Indeed, one look at the old engineer was confirmation enough.
Neale was made much of that night. The chief and his engineers, the
officers and their wives, all vied with one another in their efforts
to celebrate Neale’s return to work. The dinner party was merry, yet
earnest, too. Baxter made a speech, his fine old face alight with
gladness as he extolled youth and genius and the inspiring power of
bright eyes. Neale had to answer. His voice was deep and full as he said
that Providence had returned him to his work and to a happiness he
had believed lost. He denied the genius attributed to him, but not the
inspiring power of bright eyes. And he paid a fine tribute to Baxter.
Through all this gaiety and earnestness Allie’s lips were mute, and
her cheeks flushed and paled by turns. It was an ordeal for her, both
confusing and poignant. At last she and Neale got away alone to the
cabin room where they had met earlier in the day.
They stood at the open window, close together, hands locked, gazing
out over the quiet valley. The moon was full, and broad belts of silver
light lay in strong contrast to black shadows. The hour was late. The
sentries paced their beats.
Allie stirred and lifted her face to Neale’s. “What they said about you
makes me almost as happy as to see you again,” she said.
“They said! Who? What?” asked Neale, dreamily.
“Oh, I heard, I remember!... For instance, Mr. Baxter said you had
genius.”
“He was just eulogizing me,” replied Neale. “What he said about your
bright eyes was more to the point, I think.”
“It’s sweet to believe I could inspire you. But I know--and you
know--that if I had not been here you would have seen through the
engineering problem just the same... Now, be honest.”
“Yes, I would,” replied Neale, frankly. “Though perhaps not so swiftly.
I could see through stone today.”
“And that proves your worth. Your duty it always has been--to stand by
your chief. Oh, I love him!... He seems so much younger today. You have
encouraged them all... Oh, dear Neale, there is something noble in what
you can do for him. Can’t you see it?”
“Yes, Allie, indeed I do.”
“Promise me--never to fail him again.”
“I promise.”
“No matter what happens to me. I am alive, safe, well... and I’m yours.
But something might happen--you can never tell, and I don’t refer
particularly to Durade and his gang. I mean, life and everything is
uncertain out here. So promise me, no matter what happens, that you’ll
stand by your work.”
“I promise that, too,” replied Neale, huskily. “But you frighten me. You
fear--for yourself?”
“No, I don’t,” she protested.
“Fate could not be so brutal--to take you from me. Anyway, I’ll not
think of it.”
“Do not. Nor will I... I wouldn’t have asked you--only this night has
shown me your opportunity. I’m so proud--so proud. You’ll be great some
day.”
“Well, if you’re so proud--if you think I’m so wonderful--why haven’t
you rewarded me for that little job today?”
“Reward you!... How?”
“How do you suppose?”
She was pale, eloquent, grave. But he was low-voiced, gay, intense.
“Dear Neale--what--what can I do?... I have nothing... so big a thing as
you did today!”
“Child! You can kiss me.”
Allie’s sweet gravity changed. She smiled. “I shore can, as Larry used
to say. That’s my privilege. But you spoke of a reward. My kisses--they
are yours--and as many as the--the grains of sand out there. But they
are not reward.”
“No?... Listen. For just one kiss--if I had to earn it so--I would dig
that roadbed out there, carry every tie and rail with my bare hands,
drive every spike--”
“Neale, you talk like a boy. Something, indeed, has gone to your head.”
“Yes, indeed, it has. It’s your face--In the moonlight.”
She hid her blushes for a moment on his breast.
“I--I want to be serious,” she whispered. “I want to thank God for my
good fortune. To think of you and your work!... The future! And you--you
only want kisses.”
“Well, since your future must be largely made up of kisses, suppose you
begin your work--right now.”
“Oh, you’re teasing! Yet when you ask of me--whatever you ask--I have
no mind--no will. Something drags at me... I feel it now--as I used
to--when you made me wade the brook.”
“Oh! That’s my sweetest memory of you. How it haunted me!”
They stood silent for a while. Out in the moon--blanched space the
sentries trod monotonously. A coyote yelped, sharp and wild. The wind
moaned low. Suddenly Neale shook himself, as if awakening.
“Allie, it grows late. We must say good night... Today has been blessed.
I am grateful to the depths of my heart... But I won’t let you go--until
my reward--”
She raised her face, white and noble in the moonlight.
19
Neale slept in a tent, and when he was suddenly awakened it was bright
daylight. His ears vibrated to a piercing blast. For an instant he could
not distinguish the sound. But when it ceased he knew it had been a
ringing bugle-call. Following that came the voices and movements of
excited troopers.
He rolled from his blankets to get into boots and coat and rush out. The
troopers appeared all around him in hurried orderly action. Neale asked
a soldier what was up.
“Redskins, b’gorra--before brikfast!” was the disgusted reply.
Neale thought of Allie and his heart contracted. A swift glance on all
sides, however, failed to see any evidence of attack on the camp.
He espied General Lodge and Colonel Dillon among a group before the
engineers’ quarters. Neale hurried up.
“Good morning, Neale,” said the chief, grimly. “You’re back on the job,
all right.”
And Colonel Dillon added, “A little action to celebrate your return,
Neale!”
“What’s happened?” queried Neale, shortly.
“We just got a telegraph message: ‘Big force--Sioux.’ That’s all. The
operator says the wire was cut in the middle of the message.”
“Big force--Sioux!” repeated Neale. “Between here and Benton?”
“Of course. We sent a scout on horseback down along the line.”
“Neale, you’ll find guns inside. Help yourself,” said General Lodge.
“You’ll take breakfast with us in the cabin. We don’t know what’s up
yet. But it looks bad for us--having the women here. This cabin is no
fort.”
“General, we can have all those railroad ties hustled here and throw up
defenses,” suggested the officer.
“That’s a good idea. But the troopers will have to carry them. That
work-train won’t get out here today.”
“It’s not likely. But we can use the graders from the camp up the
line... Neale, go in and get guns and a bite to eat. I’ll have a horse
here ready for you. I want you to ride out after those graders.”
“All right,” replied Neale, rapidly. “Have you told--Do the women know
yet what’s up?”
“Yes. And that girl of yours has nerve. Hurry, Neale.”
Neale rode away on his urgent errand without having seen Allie. His
orders had been to run the horse. It was some distance to the next
grading camp--how far he did not know. And the possibility of his return
being cut off by Indians had quickened Neale into a realization of the
grave nature of the situation.
He had difficulty climbing down and up the gorge, but, once across it,
there was the graded road-bed, leading straight to the next camp. This
road-bed was soft, and not easy going for a horse. 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. He rode at a gallop through a wagontrain camp, which, from its
quiet looks, was not connected with the work on the railroad, straight
on into the midst of two hundred or more graders just about to begin the
day’s work. His advent called a halt to everything. Sharply and briefly
Neale communicated the orders given him. Then he wheeled his horse for
the return trip.
When he galloped through the wagon-train camp several rough-appearing
men hailed him curiously.
“Indians!” yelled Neale, as he swept on.
He glanced back once to see a tall, dark-faced man wearing a frock-coat
speak to the others and then wildly fling out his arms.
It was down-hill on the way back, and the horse, now thoroughly heated
and excited, ran his swiftest. Far down the line Neale saw columns of
smoke rolling upward. They appeared farther on than his camp, yet they
caused him apprehension. His cheek blanched at the thought that the camp
containing Allie Lee might be surrounded by Indians. His fears, however,
were groundless, for soon he saw the white tents and the cabins, with
the smoke columns rising far below.
Neale rode into camp from the west in time to see Dillon’s scout
galloping hard up from the east. Neale dismounted before the waiting
officers to give his report.
“Good!” replied Dillon. “You certainly made time. We can figure on those
graders in an hour or so?”
“Yes. There were horses enough for half the gang,” answered Neale.
“Now for Anderson’s report,” muttered the officer.
Anderson was the scout. He rode up on a foam-lashed mustang, and got
off, dark and grimy with dust. His report was that he had been unable
to get in touch with any soldiers or laborers along the line, but he had
seen enough with his own eyes. Half-way between the camp and Benton
a large force of Sioux had torn up the track, halted and fired the
work-train. A desperate battle was being fought, with the odds against
the workmen, for the reason that the train of box-cars was burning.
Troops must be rushed to the rescue.
Colonel Dillon sent a trooper with orders to saddle the horses.
This sent a cold chill through Neale. “General, if the Sioux rounded us
up here in this camp we’d be hard put to it,” he said, forcibly.
“Right you are, Neale. The high slopes, rocks, and trees would afford
cover. Whoever picked out this location for a camp wasn’t thinking of
Indians... But we need scarcely expect an attack here.”
“Suppose we get the women away--to the hills,” suggested Neale.
Anderson shook his head. “They might be worse off. Here you’ve shelter,
water, food, and men coming. That’s a big force of Sioux. They’ll have
lookouts on all the hills.”
It was decided to leave a detachment of soldiers under Lieutenant Brady,
who was to remain in camp until the arrival of the graders, and then
follow hard on Colonel Dillon’s trail.
Besides Allie Lee there were five other women in camp, and they all came
out to see the troops ride away. Neale heard Colonel Dillon assure his
wife that he did not think there was any danger. But the color failed
to return to her face. The other women, excepting Allie, were plainly
frightened. Neale found new pride in Allie. She showed little fear of
the Sioux.
General Lodge rode beside Colonel Dillon at the head of the troops. They
left camp on a trot, raising a cloud of dust, and quickly disappeared
round the curve of the hill. The troopers who were left behind stacked
their guns and sallied out after railroad ties with which to build
defenses. Anderson, the scout, rode up the slope to a secluded point
from which he was to keep watch. The women were instructed to stay
inside the log cabin that adjoined the flimsy quarters of the engineers.
Baxter, with his assistants, overhauled the guns and ammunition left;
and Neale gathered up all the maps and plans and drawings and put them
in a bag close at hand.
Time passed swiftly, and in another half-hour the graders began to
arrive. They came riding in bareback, sometimes two on one horse,
flourishing their guns--a hundred or more red-faced Irishmen spoiling
for a fight. Their advent eased Neale’s dread. Still, a strange feeling
weighed upon him and he could not understand it or shake it. He had no
optimism for the moment. He judged it to be over-emotion, a selfish and
rather exaggerated fear for Allie’s safety.
Lieutenant Brady then departed with his soldiers, leaving the noisy
laborers to carry ties and erect bulwarks. The Irish, as ever, growled
and voiced their complaints at finding work instead of fighting.
“Hurry an’ fetch on yez dirn Sooz!” was the cry sent after Brady, and
that request voiced the spirit of the gang.
In an hour they had piled a fence of railroad ties, six feet high,
around the engineers’ quarters. This task had scarcely been done when
Anderson was discovered riding recklessly down the slope. Baxter threw
up his hands.
“We’re going to have it,” he said. “Neale, I’m not so young as I was.”
Anderson rode in behind the barricade and dismounted. “Sioux!”
The graders greeted this information with loud hurrahs. But when
Anderson pointed out a large band of Sioux filing down from the hilltop
the enthusiasm was somewhat checked. It was the largest hostile force
of Sioux that Neale had ever seen. The sight of the lean, wild figures
stirred Neale’s blood, and then again sent that cold chill over him.
The Indians rode down the higher slope and turned off at the edge of
the timber out of rifle-range. Here they got off their mustangs and
apparently held a council. Neale plainly saw a befeathered chieftain
point with long arm. Then the band moved, disintegrated, and presently
seemed to have melted into the ground.
“Men, we’re in for a siege!” yelled old Baxter.
At this juncture the women came running out, badly frightened.
“The Indians! The Indians!” cried Mrs. Dillon. “We saw them--behind the
cabin--creeping down through the rocks.”
“Get inside--stay in the cabin!” ordered Baxter.
Allie was the last one crowded in. Neale, as he half forced her inside,
was struck with a sudden wild change in her expression.
“There! There!” she whispered, trying to point.
Just then rifle-shots and the spattering of bullets made quick work
urgent.
“Go--get inside the log walls,” said Neale, as he shoved Allie in.
Excitement prevailed among the graders. They began to run under cover of
the inclosure and some began to shoot aimlessly.
“Anderson, take some men! Go to the back of the cabin!” shouted Baxter.
The scout called for men to follow him and ran out. So many of the
graders essayed to follow that they blocked the narrow opening between
the inclosure and house. Suddenly one of them in the rear sheered round
so that he looked at Neale. It was but a momentary glance, but Neale
sensed recognition there. Then the man was gone and Neale sustained a
strange surprise. That face had been familiar, but he could not recall
where he had ever seen it. The red, leering, evil visage, with its
prominent, hard features, grew more vivid in memory, as Neale’s mind
revolved closer to discovery.
“Inside with you, Neale,” yelled Baxter.
Baxter and Neale, with the four young engineers, took to the several
rooms of the log cabin, where each selected an aperture between the
logs or a window through which to fire upon the Indians. But Neale soon
ascertained that there was nothing to shoot at, outside of some
white puffs of smoke rising from behind rocks on the slope. There was
absolutely not a sign of an Indian. The graders were firing, but Neale
believed they would have done better to save their powder. Bullets
pattered against the logs; now and then a leaden pellet sang through a
window, to thud into the wall. Neale shut the heavy door leading from
the cabin into the engineers’ quarters, for bullets were ripped through
from one side to the other of this canvas-and-clapboard structure.
Then Neale passed from room to room, searching for Allie. Two of the
engineers were kneeling at a chink between the logs, aiming and firing
in great excitement. Campbell had sustained a slight wound and looked
white with rage and fear. Baxter was peeping from behind the rude jamb
of a window.
“Nothin’ to shoot at, boy,” he said, in exasperation.
“Wait. Listen to that bunch of Irish shoot. They’re wasting powder.”
“We’ve plenty of ammunition. Let ‘em shoot. They may not hit any
redskins, but they’ll scare ‘em.”
“We can hold out here--if the troopers hurry back,” said Neale.
“Sure. But maybe they’re hard at it, too. I’ve no hope this is the same
bunch of Sioux that held up the work-train.”
“Neither have I. And if the troops don’t get here before dark--”
Neale halted, and Baxter shook his gray head.
“That would be bad,” he said. “But we’ve squeezed out of narrow places
before, buildin’ this U. P. R.”
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.”
“I’d never forget Fresno,” she replied, positively. “He was one of the
four ruffians who burned Slingerland’s cabin and made off with me.”
Then Neale shook with a violent start. He grasped Allie tight.
“I saw him, too. Just before I came in. I saw one of the men that
visited us at Slingerland’s.... Big, hulking fellow--red, ugly face--bad
look.”
“That’s Fresno. He and the gang must have been camped with those graders
you brought here. Oh, I’m more afraid of Fresno’s gang than of the
Indians.”
“But Allie--they don’t know you’re here. You’re safe. The troops will be
back soon, and drive these Indians away.”
Allie clung to Neale, and again he felt something of the terror these
ruffians had inspired in her. He reassured her, assuming a confidence
he was far from feeling, and cautioned her to stay in that protected
corner. Then he went in the other room to his station. It angered Neale,
and alarmed him, that another peril perhaps menaced Allie. And he prayed
for the return of the troops.
The day passed swiftly, in intense watchfulness on the part of the
defenders, and in a waiting game on the part of the besiegers. They
kept up a desultory firing all afternoon. Now and then a reckless grader
running from post to post drew a volley from the Sioux; and likewise
something that looked like an Indian would call forth shots from the
defenses. But there was no real fighting.
It developed that the Sioux were waiting for night. A fiery arrow,
speeding from a bow in the twilight, left a curve of sparks in the air,
like a falling rocket. It appeared to be a signal for demoniacal yells
on all sides. Rifle-shots ceased to come from the slopes. As darkness
fell gleams of little fires shot up from all around. The Sioux were
preparing to shoot volleys of burning arrows down into the camp.
Anderson hurried in to consult with Baxter. “We’re surrounded,” he
said, tersely. “The redskins are goin’ to try burnin’ us out. We’re in a
mighty tight place.”
“What’s to be done?” asked Baxter.
Anderson shook his head.
On the instant there was a dull spat of an object striking the roof over
their heads. This sound was followed by a long, shrill yell.
“That was a burnin’ arrow,” declared Anderson.
The men, as of one accord, ran out through the engineers’ quarters to
the open. It was now dark. Little fires dotted the hillsides. A dull red
speck, like an ember, showed over the roof, darkened, and disappeared.
Then a streak of fire shot out from the black slope and sped on clear
over the camp.
“Sooner or later they’ll make a go of that,” muttered Anderson.
Neale heard the scout’s horse, that had been left there in the
inclosure.
“Anderson, suppose I jump your horse. It’s dark as pitch. I could run
through--reach the troops. I’ll take a chance.”
“I had that idee myself,” replied Anderson. “But it seems to me if them
troopers wasn’t havin’ hell they’d been here long ago. I’m lookin’ for
them every minnit. They’ll come. An’ we’ve got to fight fire now till
they get here.”
“But there’s no fire yet,” said Baxter.
“There will be,” replied Anderson. “But mebbe we can put it out as fast
as they start it. Plenty of water here. An’ it’s dark. What I’m afraid
of is they’ll fire the tents out there, an’ then it ‘ll be light as day.
We can’t risk climbin’ over the roofs.”
“Neale, go inside--call the boys out,” said Baxter.
Neale had to feel his way through the rooms. He called to his comrades,
and then to the women to keep up their courage--that surely the troops
would soon return.
When he went out again the air appeared full of fiery streaks. Shouts
of the graders defiantly answered the yells of the savages. Showers of
sparks were dropping upon the camp. The Sioux had ceased shooting their
rifles for the present, and, judging from their yells, they had crawled
down closer under the cover of night.
Presently a bright light flared up outside of the inclosure. One of the
tents had caught fire. The Indians yelled triumphantly. Neale and his
companions crouched back in the shadow. The burning tent set fire to the
tent adjoining. They blazed up like paper, lighting the camp and slopes.
But not an Indian was visible. They stopped yelling. Then Neale heard
the thudding of arrows. Almost at once the roof of the engineers’
quarters, which was merely strips of canvas over a wooden frame, burst
into flames. In a single moment the roof of the cabin was blazing. More
tents ignited, flared up, and the scene became almost as light as day.
Rifles again began to crack. The crafty Indians poured a hail of bullets
into the inclosure and the walls of the buildings. Still not an Indian
was visible for the defenders to shoot at.
Anderson, Neale, and Baxter were in grim consultation. They agreed on
the scout’s dictum: “Reckon the game’s up. Hustle the women out.”
Neale crawled along the inclosure to the opening. On that side of the
buildings there was dark shadow. But it was lifting. He ran along the
wall, and he heard the whistle of bullets. Back of the cabin the Indians
appeared to have gathered in force. Neale got to the corner and peered
round. The blazing tents lighted up this end. He saw the graders break
and run, some on his side of the cabin. He clambered in. A door of
this room was open, and through it Neale saw the roof of the engineers’
quarters blazing. He heard the women screaming. Evidently they too were
running out to the inclosure. Neale hurried into the room where he had
left Allie. He called. There was no answer, but a growing roar outside
apparently drowned his voice. It was dark in this room. He felt along
the wall, the fireplace, the corner. Allie was not there. The room was
empty. His hands groping low along the floor came in contact with the
bag he had left in Allie’s charge. It contained the papers he had
taken the precaution to save. Probably in her flight to escape from the
burning cabin she had dropped it. But that was not like Allie: she would
have clung to the bag while strength and sense were hers. Perhaps she
had not gotten out of the cabin. Neale searched again, growing more and
more aware of the strife outside. He heard the crackling of wood over
his head. Evidently the cabin was burning like tinder. There were men
in the back room, fighting, yelling, crowding. Neale could see only dim,
burly forms and the flashes of guns. Smoke floated thickly there. Some
one, on the inside or outside, was beating out the door with an axe.
He decided quickly that whatever Allie might have done she would not
have gone into that room. He retraced his steps, groping, feeling
everywhere in the dark.
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.
Neale ran to the back room, where, above the din outside, he made
himself heard. But for all he could see or hear his tidings of rescue
did not at once affect the men there. Then he forgot them and the fight
outside in his search for Allie. The cabin was on fire, and he did not
mean to leave it until he was absolutely sure she was not hidden or
lying in a faint in some corner. And he had not made sure of that until
the burning roof began to fall in. Then he leaped out the window and ran
back to the inclosure.
The blaze here was no longer bright, but Neale could see distinctly.
Some of the piles of ties were burning. The heat had begun to drive the
men out. Troopers were everywhere. And it appeared the rattle of rifles
was receding up the valley. The Sioux had retreated.