and his eyes flashed.
“He asks as a personal favor that you come out to see him,” replied
Campbell.
Neale flushed. “General Lodge asks that!” he echoed. There was a slow
heat stirring all through him.
“Yes. Will you go?”
“I--I guess I’ll have to,” replied Neale. He did not feel that he was
deciding. He had to go. But this did not prove that he must take up his
old work.
Larry swung his hand on Neale’s shoulder, almost staggering him. The
cowboy beamed.
“Go in to breakfast,” he said. “Order for me, too. I’ll be back.”
“You want to hurry,” rejoined Campbell. “We’ve only a half-hour to eat
an’ catch the work-train.”
Larry strode back toward the lodging-house. And it was Campbell who led
Neale into the restaurant and ordered the meal. Neale’s mind was not in
a whirl, nor dazed, but he did not get much further in thought than the
remarkable circumstance of General Lodge sending for him personally.
Meanwhile Campbell rapidly talked about masonry, road-beds, washouts,
and other things that Neale heard but did not clearly understand. Then
Larry returned. He carried Neale’s bag, which he deposited carefully on
the bench.
“I reckon you might as well take it along,” he drawled.
Neale felt himself being forced along an unknown path.
They indulged in little further conversation while hurriedly eating
breakfast. That finished, they sallied forth toward the station.
Campbell clambered aboard the work-train.
“Come on, Larry,” he said.
And Neale joined in the request. “Yes, come,” he said.
“Wal, seein’ as how I want you-all to get on an’ the rail-road built, I
reckon I’d better not go,” drawled Larry. His blue eyes shone warm upon
his friend.
“Larry, I’ll be back in a day or so,” said Neale.
“Aw, now, pard, you stay. Go back on the job an’ stick,” appealed the
cowboy.
“No. I quit and I’ll stay quit. I might help out--for a day--just as a
favor. But--” Neale shook his head.
“I reckon, if you care anythin’ aboot me, you’ll shore stick.”
“Larry, you’ll go to the bad if I leave you here alone,” protested
Neale.
“Wel, if you stay we’ll both go,” replied Larry, sharply. He had changed
subtly. “It’s in me to go to hell--I reckon I’ve gone--but that ain’t so
for you.”
“Two’s company,” said Neale, with an attempt at lightness. But it was a
pretense. Larry worried him.
“Listen. If you go back on the job--then it ‘ll be all right for you to
run in heah to see me once in a while. But if you throw up this chance
I’ll--”
Larry paused. His ruddy tan had faded slightly.
Neale eyed him, aware of a hard and tense contraction of the cowboy’s
throat.
“Well, what ‘ll you do?” queried Neale, shortly.
Larry threw back his head, and the subtle, fierce tensity seemed to
leave him.
“Wal, the day you come back I’ll clean out Stanton’s place--jest to
start entertainin’ you,” he replied, with his slow drawl as marked as
ever it was.
A stir of anger in Neale’s breast subsided with the big, warm
realization of this wild cowboy’s love for him and the melancholy
certainty that Larry would do exactly as he threatened.
“Suppose I come back and beat you all up?” suggested Neale.
“Wal, thet won’t make a dam’ bit of difference,” replied Larry,
seriously.
Whereupon Neale soberly bade his friend good-bye and boarded the train.
The ride appeared slow and long, dragged out by innumerable stops. All
along the line laborers awaited the train to unload supplies. At the end
of the line there was a congestion Neale had not observed before in all
the work. Freight-cars, loaded with stone and iron beams and girders
for bridge-work, piles of ties and piles of rails, and gangs of idle
men attested to the delay caused by an obstacle to progress. The sight
aggressively stimulated Neale. He felt very curious to learn the cause
of the setback, and his old scorn of difficulties flashed up.
The camp Neale’s guide led him to was back some distance from the
construction work. It stood in a little valley through which ran a
stream. There was one large building, low and flat, made of boards and
canvas, adjoining a substantial old log cabin; and clustered around,
though not close together, were a considerable number of tents. Troopers
were in evidence, some on duty and many idle. In the background, the
slopes of the valley were dark green with pine and cedar.
At the open door of the building Neale met Baxter face to face, and that
worthy’s greeting left Neale breathless and aghast, yet thrilling with
sheer gladness.
“What’re you up against?” asked Neale.
“The boss ‘ll talk to you. Get in there!” Baxter replied, and pushed
Neale inside. It was a big room, full of smoke, noise, men, tables,
papers. There were guns stacked under port-holes. Some one spoke to
Neale, but he did not see who it was. All the faces he saw so swiftly
appeared vague, yet curious and interested. Then Baxter halted him at
a table. Once again Neale faced his chief. Baxter announced something.
Neale did not hear the words plainly.
General Lodge looked older, sterner, more worn. He stood up.
“Hello, Neale!” he said, offering his hand, and the flash of a smile
went over his grim face.
“Come in here,” continued the chief, and he led Neale into another room,
of different aspect. It was small; the walls were of logs; new boards
had been recently put in the floor; new windows had been cut; and it
contained Indian blankets, chairs, a couch.
Here General Lodge bent a stern and piercing gaze upon his former
lieutenant.
“Neale, you failed me when you quit your job,” he said. “You were my
right-hand man. You quit me in my hour of need.”
“General, I--I was furious at that rotten commissioner deal,” replied
Neale, choking. What he had done now seemed an offense to his chief. “My
work was ordered done over!”
“Neale, that was nothing to what I’ve endured. You should have grit
your teeth--and gone on. That five miles of reconstruction was
nothing--nothing.”
In his chief’s inflexible voice, in the worn, shadowed face, Neale saw
the great burden, and somehow he was reminded of Lincoln, and a passion
of remorse seized him. Why had he not been faithful to this steadfast
man who had needed him!
“It seemed--so much to me,” faltered Neale.
“Why did you not look at that as you have looked at so many physical
difficulties--the running of a survey, for instance?”
“I--I guess I have a yellow streak.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” went on the chief. Evidently he had been
disappointed in Neale.
“I might have come--only Larry, my friend--he got into it, and I was
afraid he’d kill somebody,” replied Neale.
“That cowboy--he was a great fellow, but gone wrong. He shot one of the
bosses--Smith.”
“Yes, I know. Did--did Smith die?”
“No, but he’ll never be any more good for the U. P. R., that’s
certain.... Where is your friend now?”
“I left him in Benton.”
“Benton!” exclaimed the chief, bitterly. “I am responsible for Benton.
This great work of my life is a hell on wheels, moving on and on....
Your cowboy friend has no doubt found his place--and his match--in
Benton.”
“Larry has broken loose from me--from any last restraint.”
“Neale, what have you been doing?”
And at that Neale dropped his head.
“Idling in the camps--drifting from one place to the next--drinking,
gambling, eh?”
“I’m ashamed to say, sir, that of late I have been doing just those
things,” replied Neale, and he raised his gaze to his chief’s.
“But you haven’t been associating with those camp women!” exclaimed
General Lodge, with his piercing eyes dark on Neale.
“No!” cried Neale. The speech had hurt him.
“I’m glad to hear that--gladder than you can guess. I was afraid--But
no matter.... What you did do is bad enough. You ought to be ashamed. A
young man with your intelligence, your nerve, your gifts! I have not had
a single man whose chances compared with yours. If you had stuck you’d
be at the head of my engineer corps right now. Baxter is played out.
Boone is ill. Henney had to take charge of the shops in Omaha.... And
you, with fortune and fame awaiting you, throw up your job to become a
bum... to drink and gamble away your life in these rotten camps!”
General Lodge’s scorn flayed Neale.
“Sir, you may not know I--I lost some one--very dear to me. After that I
didn’t seem to care.” Neale turned to the window. He was ashamed of what
blurred his eyes. “If it hadn’t been for that--I’d never have failed
you.”
The chief strode to Neale and put a hand on his shoulder. “Son, I
believe you. Maybe I’ve been a little hard. Let’s forget it.” His tone
softened and there was a close pressure of his hand. “The thing is
now--will you come back on the job?”
“Baxter’s note--Campbell said they’d struck a snag here. You mean help
them get by that?”
“Snag! I guess it is a snag. It bids fair to make all our labor and
millions of dollars--wasted.... But I’m not asking you to come back
just to help us over this snag. I mean will you come back for good--and
stick?”
Neale was lifted out of the gloom into which memory had plunged him. He
turned to his chief and found him another person. There was a light on
his face and eagerness on his lips, and the keen, stern eyes were soft.
“Son, will you come back--stand by me till the finish?” repeated General
Lodge, his voice deep and full. There was more here than just the
relation of employer to his lieutenant.
“Yes, sir, I’ll come back,” replied Neale, in low voice.
Their hands met.
“Good!” exclaimed the chief.
Then he deliberately took out his watch and studied it. His hand
trembled slightly. He did not raise his eyes again to Neale’s face.
“I’ll call you--later,” he said. “You stay here. I’ll send some one in.”
With that he went out.
Neale remained standing, his eyes fixed on the gray-green slope, seen
through the window. He seemed a trifle unsteady on his feet, and he
braced himself with a knee against the couch. His restraint, under
extreme agitation, began to relax. A flooding splendid thought filled
his mind--his chief had called him back to the great work.
Presently the door behind him opened and closed very softly. Then he
heard a low, quick gasp. Some one had entered. Suddenly the room seemed
strange, full, charged with terrible portent. And he turned as if a
giant hand had heavily swung him around.
It was not light at the other end of the room, yet he saw a slight
figure of a girl backed against the door. Her outline was familiar.
Haunting ghost of his dreams! Bewildered and speechless, he stared,
trembling all over. The figure moved, swayed. A faint, sweet voice
called, piercing his heart like a keen blade. All of a sudden he had
gone mad, he thought; this return to his old work had disordered his
mind. The tremor of his body succeeded to a dizziness; his breast seemed
about to burst.
“NEALE!” called the sweet voice. She was coming toward him swiftly.
“IT’S ALLIE--ALIVE AND WELL!”
Neale felt lifted, as if by invisible wings. His limbs were useless--had
lost strength and feeling. The room whirled around him, and in that
whirl appeared Allie Lee’s face. Alive--flushed--radiant! Recognition
brought a maddening check--a shock--and Neale’s sight darkened. Tender,
fluttering hands caught him; soft strong arms enfolded him convulsively.
18
Neale seemed to come into another world--a paradise. His eyes doubted
the exquisite azure blue--the fleecy cloud--the golden sunshine.
There was a warm, wet cheek pressed close to his, bright chestnut
strands of hair over his face, tight little hands clutching his breast.
He scarcely breathed while he realized that Allie Lee lived. Then he
felt so weak that he could hardly move.
“Allie--you’re not dead?” he whispered.
With a start she raised her head. It was absolutely the face of Allie
Lee.
“I’m the livest girl you ever saw,” she replied, with a little low laugh
of joy.
“Allie--then you’re actually alive--safe--here!” he exclaimed, in wild
assurance.
“Yes--yes.... With you again! Isn’t it glorious? But, oh! I gave you a
shock. You frightened me so. Neale, are you well?”
“I wasn’t--but I am now.”
He trembled as he gazed at her. Yes, it was Allie’s face--incomparable,
unforgettable. She might have been a little thin and strained. But time
and whatever she had endured had only enhanced her loveliness. No harm
had befallen her--that was written in the white glow of her face, in
the violet eyes, dark and beautiful, with the brave soul shining through
their haunting shadows, in the perfect lips, tremulous and tender with
love.
“Neale, they told me you gave up your work--were going to the bad,” she
said, with an eloquence of distress changing her voice and expression.
“Yes. Allie Lee, I loved you so well--that after I lost you--I cared for
nothing.”
“You gave up--”
“Allie,” he interrupted, passionately, “don’t talk of ME!... You haven’t
kissed me!”
Allie blushed. “I haven’t?... That’s all you know!”
“Have you?”
“Yes I have--I have.... I was afraid I’d strangled you!”
“I never felt it. I lost all sense of feeling.... Kiss me now! Prove
you’re alive and love me still!”
And then presently, when Neale caught his breath again, it was to
whisper, “Precious Allie!”
“Am I alive? Do I love you?” she whispered, her eyes like purple stars,
her face flooded with a dark rose color.
“I’m forced to believe it, but you must prove it often,” he replied.
Then he drew her to a seat beside him. “I’ve had many dreams of you, yet
not one like this.... How is it you are alive? By what Providence?... I
shall pray to Providence all my life. How do you come to be here? Tell
me, quick.”
She leaned close against him. “That’s easy,” she replied. “Only sometime
I want to tell you all--everything.... Do you remember the four ruffians
who visited Slingerland’s cabin one day when we were all there? Well,
they came back one day, the first time Slingerland ever left me
alone. They fired the cabin and carried me off. Then they fought among
themselves. Two were killed. I made up my mind to get on a horse and
run. Just as I was ready I spied Indians riding down. I had to shoot the
ruffian Frank. But I didn’t kill him. Then I got on a horse and tried
to ride away. The Indians captured me--took me to their camp. There
an Indian girl freed me--led me away at night. I found a trail and
walked--oh, nights and days it seemed. Then I fell in with a caravan.
I thought I was saved. But the leader of that caravan turned out to be
Durade.”
“Durade!” echoed Neale, intensely.
“Yes. He was traveling east. He treated me well, but threatened me. When
we reached the construction camp, somewhere back there, he started his
gambling-place. One night I escaped. I walked all that night--all the
next day. And I was about ready to drop when I found this camp. It was
night again. I saw the lights. They took me in. Mrs. Dillon and the
other women were so kind, so good to me. I told them very little about
myself. I only wanted to be hidden here and have them send for you. Then
they brought General Lodge, your chief, to see me. He was kind, too.
He promised to get you here. It has been a whole terrible week of
waiting.... But now--”
“Allie,” burst out Neale, “they never told me a word about you--never
gave me a hint. They sent for me to come back to my job. I could have
come a day sooner--the day Campbell found me.... Oh!”
“I know they did not find you at once. And I learned yesterday they had
located you. That eased my mind. A day more or less--what was that?...
But they were somehow strange about you. Then Mrs. Dillon told me how
the chief had been disappointed in you--how he had needed you--how he
must have you back.”
“Good Lord! Getting me back would have been easy enough if they had only
told me!” exclaimed Neale, impatiently.
“Dear, maybe that was just it. I suspect General Lodge cared enough
for you to want you to come back to your job for your sake--for his
sake--for sake of the railroad. And not for me.”
“Aha!” breathed Neale, softly. “I wonder!... Allie, how cheap, how
little I felt awhile ago, when he talked to me. I never was so ashamed
in my life. He called me.... But that’s over.... You said Durade had
you. Allie, that scares me to death.”
“It scares me, too,” she replied. “For I’m in more danger hidden here
than when he had me.”
“Oh no! How can that be?”
“He would kill me for running away,” she shuddered, paling. “But while
I was with him, obedient--I don’t think he would have done me harm. I’m
more afraid now than when I was his prisoner.”
“I’ll take a bunch of soldiers and go after Durade,” said Neale, grimly.
“No. Don’t do that. Let him alone. Just get me away safely, far out of
his reach.”
“But, Allie, that’s not possible now,” declared Neale, “I’m certainly
not going to lose sight of you, now I’ve got you again. And I must go
back to work. I promised.”
“I can stay here--or go along with you to other camps, and be careful to
veil myself and hide.”
“But that’s not safe--not the best plan,” protested Neale. Then he gave
a start; his face darkened. “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. He is mad to gamble. This railroad of gold is a rich stake
for him. He will not last long, nor will any of his kind.”
Neale shook his head doubtfully. “It doesn’t seem wise to me--letting
him go.... Allie, does he use his right name--Durade?”
“No.”
“What does he look like? You described him once to me, but I’ve
forgotten.”
Allie resolutely refused to tell him and once more entreated Neale to
let well enough alone, to keep her hidden from the mob, and not to seek
Durade.
“He has a bad gang,” she added. “They might kill you. And do you--you
think I’d--ever be--able to live longer without you?”
Whereupon Neale forgot all about Durade and vengeance, and everything
but the nearness and sweetness of this girl.
“When shall we get married?” he asked, presently.
This simple question caused Allie to avert her face, and just at that
moment there came a knock on the door. Allie made a startled movement.
“Come in,” called Neale.
It was his chief who entered. General Lodge’s face wore the smile that
softened it. Then it showed surprise.
“Neale, you’re transfigured!”
Neale’s laugh rang out. “Behold cause--even for that,” he replied,
indicating the blushing Allie.
“Son, I didn’t have to play my trump card to fetch you back to work,”
said the general.
“If you only had!” exclaimed Neale.
Allie got up, shyly and with difficulty disengaged her hand from
Neale’s.
“You--you must want to talk,” she said, and then she fled.
“A wonderful girl, Neale. We’re all in love with her,” declared the
chief. “She dropped down on us one night--asked for protection and you.
She does not talk much. All we know is that she is the girl you saved
back in the hills and has been kept a prisoner. Here she hides, by day
and night. She will not talk. But we know she fears some one.”
“Yes, indeed she does,” replied Neale, seriously. And then briefly he
told General Lodge Allie’s story as related by her.
“Well!” ejaculated the chief. “If that doesn’t beat me!... What are you
going to do?”
“I’ll keep her close. Surely she will be safe here--hidden--with the
soldiers about.”
“Of course. But you can never tell what’s going to happen. If she could
be gotten to Omaha--now--”
“No--no,” replied Neale, almost violently. He could not bear the thought
of parting with Allie, now just when he had found her. Then the chief’s
suggestion had reminded Neale of the possibility of Allie’s father
materializing. And the idea was attended by a vague dread.
“I appreciate how you feel. Don’t worry about it, Neale.”
“What’s this snag the engineers are up against?” queried Neale, abruptly
changing the subject.
“We’re stuck. It’s an engineering problem that I hope--and expect you to
solve.”
“Who ran this survey in the first place?”
“It’s Baxter’s work--with the men he had under him then,” replied the
chief. “Somebody blundered. His later surveys make over one hundred feet
grade to the mile. That won’t do. We’ve got to get down to ninety feet.
Baxter’s stuck. The new surveyor is floundering. Oh, it’s bad business.
Neale... I don’t sleep of nights.”
“No wonder,” returned Neale, and he felt suddenly the fiery grip of his
old state of mind toward all the engineering obstacles. “I’m going out
to look over the ground.”
“I’ll send Baxter and some of the men with you.”
“No, thanks,” replied Neale. “I’d rather--take up my job all alone out
there.”
The chief’s acquiescence was silent and eloquent.
Neale strode outdoors. The color of things, the feel of wind, the sounds
of men and horses all about him, had remarkably changed, just as he
himself had incalculably changed; General Lodge had said--transfigured!
He walked down to the construction line and went among the idle men and
the strings of cars, the piles of rails and the piles of ties. He seemed
to absorb in them again. Then he walked down the loose, unspiked ties to
where they ended, and so on along the graded road-bed to the point where
his quick eyes recognized the trouble. They swiftly took in what had
been done and what had been attempted. How much needless work begun and
completed in the building of the railroad! He clambered around in the
sand, up and down the ravine, over the rocks, along the stream for half
a mile, and it was laborious work. But how good to pant and sweat once
more! He retraced his steps. Then he climbed the long slope of the hill.
The wind up there blew him a welcome, and the sting and taste of dust
were sweet. His steps was swift. And then again he loitered, with keen,
roving glance studying the lay of the ground. Neale’s was the deductive
method of arriving at conclusions. Today he was inspired. And at length
there blazed suddenly his solution to the problem.
Then he gazed over the rolling hills with contemplative and dreamy
vision. They were beautiful, strong, changeless--and he divined now how
they might have helped him if he had only looked with seeing eyes.
Late that afternoon, tired and dusty, he tramped into the big office
room. General Lodge was pacing the floor, chewing at his cigar; Baxter
sat over blueprint papers, and his face was weary; Colonel Dillon,
Campbell, and several other young men were there.
Neale saw that his manner of entrance, or the look of him, or both
together, struck these men singularly. He laughed.
“It was great--going back to my job!” he exclaimed.
Baxter sat up. General Lodge threw away his cigar with an action that
suggested a sudden vitalizing of a weary but indomitable spirit.
“Did you find the snag we’ve struck?” asked Baxter, slowly.
“No,” replied Neale.
“Aha! Well, I’ll have to take you out tomorrow and show you.”
The chief’s keen eyes began to shine as they studied Neale.
“No, couldn’t find any snag, Baxter, old boy... and the reason is
because there’s no snag to find.”
Baxter stared and his worn face reddened. “Boy, somethin’s gone to your
head,” he retorted.
“Wal, I should smile, as Larry would say.”
Baxter pounded the table. “Neale, it’s no smiling matter,” he said
harshly. “You come back here, your eye and mind--fresh, but even so, it
can’t be you make light of this difficulty. You can’t--you can’t--”
“But I do!” cried Neale, his manner subtly changing.
Baxter got up. His shaking hand rustled a paper he held. “I know you--of
old. You’ve tormented me often. You’re a boy... But here--this--this
thing has stumped me. I’ve had no one to help... and I’m getting
old--this damned railroad has made me old. If--if you saw a way
out--tell me--”
Baxter faltered. Indeed he had aged. Neale saw the growth of the great
railroad with its problems in the face and voice of the old engineer.
“Listen,” said Neale, swiftly. “A half-mile down from where you struck
your snag we’ll change the course of that stream... We’ll change the
line--set a compound curve by intersections--and we’ll get much less
than a ninety-foot grade to the mile.”
Then he turned to General Lodge. “Chief, Baxter had so many problems--so
much on his mind--that he couldn’t think... The work will go on
tomorrow.”
“But, Neale, you went out without any instrument,” protested the chief.
“I didn’t need one.”
“Son, are you sure? This has been a stumper. What you say--seems too
good--too--”