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Allie always entered that private den of Durade's with eyes cast down. She had been scorched too often by the glances of men. As she went in this time she felt the presence of gamblers, but they were quieter than those to whom she had become accustomed. Durade ordered her to fetch drinks, then he went on talking, rapidly, in excitement, elated, boastful, almost gay. Allie did not look up.
And ever westward crept the low, level, yellow bank of sand and gravel the road-bed of the first transcontinental railway. Thus the daytime had its turmoil, too, but this last was splendid, like the toil of heroes united to gain some common end. And the army of soldiers waited, ever keen-eyed, for the skulking Sioux. Mull, the boss of the camp, became a friend of Durade's.
Who was she, what had happened to her, where were her people or friends? How had she ever escaped robbers and Indians in that awful country? Was she really Durade's daughter? Allie did not tell much about herself, and finally she was left in peace.
"Neale or Larry will visit Durade's," she soliloquized, with her pulses beating fast. "And if they do not come some one else will... some man I can trust." Therefore she welcomed Durade's ultimatum. She paid more heed to the brushing and arranging of her hair, and to her appearance, than ever before in her life.
"Oh, mother, I knew we were running off from him!" cried Allie, breathlessly. "And I know he will follow us." "Indeed, I fear he will," replied the mother. "But Lord spare me his revenge!" "Mother! Oh, it is terrible! ... He is not my father. I never loved him. I couldn't.... But, mother, you must have loved him!" "Child, I was Durade's slave," she replied, sadly. "Then why did you run away?
Bordering the camp, running east as far as eye could see, stretched a high, flat, yellow lane, with the earth hollowed away from it, so that it stood higher than the level plain and this was the work of the graders, the road-bed of the Union Pacific Railroad, the U. P. Trail. This camp appeared to be Durade's destination. His caravan rode through and halted on the outskirts of the far side.
"All I had all our gentlemen opponents had all YOU had ... I have won it all!" Durade's eyes seemed glued to that dully glistening heap. He could not even look up at the coldly passionate Hough. "All! All!" echoed Durade. Then Hough, like a striking hawk, bent toward the Spaniard. "Durade, have you anything more to bet?" Durade was the only man who moved.
Allie tried not to think of him; of the remorseless way in which he had killed the Mexican; of the contrast between this action and his gentle voice and manner. She tried not to think of the gambler Hough the cold iron cast of his face as he won Durade's gold, the strange, intent look which he gave her a moment before the attack.
Her mirror told Allie the horror of that night. Her face was white; her eyes were haunted by terrors, with great dark shadows beneath. She could not hold her hands steady. Late that afternoon there were stirrings and sounds in Durade's hall. The place had awakened. Presently Durade himself brought her food and drink. He looked haggard, worn, yet radiant.
"I'll put Larry King on Durade's trail." "Oh no, Neale! Don't do that! Please don't do that! Larry would kill him." "I rather guess Larry would. And why not?" "I don't want Durade killed. It would be dreadful. He never hurt me. Let him alone. After all, he seems to be the only father I ever knew. Oh, I don't care for him. I despise him.... But let him live.... He will soon forget me.
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