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Updated: June 1, 2025
Neale, not altogether in the interest of his search for Allie, became a friend and companion of Place Hough. Ancliffe sought him, also, and he was often in the haunts of these men. They did not take so readily to Larry King. The cowboy had become a sort of nervous factor in any community; his presence was not conducive to a comfortable hour.
Down that way many people passed to and fro. Allie's senses recognized a new sound a confusion of music, dancing, hilarity, all distinct, near at hand. She could scarcely keep up with Ancliffe. He did not speak nor look to right or left.
Pandemonium had begun in the other room, with Durade screaming for lights, and his men yelling and fighting for the gold, and Hough's friends struggling to get out. But they did not follow Hough into this room and evidently must have thought he had escaped through the other door. "Come," said Ancliffe, touching Allie. He helped her get out, and followed laboriously. Then he softly called to Hough.
Quickly she replied, "I promise you, Ancliffe, I promise ... How strange 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 the release of his will. His whole body sank. Under the intense whiteness of his face a cold gray shade began to creep.
Ancliffe was fair; he had a handsome face that held a story, and tired blue eyes that looked out upon the world wearily and mildly, without curiosity and without hope. An Englishman of broken fortunes. "Just arrived, eh?" he said to Neale. "Rather jolly here, don't you think?" "A fellow's not going to stagnate in Benton," replied Neale. "Not while he's alive," interposed Stanton.
But it's pretty dark here. And they'll be slow. You watch while I tear a hole through somewhere," replied Ancliffe. He was perfectly cool and might have been speaking of some casual incident. He extinguished his cigarette, dropped it, then put on his gloves. Hough loomed tall and dark. His face showed pale in the shadow. He stood with his elbows stiff against his sides, a derringer in each hand.
This appeared to be the signal for Durade's men to break loose into a mad scramble for the gold. Durade began to scream and rush forward. Allie felt herself drawn backward, along the wall, through her door. It was not so dark in there. She distinguished Hough and Ancliffe. The latter closed the door. Hough whispered to Allie, though the din in the other room made such caution needless.
When she opened them, at a touch, Ancliffe stood beside her and the Mexican lay quivering. Ancliffe held the bloody knife; 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 clung close to him. There were voices near and persons. All seemed to fall back before the Englishman. He strode on.
But Allie saw only one person there a Negress. As Ancliffe halted, the Negress rose from her seat. She was frightened. "Call Stanton quick!" he panted. He thrust gold at her. "Tell no one else!" 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.
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