indefinite length of time. Walls and ceiling were sections, locking
together, and in some places she could see through the cracks. One side
opened upon a tent wall; the other into another room; the small glass
windows upon a house of canvas. When Allie put her hand against any part
of her room she found that it swayed and creaked. She understood then
that this house had been made in sections, transported to Benton by
train, and hurriedly thrown together.
She looked next at the newspapers. How strange to read news of the
building of the U. P. R.! The name of General Lodge, chief engineer,
made Allie tremble. He had predicted a fine future for Warren Neale. She
read that General Lodge now had a special train and that he contemplated
an inspection trip out as far as the rails were laid. She read that
the Pacific Construction Company was reputed to be crossing the Sierra
Nevada, that there were ten thousand Chinamen at work on the road, that
the day when East and West were to meet was sure to come. Eagerly she
searched, her heart thumping, for the name of Neale, but she did not
find it. She read in one paper that the Sioux were active along the line
between Medicine Bow and Kearney. Every day the workmen would sight a
band of Indians, and, growing accustomed to the sight, they would become
careless, and so many lost their lives. A massacre had occurred out on
the western end of the road, where the construction gangs were working.
Day after day the Sioux had prowled around without attacking, until
the hardy and reckless laborers lost fear and caution. Then, one day,
a grading gang working a mile from the troops was set upon by a band of
swiftly riding warriors, and before they could raise a gun in defense
were killed and scalped in their tracks.
Allie read on. She devoured the news. Manifestly the world was awakening
to the reality of the great railroad. How glad Neale must be! Always he
had believed in the greatness and the reality of the U. P. R. Somewhere
along that line he was working--perhaps every night he rode into Benton.
Her emotions overwhelmed her as she thought of him so near, and for a
moment she could not see the print. Neale would never again believe she
was dead. And indeed she did live! She breathed--she was well, strong,
palpitating. She was sitting here in Benton, reading about the building
of the railroad. She wondered with a pang what her disappearance would
mean to Neale. He had said his life would be over if he lost her again.
She shivered.
Suddenly her eye rested on printed letters, familiar and startling.
Allison Lee!
“Allison Lee!” she breathed, very low. “MY FATHER!” And she read that
Allison Lee, commissioner of the U. P. R. and contractor for big jobs
along the line, would shortly leave his home in Council Bluffs, to meet
some of the directors in New York City in the interests of the railroad.
“If Durade and he ever meet!” she whispered. And in that portent she saw
loom on the gambler’s horizon another cloud. In his egotism and passion
and despair he was risking more than he knew. He could not hope to keep
her a prisoner for very long. Allie felt again the gathering surety of
an approaching climax.
“My danger is, he may harm me, use me for his gambling lure, or kill
me,” she murmured. And her prevision of salvation contended with the
dark menace of the hour. But, as always, she rose above hopelessness.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the mute, Stitt, who
brought her a few effects left at the former place, and then a tray
holding her dinner. That day passed swiftly.
Darkness came, bringing a strange augmentation of the sounds with which
Allie had become familiar. She did not use her lamp, for she had become
accustomed to being without one, and she seemed to be afraid of a
light. Only a dim, pale glow came in at her window. But the roar of
Benton--that grew as night fell. She had heard something similar in
the gold-camps of California and in the grading-camps where Durade had
lingered; this was at once the same and yet vastly different. She lay
listening and thinking. The low roar was that of human beings, and
any one of its many constituents seemed difficult to distinguish.
Voices--footsteps--movement--music--mirth--dancing--clink of gold and
glasses--the high, shrill laugh of a woman--the loud, vacant laugh of
a man--sudden gust of dust-laden wind sweeping overhead... all these
blended in the mysterious sound that voiced the strife and agony of
Benton. For hours it kept her awake; and when she did fall asleep it was
so late in the night that, upon awakening next day, she thought it must
be noon or later.
That day passed and another night came. It brought a change in that
the house she was in became alive and roaring. Durade had gotten his
establishment under way. Allie lay in sleepless suspense. Rough, noisy,
thick-voiced men appeared to be close to her, in one of the rooms
adjoining hers, and outside in the tents. The room, however, into which
hers opened was not entered. Dawn had come before Allie fell asleep.
Thus days passed during which she saw only the attendant, Stitt, and
Allie began to feel a strain that she believed would be even harder on
her than direct contact with Benton life. While she was shut up there,
what chance had she of ever seeing Neale or Larry even if they were in
Benton? Durade had said he would take her outdoors occasionally, but she
had not seen him. Restlessness and gloom began to weigh upon her and she
was in continual conflict with herself. She began to think of disobeying
Durade. Something would happen to him sooner or later, and in that event
what was she to do? Why not try and escape? Whatever the evil of Benton,
it was possible that she might not fall into bad hands. Anything would
be better than her confinement here, with no sight of the sun, with no
one to speak to, with nothing to do but brood and fight her fancies
and doubts, and listen to that ceaseless, soft, mysterious din. Allie
believed she could not long bear that. Now and then occurred a change in
her mind which frightened her. It was a regurgitation of the old tide of
somber horror which had submerged her after the murder of her mother.
She was working herself into a frenzied state when unexpectedly Durade
came to her room. At first glance she hardly knew him. He looked thin
and worn; his eyes glittered; his hands shook; and the strange radiance
that emanated from him when his passion for gambling had been crowned
with success shone stronger than Allie had ever seen it.
“Allie, the time’s come,” he said. He seemed to be looking back into the
past.
“What time?” she asked.
“For you to do for me--as your mother did before you.”
“I--I--don’t understand.”
“Make yourself beautiful!”
“Beautiful!... How?” Allie had an inkling of what it meant, but all her
mind repudiated the horrible suggestion.
Durade laughed. He had indeed changed. He seemed a weaker man. Benton
was acting powerfully upon him.
“How little vanity you have!... Allie, you are beautiful now or at any
time. You’ll be so when you’re old or dead.... I mean for you to show
more of your beauty.... Let down your hair. Braid it a little. Put on a
white waist. Open it at the neck.... You remember how your mother did.”
Allie stared at him, slowly paling. She could not speak. It had
come--the crisis that she had dreaded.
“You look like a ghost!” Durade exclaimed. “Like she did, years ago when
I told her--this same thing--the first time!”
“You mean to use me--as you used her?” faltered Allie.
“Yes. But you needn’t be afraid or sick. I’ll always be with you.”
“What am I to do?”
“Be ready in the afternoon when I call you.”
“I know now why my mother hated you,” burst out Allie. For the first
time she too hated him, and felt the stronger for it.
“She’ll pay for that hate, and so will you,” he replied, passionately.
His physical action seemed involuntary--a shrinking as if from a stab.
Then followed swift violence. He struck Allie across the mouth with his
open hand, a hard blow, almost knocking her down.
“Don’t let me hear that from you again!” he continued, furiously.
With that he left the room, closing but not barring the door.
Allie put her hand to her lips. They were bleeding. She tasted her own
warm and salty blood. Then there was born in her something that burned
and throbbed and swelled and drove out all her vacillations. That blow
was what she had needed. There was a certainty now as to her peril, just
as there was imperious call for her to help herself and save herself.
“Neale or Larry will visit Durade’s,” she soliloquized, with her pulses
beating fast. “And if they do not come--some one else will... some man I
can trust.”
Therefore she welcomed Durade’s ultimatum. She paid more heed to the
brushing and arranging of her hair, and to her appearance, than ever
before in her life. The white of her throat and neck mantled red as she
exposed them, intentionally, for the gaze of men. Her beauty was to be
used as had been her mother’s. But there would be some one who would
understand, some one to pity and help her.
She had not long to meditate and wait. She heard the heavy steps and
voices of men entering the room next hers.
Presently Durade called her. With a beating heart Allie rose and pushed
open the door. From that moment there never would be any more monotony
for her--nor peace--nor safety. Yet she was glad, and faced the room
bravely, for Neale or Larry might be there.
Durade had furnished this larger place luxuriously, and evidently
intended to use it for a private gambling-den, where he would bring
picked gamesters. Allie saw about eight or ten men who resembled miners
or laborers.
Durade led her to a table that had been placed under some shelves which
were littered with bottles and glasses. He gave her instructions what
to do when called upon, saying that Stitt would help her; then motioning
her to a chair, he went back to the men. It was difficult for her to
raise her eyes, and she could not at once do so.
“Durade, who’s the girl?” asked a man.
The gambler vouchsafed for reply only a mysterious smile.
“Bet she’s from California,” said another. “They bloom like that out
there.”
“Now, ain’t she your daughter?” queried a third.
But Durade chose to be mysterious. In that he left his guests license
for covert glances without the certainty which would permit of brutal
boldness.
They gathered around a table to play faro. Then Durade called for
drinks. This startled Allie and she hastened to comply with his demand.
When she lifted her eyes and met the glances of these men--she had a
strange feeling that somehow recalled the California days. Her legs were
weak under her; a hot anger labored under her breast; she had to drag
her reluctant feet across the room. Her spirit sank, and then leaped. It
whispered that looks and words and touches could only hurt and shame
her for this hour of her evil plight. They must rouse her resistance and
cunning wit. It was a fact that she was helpless for the present. But
she still lived, and her love was infinite.
Fresno was there, throwing dice with two soldiers. To his ugliness had
been added something that had robbed his face of the bronze tinge
of outdoor life and had given it red and swollen lines and shades of
beastly greed. Benton had made a bad man worse.
Mull was there, heavier than when he had ruled the grading-camp, sodden
with drink, thick-lipped and red-cheeked, burly, brutal, and still
showing in every action and loud word the bully. He was whirling a wheel
and rolling a ball and calling out in his heavy voice. With him was a
little, sallow-faced man, like a wolf, with sneaky, downcast eyes and
restless hands. He answered to the name of Andy. These two were engaged
in fleecing several blue-shirted, half-drunken spikers.
Durade was playing faro with four other men, or at least there were that
number seated with him. One, whose back was turned toward Allie, wore
black, and looked and seemed different from the others. He did not talk
nor drink. Evidently his winning aggravated Durade. Presently Durade
addressed the man as Jones.
Then there were several others standing around, dividing their attention
between Allie and the gamblers. The door opened occasionally, and each
time a different man entered, held a moment’s whispered conversation
with Durade, and then went out. These men were of the same villainous
aspect that characterized Fresno. Durade had surrounded himself with
lieutenants and comrades who might be counted upon to do anything.
Allie was not long in gathering this fact, nor that there were subtle
signs of suspicion among the gamesters. Most of them had gotten under
the influence of drink that Durade kept ordering. Evidently he furnished
this liquor free and with a purpose.
The afternoon’s play ended shortly. So far as Allie could see, Jones,
the man in black, a pale, thin-lipped, cold-eyed gambler, was the only
guest to win. Durade’s manner was not pleasant while he paid over his
debts. Durade always had been a poor loser.
“Jones, you’ll sit in to-morrow,” said Durade.
“Maybe,” replied the other.
“Why not? You’re winner,” retorted Durade, hot-headed in an instant.
“Winners are choosers,” returned Jones, with an enigmatic smile. His
hard, cold eyes shifted to Allie and seemed to pierce her, then went
back to Durade and Mull and Fresno. Plain it was to Allie, with her
woman’s intuition, that if Jones returned it would not be because he
trusted that trio. Durade apparently made an effort to swallow his
resentment, but the gambling pallor of his face had never been more
marked. He went out with Jones, and the others slowly followed.
Fresno approached Allie.
“Hullo, gurly! You sure look purtier than in thet buckskin outfit,” he
leered.
Allie got up, ready for fight or defense. Durade had forgotten her.
Fresno saw her glance at the door.
“He’s goin’ to the bad,” he went on, with his big hand indicating
the door. “Benton’s too hot fer his kind. He’ll not git up some fine
mornin’.... An’ you’d better cotton to me. You ain’t his kin--an’ he
hates you an’ you hate him. I seen thet. I’m no fool. I’m sorta gone on
you. I wish I hadn’t fetched you back to him.”
“Fresno, I’ll tell Durade,” replied Allie, forcing her lips to be firm.
If she expected to intimidate him she was disappointed.
Fresno leered wisely. “You’d better not. Fer I’ll kill him, an’ then
you’ll be a sweet little chunk of meat among a lot of wolves!”
He laughed and his large frame lurched closer. He wore a heavy gun and
a knife in his belt. Also there protruded the butt of a pistol from the
inside of his open vest. 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. But
Benton won’t stand for a polite greaser who talks sweet an’ gambles
crooked. Mebbe’ no one’s told you what this place Benton is.”
“I haven’t heard. Tell me,” replied Allie. She might learn from any one.
Fresno appeared at fault for speech. “Benton’s a beehive,” he replied,
presently. “An’ when the bees come home with their honey, why, the red
ants an’ scorpions an’ centipedes an’ rattlesnakes git busy. I’ve seen
some places in my time, but--Benton beats ‘em all.... Say, I’ll sneak
you out at nights to see what’s goin’ on, an’ I’ll treat you handsome.
I’m sorta--”
The entrance of Durade cut short Fresno’s further speech. “What are you
saying to her?” demanded Durade, in anger.
“I was jest tellin’ her about what a place Benton is,” replied Fresno.
“Allie, is that true?” queried Durade, sharply.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Fresno, I did not like your looks.”
“Boss, if you don’t like ‘em you know what you can do,” rejoined Fresno,
impudently, and he lounged out of the room.
“Allie, these men are all bad,” said Durade. “You must avoid them when
my back’s turned. I cannot run my place without them, so I am compelled
to endure much.”
Allie’s attendant came in with her supper and she went to her room.
Thus began Allie Lee’s life as an unwilling and innocent accomplice of
Durade in his retrogression from the status of a gambler to that of a
criminal. In California he had played the game, diamond cut diamond. But
he had broken. His hope, spirit, luck, nerve were gone. The bottle and
Benton had almost destroyed his skill at professional gambling.
The days passed swiftly. Every afternoon Durade introduced a new company
to his private den. Few ever came twice. 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. Honest-faced laborers were not wanting
in the stream of visitors Durade ushered into her presence, but either
they were drunk or obsessed by gambling, or she found no opportunity to
make her appeal.
These afternoons grew to be hideous for Allie. She had been subjected to
every possible attention, annoyance, indignity, and insult, outside of
direct violence. She could only shut her eyes and ears and lips.
Fresno found many opportunities to approach her, sometimes in Durade’s
presence, the gambler being blind to all but the cards and gold. At such
times Allie wished she was sightless and deaf and feelingless. But after
she was safely in her room again she told herself nothing had happened.
She was still the same as she had always been. And sleep obliterated
quickly what she had suffered. Every day was one nearer to that fateful
and approaching moment. And when that moment did come what would all
this horror amount to? It would fade--be as nothing. She would not let
words and eyes harm her. They were not tangible--they had no substance
for her. They made her sick with rage and revolt at the moment, but they
had no power, no taint, no endurance. They were evil passing winds.
As she saw Durade’s retrogression, so she saw the changes in all about
him. His winnings were large and his strange passion for play increased
with them. The free gold that enriched Fresno and Mull and Andy
only augmented their native ferocity. There were also Durade’s other
helpers--Black, his swarthy doorkeeper, a pallid fellow called Dayss,
who always glanced behind him, and Grist, a short, lame, bullet-headed,
silent man--all of them under the spell of the green cloth.
With Durade’s success had come the craze for bigger stakes, and these
could only be played for with other gamblers. 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. 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. Allie lay in the dark, listening to Benton’s
strange wailing roar, sad, yet hideous, and out of what she had seen and
heard, and from the mournful message on the night wind, she realized how
closely associated were gold and evil and men, and how inevitably they
must lead to lawlessness and to bloodshed and to death.
23
Neale conceived an idea that he was in line for the long-looked-for
promotion. Neither the chief nor Baxter gave any suggestion of a hint
of such possibility, but more and more, as the work rapidly progressed,
Neale had been intrusted with important inspections.
Long since he had discovered his talent for difficult engineering
problems, and with experience had come confidence in his powers. He
had been sent from place to place, in each case with favorable results.
General Lodge consulted him, Baxter relied upon him, the young engineers
learned from him. And when Baxter and his assistants were sent on ahead
into the hills Neale had an enormous amount of work on his hands. Still
he usually managed to get back to Benton at night.
Whereupon he became a seeker, a searcher; he believed there was not a
tent or a hut or a store or a hall in the town that he had not visited.
But he found no clue of Allie; he never encountered the well-remembered
face of the bandit Fresno. He saw more than one Spaniard and many
Mexicans, not one of whom could have been the gambler Durade.
But Benton was too full, too changeful, too secret to be thoroughly
searched in little time. Neale bore his burden, although it grew heavier
each day. And his growing work on the railroad was his salvation.
One morning he went to the telegraph station, expecting orders from
General Lodge. He found the chief’s special train at the station, headed
east.
“Neale, I’m off for Omaha,” said Lodge. “Big pow-wow. The directors
roaring again!”
“What about?” queried Neale, always alive to interest of that nature.
“Cost of the construction. What else? Neale, there are two kinds of men
building the U. P. R.--men who see the meaning of the great work, and
the men who see only the gold in it.”
“And they conflict!... That’s what you mean?”
“Exactly. We’ve been years on the job now, and the nearer the meeting of
rails from west to east the harder become our problems. Henney is played
out, Boone is ill, Baxter won’t last much longer. If I were not an old
soldier, I would be done up now.”
“Chief, I can see only success,” replied Neale, with spirit.
“Assuredly. We see with the same eyes,” said General Lodge, smiling.
“Neale, I’ve a job for you that will make you gray-headed.”
“Hardly that,” returned Neale, laughing.
“Do you remember the survey we made out here in the hills for Number Ten
Bridge? Made over two years ago.”
“I’m not likely to forget it.”
“Well, the rails are within twenty miles of Number Ten. They’ll be there
presently--and no piers to cross on.”
“How’s that?”
“I don’t know. The report came in only last night. It’s a queer
document. Here it is. Study it at your leisure.... It seems a big force
of men have been working there for months. Piers have been put in--only
to sink.”
“Sink!” ejaculated Neale. “WHEW! That’s a stumper!... Chief, the survey
is mine. I’ll never forget how I worked on it.”
“Could you have made a mistake?”
“Of course,” replied Neale, readily. “But I’d never believe that unless
I saw it. A tough job it was--but just the kind of work I eat up.”
“Well, you can go out and eat it up some more.”
“That means I’ll have to camp out there. I can’t get back to Benton.”
“No, you can’t. And isn’t that just as well?” queried the chief, with
his keen, dark glance on Neale. “Son, I’ve heard your name coupled with
gamblers--and that Stanton woman.”
“No doubt. I know them. I’ve been--seeking some trace of--Allie.”
“You still hope to find her? You still imagine some of this riffraff
Benton gang made off with her?”
“Yes.”
“Son, it’s scarcely possible,” said Lodge, earnestly. “Anderson claims
the Sioux got her. We all incline to that.... Oh, it’s hard, Neale....
Love and life are only atoms under the iron heel of the U. P. R....
It’s too late now. You can’t forget--no--but you must not risk your
life--your opportunities--your reputation.”
Neale turned away his face for a moment and was silent. An engine
whistled; a bell began to ring; some train official called to General
Lodge. The chief held up his hand for a little more delay.
“I’m off,” he said rapidly. “Neale, you’ll go out to Number Ten and take
charge.”
That surprised and thrilled Neale into eagerness.
“Who are the engineers?”
“Blake and Coffee. I don’t know them. Henney sent them out from Omaha.
They’re well recommended. But that’s no matter. Something is wrong.
You’re to have full charge of engineers, bosses, masons. In fact, I’ve
sent word out to that effect.”
“Who’s the contractor?” asked Neale.
“I don’t know. But whoever he is he has made a pile of money out of this
job. And the job’s not done. That’s what galls me.”
“Well, chief, it will be done,” said Neale, sharp with determination.
“Good! Neale, I’ll start east with another load off my shoulders....
And, son, if you throw up a bridge so there’ll be no delay, something
temporary for the rails and the work-train, and then plan piers right
for Number Ten--well--you’ll hear from it, that’s all.” They shook
hands.