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Neale found better ground along the line, on hard ground, and here he urged the fresh horse to a swift and steady gait. The distance was farther than he had imagined, and probably exceeded ten miles.
It made no more appeal to her just then than did half a dozen of the other advertisements "personal," or otherwise. So she carried the paper slowly upstairs, wondering all the time what Neale O'Neil could have seen in the column of advertising to so affect him.
It seemed to Neale that his chief looked searchingly at him, as if somehow the short absence had made a change in him. Neale himself grew conscious of a strange difference in his inner nature; he could not forget the girl, her helplessness, her pathetic plight. "Well, it's curious," he soliloquized. "But it's not so, either. I'm sorry for her."
Come on," the boy said. "I know the way after we cross this brook. There is an unfinished street leads right into town. Comes out there by your store building where those Italian kids live." "Oh! If Mrs. Kranz should be up," gasped Agnes, "she'd take us in and let you dry your feet, Neale." "We'll get her up," declared Ruth. "She's as good-hearted as she can be, and she won't mind."
She hoped so, suddenly, again, with such intensity, such longing, such passion that she said to herself, "What nonsense that was, that came into my head, out on the road in the dark, the other night, that Neale and I had let the flood-tide of emotion ebb out of our hearts! What could have put such a notion into my head?" What crazy, fanciful creatures women are! Always reaching out for the moon.
Put your hand on her heart." Neale had been feeling for heart pulsations on her right side. He shifted his hand. Instantly through the soft swell of her breast throbbed a beat-beat-beat. The beatings were regular and not at all faint. "Good Lord, what a fool I am!" he cried. "She's alive! Her heart's going! There's not a wound on her!" "Wal, we can't see any, thet's sure," replied Slingerland.
Suddenly the crackling, the shots, the yells ceased, or were drowned in a volume of greater sound. Neale ran to the window. The flare from the burning tents was dying down. But into the edge of the circle of light he saw loom a line of horsemen. "Troopers!" he cried, joyfully. A great black pressing weight seemed lifted off his mind. The troops would soon rout that band of sneaking Sioux.
An Afternoon in the Life of Mr. Neale Crittenden, aet. 38 May 27. The stenographer, a pale, thin boy, with a scarred face, and very white hands, limped over to the manager's desk with a pile of letters to be signed. "There, Captain Crittenden," he said, pride in his accent. Neale was surprised and pleased. "All done, Arthur?" He looked over the work hastily. "Good work, good work."
"Neale!" she whispered, in anguish. "All right an' workin' hard. He sent me," replied Slingerland, swift to get his message out. Allie quivered and closed her eyes and leaned against him. A beautiful something pervaded her soul. Slowly the tumult within her breast subsided. She recovered. "Uncle Al!" she called him, tenderly. "Wal, I should smile! An' glad to see you why Lord!
"And Billy Bumps, too, sister! Don't forget Billy Bumps," begged Tess from the porch. "We'll try it, anyway," said Ruth. "Here are all the shovels, and we ought to be able to do it." "Boys would," proclaimed Agnes. "Neale would do it," echoed Dot, who had come out upon the porch likewise. "I declare! I wish Neale were here right now," Ruth said.
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