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Updated: June 1, 2025
In her extremity she had acquired a melancholy wisdom in the judgment of the faces of the men drifting through Durade's hall. What Allie had heard in this Englishman's voice she saw in his features. He did not look at her again. He played cards wearily, carelessly, indifferently, with his mind plainly on something else. "Ancliffe, how many cards?" called one of the black-garbed men.
He held this man by the throat with one hand and by the wrist with the other. Allie recognized Durade's Mexican ally. He gripped a knife and the blade was bloody. Once inside, where Ancliffe could move, he handled the Mexican with deliberate and remorseless ease. Allie saw him twist and break the arm which held the knife. Not that sight, but the eyes of the Mexican made Allie close her own.
Memory called up only the last moments of her life when she saw Ancliffe die; when she folded innocent Allie Lee to the breast that had always yearned for a child; when Neale in his monstrous stupidity had misunderstood her; when he had struck her before the grinning crowd, and in burning words branded her with the one name unpardonable to her class; when at the climax of a morbid and all-consuming hate, a hate of the ruined woman whose body and mind had absorbed the vile dregs, the dark fire and poison, of lustful men, she had inhumanly given Allie Lee to the man she had believed the wildest, most depraved, and most dangerous brute in all Benton; when this Larry King, by some strange fatality, becoming as great as he was wild, had stalked out to meet her like some red and terrible death.
"I heard you send for Neale and Larry King ... It made my heart stop! ... 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 he turned to Ancliffe. "How things work out! ... I always suspected what was wrong with Neale. Now I know after seeing his girl."
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 angry men. Hough leaned toward Ancliffe. "They've got us penned in." "Yes.
You must realize her innocence and understand. God has watched over Allie Lee! It was not luck nor accident. But innocence! ... Hough died to save her! Then Ancliffe! Then my old friend Larry King!
At the corner of a large house a long structure which sent out gleams of light Ancliffe opened a door and pulled Allie into a hallway, dark near at hand, but brilliant at the other end. He drew her along this passage, striding slower now and unsteadily. He turned into another hall lighted by lamps. Music and gaiety seemed to sweep stunningly into Allie's face.
Presently she leaned toward Neale and whispered to him: "Boy, you're courting death. Some one something has hurt you. But you're young.... GO HOME!" Then she bade him good night and left the group. He looked on in silence after that. And presently, when Ancliffe departed, he was glad to follow Hough into the street. There the same confusion held.
My prayer is that some one will see this I'm writing and take it to you. Ancliffe brought your sweetheart, Allie Lee, to me to hide her from Durade. He told me to find you and then he died. He had been stabbed in saving 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.
Fresno backed away silently from the cold-faced gambler. "Don't mind him, Hough," protested Durade. "They're all excited. Big stakes 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 to watch this game. Don't forget Neale and Larry King."
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