by Grey, Zane
Allie? It must be she. It was.
"Lord! I'm in for it!" muttered Neale, dismounting, and he gazed with eager eyes. She was approaching quickly.
"Neale! You've come!" she cried, and ran straight upon him.
He hardly recognized her face or her voice, but what she said proclaimed her to be Allie. She enveloped him. Her arms, strong, convulsive, clasped him. Up came her face, white, gleaming, joyous, strange to Neale, but he knew somehow that it was held up to be kissed. Dazedly he kissed her; felt cool sweet lips touch his lips again and then again.
"Allie! ... I; I hardly knew you!" was his greeting. Now he was holding her, and he felt her press her head closely to his breast, felt the intensity of what must have been her need of physical contact to make sure he was here in the flesh. And as he held her, looking down upon her, he recognized the little head and the dull gold and ripple of chestnut hair. Yes; it was Allie. But this new
Allie was taller; up to his shoulder; and lithe and full-bosomed and strong. This was not the frail girl he had left.
"I thought; you'd; never, never come," she murmured, clinging to him.
"It was; pretty long," he replied, unsteadily. "But I've come.... And I'm very glad to see you."
"You didn't know me," she said, shyly. "You looked; it."
"Well, no wonder. I left a thin, pale little girl, all eyes; and what do I find?
... Let me look at you."
She drew back and stood before him, shy and modest, but without a trace of embarrassment, surely the sweetest and loveliest girl he had ever beheld. Some remembered trace he found in her features, perhaps the look, the shape of her eyes; all else was unfamiliar. And that all else was a white face, blue-veined, with rich blood slowly mantling to the broad brow, with sweet red lips haunting in their sadness, with glorious eyes, like violets drenched in dew, shadowy, exquisite, mournful and deep, yet radiant with beautiful light.
Neale recognized her beauty at the instant he realized her love, and he was so utterly astounded at the one, and overwhelmed with the other, that he was mute.
A powerful reaction took place within him, so strong that it helped to free him from the other emotions. He found his tongue and controlled his glance.
"I took you for an Indian girl in all this buckskin," he said.
"Dress, leggings, moccasins, I made them all myself," she replied, sweeping a swift hand from fringe to beads. "Not a single button! Oh, it was hard; so much work! But they're more comfortable than any clothes I ever had."
"So you've not been; altogether idle since I left?"
"Since that day," and she blushed exquisitely at the words, "I've been doing everything under the sun except that grieving which you disliked; everything; cooking, sewing, fishing, bathing, climbing, riding, shooting; AND watching for you."
"That accounts," he replied, musingly.
"For what?"
"Your; your improvement. You seem happy; and well."
"Do you mean the activity accounts for that; or my watching for you?" she queried, archly. She was quick, bright, roguish. Neale had no idea what qualities she might have possessed before that fateful massacre, but she was bewilderingly different from the sick-minded girl he had tried so hard to interest and draw out of her gloom. He was so amazed, so delighted with her, and so confused with his own peculiar state of mind, that he could not be natural.
Then his mood shifted and a little heat at his own stupidity aroused his wits.
"Allie, I want to realize what's happened," he said. "Let's sit down here. We sat here once before, if you remember. Slingerland can wait to see me."
Neale's horse grazed along the green border of the brook. The water ran with low, swift rush; there were bees humming round the autumn flowers and a fragrance of wood-smoke wafted down from the camp; over all lay the dreaming quietness of the season and the wild.
Allie sat down upon the rock, but Neale, changing his mind, stood beside her.
Still he did not trust himself to face her. He was unsettled, uncertain. All this was like a dream.
"So you watched for me?" he asked, gently.
"For hours and days and weeks," she sighed.
"Then you; cared; cared a little for me?"
She kept silence. And he, wanting intensely to look up, did not.
"Tell me," he insisted, with a hint of the old dominance. He remembered again the scene at the crossing of the brook. Could he control this wonderful girl now?
"Of course," she replied.
"But; how do you care?" he added, more forcibly. He felt ashamed, yet he could not resist it. What was happening to him?
"I; I love you." Her voice was low, almost faltering, rich with sweetness, and full of some unutterable emotion.
Neale sustained a shock. He never could have told how that affected him, except in his sudden fury at himself. Then he stole a glance at her. Her eyes were downcast, hidden under long lashes; her face was soft and sweet, dreaming and spiritual, singularly pure; her breast heaved under the beaded buckskin. Neale divined she had never dreamed of owing him anything except the maiden love which quivered on her tremulous lips and hovered in the exquisite light of her countenance. And now he received a great and impelling change in his spirit, an uplift, a splendid and beautiful consciousness of his good fortune. But what could he say to her? If only he could safely pass over this moment, so he could have time to think, to find himself. Another glance at her encouraged him. She expected nothing- -not a word; she took all for granted. She was lost in dreams of her soul.
He looked down again to see her hand; small, shapely, strong and brown; and upon the third finger he espied his ring. He had forgotten to look to see if she wore it. Then softly he touched it and drew her hand in his,
"My ring. Oh, Allie!" he whispered.
The response was a wonderful purple blaze of her eyes. He divined then that his ring had been the tangible thing upon which she had reconstructed her broken life.
"You rode away; so quickly; I had no chance to; tell," she replied, haltingly and low-voiced. All was sweet shame about her now, and he had to fight himself to keep from gathering her to his breast. Verily this meeting between Allie and him was not what he had anticipated.
He kissed her hand.
"You've all the fall and all the winter to tell me such sweet things," he said.
"Perhaps to-morrow I'll find my tongue and tell you something."
"Tell me now," she said, quickly.
"Well, you're beautiful," he replied, with strong feeling.
"Really?" she smiled, and that smile was the first he had ever seen upon her face. It brought out the sadness, the very soul of her great beauty. "I used to be pretty," she went on, naively. "But if I remember how I used to look I'm not pretty any more."
Neale laughed. He had begun to feel freer, and to accept this unparalleled situation with some composure.
"Tell me," he said, with gentle voice and touch; "tell me your name. Allie; what?"
"Didn't you ever know?" she asked.
"You said Allie. That was all."
He feared this call to her memory, yet he wanted to put her to a test. Her eyes dilated; the light shaded; they grew sad, dark, humid gulfs of thought. But the old, somber veil, the insane, brooding stare, did not return.
"Allie what?" he repeated.
Then the tears came, softening and dimming the pain. "Allie Lee," she said.
Chapter 9
Slingerland appeared younger to Neale. The burden of loneliness did not weigh upon him, and the habit of silence had been broken. Neale guessed why, and was actually jealous.
"Wal, it's beyond my calculatin'," the trapper said, out by the spring, where
Neale followed him. "She jest changed thet's all. Not so much at first, though she sparked up after I give her your ring. I reckon it" come little by little.
An' one day, why, the cabin was full of sunshine! ... Since then I've seen how she's growed an' brightened. Workin', runnin' after me; an' always watchin' fe
r you. Allie's changed to what she is now. Onct, fur back, I recollect she said she had you to live fer. Mebbe thet's the secret. Anyhow, she loves you as I never seen any man loved.... An', son, I reckon you oughter be somewhars near the kingdom of heaven!"
Neale stole oil by himself and walked in the twilight. The air was warm and sultry, full of fragrance and the low chirp of crickets. Within his breast was a full uneasy sensation of imminent catastrophe. Something was rising in him; great; terrible; precious. It bewildered him to try to think of himself, of his strange emotions, when his mind seemed to hold only Allie.
What then had happened? After a long absence up in the mountains he had returned to Slingerland's valley home, and to the little girl he had rescued and left there. He had left her frail, sick-minded, silent, somber, a pale victim to a horrible memory. He had found her an amazing contrast to what she had been in the past. She had grown strong, active, swift. She was as lovely as a wild rose.
No dream of his idle fancy, but a fact! Then last; stirring him even as he tried to clarify and arrange this magic, this mystery; had come the unbelievable, the momentous and dazzling assurance that she loved him. It was so plain that it seemed unreal. While near her he saw it, yet could not believe his eyes; he felt it, but doubted his sensibilities. But now, away from the distraction of her presence and with Slingerland's eloquent words ringing in his ears, he realized the truth. Love of him had saved the girl's mind and had made her beautiful and wonderful. He had heard of the infinite transforming power of love; here in
Allie Lee was its manifestation. Whether or not he deserved such a blessing was not the question. It was his, and he felt unutterably grateful and swore he would be worthy of this great gift.
Darkness had set in when Neale returned to the cabin, the interior of which was lighted by blazing sticks in a huge stone fireplace.
Slingerland was in the shadow, busy as usual, but laughing at some sally of
Larry's. The cowboy and Allie, however, were in plain sight. Neale needed only one look at Larry to divine what had come over that young man. Allie appeared perplexed.
"He objects to my calling him Mr. King and even Larry," she said.
Larry suddenly looked sheepish.
"Allie, this cowboy is a bad fellow with guns, ropes, horses; and I suspect with girls," replied Neale, severely.
"Neale, he doesn't look bad," she rejoined. "You're fooling me.... He wants me to call him Reddy."
"Ahuh!" grunted Neale. He laughed grimly at himself, for again he had felt a pang of jealousy. He knew what to expect from Larry or any other young man who ever had the wonderful good luck to get near Allie Lee. "All right, call him
Reddy," he went on. "I guess I can allow my future wife so much familiarity with my pard."
This confused Allie out of her sweet gravity, and she blushed.
"Shore you're mighty kind," drawled Larry, recovering. "More 'n I reckoned on from a fellar who's shore lost his haid."
"I've lost more 'n that," retorted Neale, "and I'm afraid a certain wild young cowboy I know has lost as much."
"Wal, I reckon somethin' abbot this heah place of Slingerland's draws on a fellar," admitted Larry, resignedly.
Allie did not long stay embarrassed by their sallies.
"Neale, tell me; "
"See heah, Allie, if you call me Reddy an' him only Neale; why he's a-goin' to pitch into me," interrupted Larry, with twinkling eyes. "An' he's shore a bad customer when he's r'iled."
"Only Neale? What does he mean?" inquired Allie.
"Beyond human conjecture," replied Neale, laughing.
"Wal, don't you know his front name?" asked Larry.
"Neale. I call him that," she replied.
"Haw! Haw! But it ain't thet."
"Allie, my name is Warren," said Neale. "You've forgotten."
"Oh! ... Well, it's always been Neale; and always will be."
Larry rose and stretched his long arms for the pipe on the rude stone chimney.
"Slingerland," he drawled, "these heah young people need to find out who they are. An' I reckon we'd do wal to go out an' smoke an' talk."
The trapper came forth from the shadows, and as he filled his pipe his keen, bright gaze shifted from the task to his friends.
"It's good to see you an' hyar you," he said. "I was a youngster once I missed; but thet's no matter.... Live while you may! ... Larry, come with me.
I've got a trap to set yit."
Allie flashed a glance at them.
"It's not so. You never set traps after dark."
"Wal, child, any excuse is better 'n none. Neale wouldn't never git to hyar you say all thet sweet talk as is comin' to him; if two old fools hung round."
"Slingerland, I've throwed a gun for less 'n thet," drawled Larry. "Aboot the fool part I ain't shore, but I was twenty-five yesterday; an' I'm sixteen to-day."
They lit their pipes with red embers scraped from the fire, and with wise nods at Neale and Allie passed out into the dark.
Allie's eyes were upon Neale, with shy, eloquent intent, and directly the others had departed she changed her seat to one close to Neale; she nestled against his shoulder, her face to the fire.
"They thought we wanted to make love, didn't they?" she said, dreamily.
"I guess they did," replied Neale.
He was intensely fascinated. Did she want him to make love to her? A look at her face was enough to rebuke him for the thought. The shadows from the flickering fire played over her.
"Tell me all about yourself," she said. "Then about your work."
Neale told all that he thought would interest her about his youth in the East with a widowed mother, the home that was broken up after she died, and his working his way through a course of civil engineering.
"I was twenty when I first read about this U. P. railroad project," he went on.
"That was more than three years ago. It decided me on my career. I determined to be an engineer and be in the building of the road. No one had any faith in the railroad. I used to be laughed at. But I stuck. And; well, I had to steal some rides to get as far west as Omaha.
"That was more than a year ago. I stayed there; waiting. Nothing was sure, except that the town grew like a mushroom. It filled with soldiers; and the worst crowd
I ever saw. You can bet I was shaky when I finally got an audience with General
Lodge and his staff. They had an office in a big storehouse. The place was full of men; soldiers and tramps. It struck me right off what a grim and discouraged bunch those engineers looked. I didn't understand them, but I do now.... Well, I asked for a job. Nobody appeared to hear me. It was hard to make yourself heard.
I tried again; louder. An old engineer, whom I know now; Henney; waved me aside.
Just as if a job was unheard of!"
Neale quickened and warmed as he progressed, aware now of a little hand tight in his, of an interest that would have made any story- telling a pleasure.
"Well, I felt. sick. Then mad. When I get mad I do things. I yelled at that bunch: 'Here, you men! I've walked and stole rides to get here. I'm a surveyor.
You're going to build a railroad. I want a job and I'm going to get it.'
"My voice quieted the hubbub. The old engineer, Henney, looked queerly at me.
"'Young man, there's not going to be any railroad.'
"Then I blurted out that there WAS going to be a railroad. Some one spoke up:
'Who said that? Fetch him here.' Pretty soon I was looking at Major-General
Lodge. He was just from the war and he looked it. Stern and dark, with hard lines and keen eyes. He glanced me over.
"'There is going to be a railroad?' he questioned sharply.
"'Of course there is,' I replied. I felt foolish, disappointed.
"'You're right,' he said, and I'll never forget his eyes.
'I can use a few more young fellows like you.' And that's how I got on the staff.
"Well, we ran a quick survey west to the Bad Lands; for
it was out here that we must find success or failure. And Allie, it's all been like the biggest kind of an adventure. The troops and horses and camps and trails; the Indian country with its threats from out of the air; the wild places with their deer, buffalo, panthers, trappers like Slingerland, scouts, and desperadoes. It began to get such a hold on me that I was wild. That might have been bad for me but for my work. I did well. Allie, I ran lines for the U. P. that no other engineer could run."
Neale paused, as much from the squeeze Allie suddenly gave him as for an instant's rest to catch his breath.
"I mean I had the nerve to tackle cliffs and dangerous slopes," he went on. Then he told how Larry Red King had saved his life, and that recollection brought back his service to the cowboy; then naturally followed the two dominating incidents of the summer.
Allie lifted a blanched face and darkening eyes. "Neale! You were in danger."
"Oh, not much, I guess. But Red thought so."
"He saved you again! ... I; I'll never forget that."
"Anyway, we're square, for he'd have got shot sure the day the Indian sneaked up on him." Allie shuddered and shrank back to Neale, while he hastily resumed his story. "We're great pards now, Red and I. He doesn't say much, but his acts tell. He will not let me alone. He follows me everywhere. It's a joke among the men.... Well Allie, it seems unbelievable that we have crossed the mountains and the desert; grade ninety feet to the mile! The railroad can and will be built. I wish I could tell you how tremendously all this has worked upon me; upon all the engineers. But somehow I can't. It chokes me. The idea is big. But the work; what shall I call that? ... Allie, if you can, imagine some spirit seizing hold of you and making you see difficulties as joys; impossible tasks as only things to strike fire from genius, perils of death as merely incidents of daring adventure to treasure in memory; well that's something like it. The idea of the U. P. has got me. I believe in it. I shall see it accomplished.... I'll live it all."
Allie moved her head on his shoulder, and, looking up at him with eyes that made him ashamed of his egotism, she said, "Then, when it's done you'll be chief of engineers or superintendent of maintenance of way?"
She had remembered his very words.
"Allie, I hope so," he replied, thrilling at her faith. "I'll work; I'll get some big position."