by Zane Grey
“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.”
“Red 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,” 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 haven’t 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 someone . . . 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 had 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 strangely found him apparently another person. There was a light on his face, an 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. More, seemingly, than to see a keen hope and faith, at last after bitter disappointment, justified in the end!
“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 someone 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 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. Someone 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 stultified 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 strained him convulsively. Then sense vaguely failed him.
Chapter Eighteen
Neale’s recovery seemed a rebirth into another world—a paradise. His eyes opened on the window to see azure blue—fleecy cloud—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 until he lay there long enough to realize Allie Lee lived. Then he was so weak he could hardly move.
“Allie . . . you’re not dead?” he whispered.
With a start she raised her head. She was kneeling beside the couch where he lay. It was absolutely the face of Allie Lee that bent over him.
“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 up 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 voice and expression.
“Yes. Allie Lee, I loved 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 don’t know that I fainted, but 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, bending over him, 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 sat up and 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 that 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 some time 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. Missus Dillon and the other women were so kind, so good to me. I told 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 knew 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 Missus 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 a while 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 Red on Durade’s trail.”
“Oh, no, Neale! Don’t do that! Please don’t do that. Reddy would kill him.”
“I rather guess he 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 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, and indicated 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, then she fled.
“A wonderful girl, Neale. We’re all in love with her,” declared the chief. “She dropped down on me 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 someone.”
“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.
“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 made 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—as he himself had incalculably changed. General Lodge had said—transfigured.
He walked down to the construction line and went among the idea men, and the strings of cars, and piles of rails, and piles of ties. He seemed to absorb them again. Then he walked the loose, unspiked ties down to where they ended, and so on along the graded roadbed 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 step was swift. And then again he
loitered with keen roving glance studying the lay of the ground. Neale’s was the deduction 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 eyes. 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 also were there.
Neale saw that his manner of entrance, or the look of him, or both 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 utilizing 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 warm face reddened. “Boy, somethin’s gone to your head,” he retorted.
“Wal, I should smile, as Red 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.