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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Get behind me," he whispered. A sharp ripping and splitting of wood told of Ancliffe's progress; also it located the fugitives for Durade's gang. The light vanished; quick voices rasped out; then stealthy feet padded over the boards. Allie saw or imagined she saw gliding forms black against the pale gloom. She was so close to Ancliffe that he touched her as he worked.
So the black- frocked, cold-faced sharps became frequent visitors at Durade's. Jones, the professional, won on that second visit a fatal winning for him. Allie saw the giant Fresno suddenly fling himself upon Jones and bear him to the floor. Then Allie fled to her room.
"I don't see how. They are awake all night. I am barred in, watched ... Better work on Durade's weakness. Gold! He's mad for gold. When the fever's on him he might gamble me away or sell me for gold." Hough's cold eyes shone like fire in ice. He opened his lips to speak then quickly motioned Ancliffe back to the table.
Neale found the women in the large room, between the corner of the walls and a huge stone fireplace. They were quiet. Allie leaped at sight of Neale. Her hands trembled as she grasped him. "Neale!" she whispered. "I saw Fresno!" "Who's he?" queried Neale, blankly. "He's one of Durade's gang." "No!" exclaimed Neale. He drew Allie aside. "You're scared."
She drank thirstily, but she was too exhausted to eat. "Whose caravan?" was the only query she made. "Durade's," replied one woman, and it was evident from the way she spoke that this was a man of consequence. As Allie lay there, slowly succumbing to weariness and drowsiness, she thought of the irony of fate that had let her escape the Sioux only to fall into the hands of Durade.
Preparations began for what Allie concluded was to be a permanent halt. At once began a significant disintegration of Durade's party. One by one the scouts received payment from their employer, and with horse and pack disappeared toward the camp.
Durade's jaw worked convulsively, as if he had difficulty in holding it firm enough for utterance. What he would not sell for any price he would risk on a gambler's strange faith in chance. "All my winnings against this girl," went on Hough, relentlessly. Scorn and a taunting dare and an insidious persuasion mingled with the passion of his offer. He knew how to inflame.
Allie felt the heat from his huge body, and she smelled the whisky upon him, and sensed the base, faithless, malignant animalism of the desperado. Assuredly, if he had any fear, it was not of Durade. "I'm sorta gone on you myself," repeated Fresno. "An' Durade's a greaser. He's runnin' a crooked game. All these games are crooked.
In this there was a grain of hope, for if all the men in Benton, or out on the road, could only pass through Durade's hall, the time would come when she would meet Neale or Larry. She lived for that. She was constantly on the lookout for a man she could trust with her story.
But she heard curses a shot a groan Durade's loud voice proclaiming that the gambler had cheated and then the scraping of a heavy body being dragged out. This murder horrified Allie, yet sharpened her senses. Providence had protected her. Durade had grown rich wild vain mad to pit himself against the coolest and most skilful gamblers in Benton and therefore his end was imminent.
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