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The Stanton woman was superb, not more than thirty years old, with a face that must have been lovely once and held the haunting ghost of beauty still. Her hair was dead gold; her eyes were large and blue, with dark circles under them; and her features had a clear-cut classic regularity. "Where's Ancliffe?" asked Hough, addressing Stanton. She pointed, and Hough left them.
But he's an Englishman and a gentleman. It's a pity men like Ancliffe and you drift out here." She spoke seriously. She had the accent and manner of breeding. "Why, Miss Stanton?" inquired Neale. He was finding another woman here and it was interesting to him. "Because it means wasted life. You don't work. You're not crooked. You can't do any good.
A loud throng hurried by, as if bent on cramming into a few hours the life that would not last long. Neale was interested to inquire more about Ancliffe.
"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 door with both arms extended. Allie could just see his tall form in the pale gloom.
Indeed, his movements appeared unnatural. They went down a low stairway, out into the dark. Lights were there to the right, and hurrying forms. Ancliffe ran with her in the other direction. Only dim, pale lamps shone through tents. Down this side street it was quiet and dark. Allie stumbled, too. He turned a corner and proceeded rapidly toward bright lights. The houses loomed big.
"Get behind me," he whispered. A sharp ripping and splitting of wood told of Ancliffe's progress; also it located the fugitives for Durade's gang. The light vanished; quick voices rasped out; then stealthy feet padded over the boards. Allie saw or imagined she saw gliding forms black against the pale gloom. She was so close to Ancliffe that he touched her as he worked.
Neale watched them pass, seeing the truth in the red eyes, the heavy lids, the open mouths, the look and gait and gesture. A wild frenzy had fastened upon their minds. He found an added curiosity in studying the faces of Ancliffe and Hough. The Englishman had run his race. Any place would suit him for the end. Neale saw this and marveled at the man's ease and grace and amiability.
Durade and his gang would face a terrible reckoning if Reddy King ever entered to see her there. Moments passed. The gambling went on. The players spoke low; the spectators were silent. Discordant sounds from outside disturbed the quiet. Allie stared fixedly at the door. Presently it opened. Ancliffe entered with several men, all quick in movement, alert of eye.
"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 the fever'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 to speak then quickly motioned Ancliffe back to the table.
What was true for others must be true for him. The presence of any of these persons of Hough and Ancliffe, of himself, in Beauty Stanton's gaudy resort was sad proof of a disordered life. Some one touched him, interrupted his thought. "You've had trouble?", asked Stanton, who had turned from the others. "Yes," he said. "Well, we've all had that.... You seem young to me."
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