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Updated: June 26, 2025
"'Durade! he spit out, an' dom' me if I didn't expect to see the roof fly off." McDermott wiped his moist face and tipped his empty glass to his lips, and swallowed hard. His light-blue eyes held a glint. "Gineral," he went on, "yez know Neale. How big he is! Wot nerve he's got!
Not much going on," replied Mull. Hough watched this speaker with keen coolness. "I did not address you," he said. Durade, catching the drift, came out of his absorption of play long enough to say that with a big game at hand he did not want to risk any interruption. He spoke frankly, but he did not look sincere.
He had changed aged there were lines in his face that were new to her. "I spent a year in and around Ogden, searching," went on Durade. "Tell me more." "No!" cried Allie. "Do you know, then?" he asked, very low. "I'm not your daughter and mother ran off from you. Yes, I know that," replied Allie, bitterly.
And when the sun arose, splendid and golden, with its promise and beauty, it shone upon a ghastly, silent, motionless sleeping Benton. To Allie Lee, again a prisoner in the clutches of Durade, the days in Benton had been mysterious, the nights dreadful.
Yet it contained the same kind of furniture Durade had bought for her and it was clean and comfortable. Still, Allie shrank from touching anything. Through the walls came the low, strange, discordant din to which she had become accustomed an intense, compelling blend of music, song, voice, and step actuated by one spirit.
It'll be Neale's whin I see him.... Durade jabbered fer help. But no wan come. Thot big trapper Slingerland stood there with two guns, an' shure he looked bad. Neale slung Durade around, spillin' some fellars who didn't dodge quick, an' thin he jerked him up backwards. "An' Durade come up with a long knife in the one hand he had free. "Neale yelled, 'Lee, take the gurl out!
Still, there was hope. Durade was traveling toward the east. Out there somewhere he would meet Neale, and then blood would be spilled. She had always regarded Durade strangely, wondering that in spite of his kindness to her she could not really care for him. She understood now and hated him passionately. And if there was any one she feared it was Durade.
Life had passed out of the gray face. Larry Red King died standing, with a gun in each hand, and the name of his friend the last word upon his lips. "Oh, Larry Larry!" moaned Allie. She could not run. She could scarcely walk. Dark forms loomed up. Her strength failed, and as she reeled, sinking down, rude hands grasped her. Above her bent the gleaming face and glittering eyes of Durade.
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."
"Allie, I ran off with Durade before you were born," began the mother, swiftly, as if she must hurry out her secret. "Durade is not your father.... Your name is Lee. Your father is Allison Lee. I've heard he's a rich man now.... Oh, I want to get back to give you to him to beg his forgiveness.... We were married in New Orleans in 1847. My father made me marry him. I never loved Allison Lee.
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