interred that way.... So they buried him out there along thetrack." The chief's low voice ceased, and he stood motionless a moment,his brow knotted, his eyes haunted, yet bright with a glory of tributeto a hero.
Neale heard the ticking of a watch and the murmur of the street outside.He felt the soft little note-book in his hand. And the strangestsensation shuddered over him. He drew his breath sharply.
When General Lodge turned again to face him, Neale saw himdifferently--aloof, somehow removed, indistinct.
"Casey meant that note-book for you," said the general, "It belongedto the woman, Beauty Stanton. It contained a letter, evidently writtenwhile she was dying.... This developed when Daley began to read aloud.We all heard. The instant I understood it was a letter intended foryou I took the book. No more was read. We were all crowded roundDaley--curious, you know. There were visitors on my train--and yourenemy Lee. I'm sorry--but, no matter. You see it couldn't be helped....That's all...."
Neale was conscious of calamity. It lay in his hand. "Poor old Casey!"he murmured. Then he remembered. Stanton dying! What had happened? Hecould not trust himself to read that message before Lodge, and, bowing,he left the room. But he had to grope his way through the lobby, so dimhad become his sight. By the time he reached the street he had losthis self-control. Something burnt his hand. It was the littleleather note-book. He had not the nerve to open it. What had been theimplication in General Lodge's strange words?
He gazed with awe at the tooth-marks on the little book. How had Caseycome by anything of Beauty Stanton's? Could it be true that she wasdead?
Then again he was accosted in the street. A heavy hand, a deep voicearrested his progress. His eyes, sweeping up from the path, saw fringedand beaded buckskin, a stalwart form, a bronzed and bearded face, andkeen, gray eyes warm with the light of gladness. He was gripped in handsof iron.
"Son! hyar you air--an' it's the savin' of me!" exclaimed a deep,familiar voice.
"Slingerland!" cried Neale, and he grasped his old friend as a drowningman at an anchor-rope. "My God! What will happen next?... Oh, I'm gladto find you!... All these years! Slingerland, I'm in trouble!"
"Son, I reckon I know," replied the other.
Neale shivered. Why did men look at him so? This old trapper had toomuch simplicity, too big a heart, to hide his pity.
"Come! Somewhere--out of the crowd!" cried Neale, dragging atSlingerland. "Don't talk. Don't tell me anything. Wait!... I've a letterhere--that's going to be hell!"
Neale stumbled along out of the crowded street, he did not know where,and with death in his soul he opened Beauty Stanton's book. And he read:
You called me that horrible name. You struck me. You've killed me. Ilie here dying. Oh, Neale! I'm dying--and I loved you. I came to youto prove it. If you had not been so blind--so stupid! My prayer is thatsome one will see this I'm writing--and take it to you.
Ancliffe brought your sweetheart, Allie Lee, to me--to hide her fromDurade. He told me to find you and then he died. He had been stabbed insaving her from Durade's gang. And Hough, too, was killed.
Neale, I looked at Allie Lee, and then I understood your ruin. You fool!She was not dead, but alive. Innocent and sweet like an angel! Ah, thewonder of it in Benton! Neale, she did not know--did not feel the kindof a woman I am. She changed me--crucified me. She put her face on mybreast. And I have that touch with me now, blessed, softening.
I locked her in a room and hurried out to find you. For the first timein years I had a happy moment. I understood why you had never cared forme. I respected you. Then I would have gone to hell for you. It was myjoy that you must owe your happiness to me--that I would be the one togive you back Allie Lee and hope, and the old, ambitious life. Oh, Igloried in my power. It was sweet. You would owe every kiss of hers,every moment of pride, to the woman you had repulsed. That was to be myrevenge.
And I found you, and in the best hour of my bitter life--when I hadrisen above the woman of shame, above thought of self--then you, withhellish stupidity, imagined I was seeking you--YOU for myself! Yourannoyance, your scorn, robbed me of my wits. I could not tell you. Icould only speak her name and bid you come.
You branded me before that grinning crowd, you struck me! And the firesof hell--MY hell--burst in my heart. I ran out of there--mad to killyour soul--to cause you everlasting torment. I swore I would give thatkey
of Allie Lee's room to the first man who entered my house.
The first man was Larry Red King. He was drunk. He looked wild. Iwelcomed him. I sent him to her room.
But Larry King was your friend. I had forgotten that. He came out withher. He was sober and terrible. Like the mad woman that I was I rushedat him to tear her away. He shot me. I see his eyes now. But oh, thankGod, he shot me! It was a deliverance.
I fell on the stairs, but I saw that flaming-faced devil kill four ofDurade's men. He got Allie Lee out. Later I heard he had been killed andthat Durade had caught the girl.
Neale, hurry to find her. Kill that Spaniard. No man could tell why hehas spared her, but I tell you he will not spare her long.
Don't ever forget Hough or Ancliffe or that terrible cowboy. Ancliffe'sdeath was beautiful. I am cold. It's hard to write. All is darkening. Ihear the moan of wind. Forgive me! Neale, the difference between me andAllie Lee--is a good man's love. Men are blind to woman's agony. Shelaid her cheek here--on my breast. I--who always wanted a child. I shalldie alone. No--I think God is here. There is some one! After all, I wasa woman. Neale forgive--