cused Neale of striking her--of killing
her.... She said she was dying, but she loved him.... Do you remember
that, General Lodge?"

"Yes, alas!... Lee, I don't deny that. But--"

"There are no buts."

"Lee, you're hard, hard as steel. Appearances seem against Neale.
I don't seek to extenuate them. But I know men. Neale might have
fallen--it seems he must have. These are terrible times. In anger or
drink Neale might have struck this woman.... But kill her--No!"

A gleam pierced Allie Lee's dark bewilderment. They meant Beauty
Stanton, that beautiful, fair woman with such a white, soft bosom and
such sad eyes--she whom Larry King had shot. What a tangle of fates
and lives! She could tell them why Beauty Stanton was dying. Then other
words, like springing fire, caught Allie's thought, and a sickening
ripple of anguish convulsed her. They believed Beauty Stanton had loved
Neale--had--Allie would have died before admitting that last thought to
her consciousness. For a second the room turned black. Her hold on
the curtains kept her from falling. With frantic and terrible
earnestness--the old dominance Neale had acquired over her--she clung
to the one truth that mattered. She loved Neale--belonged to him--and
he was there! That they were about to meet again was as strange and
wonderful a thing as had ever happened. What had she not endured? What
must he have gone through? The fiery, stinging nature of her new and
sudden pain she could not realize.

Again the strong speech became distinct to her.

"... You'll stay here--and you, Dillon.... Don't any one leave this
room.... Lee, you can leave, if you want. But we'll see Neale, and so
will Allie Lee."

Allie spread the curtains and stood there. No one saw her. All the men
faced the door through which sounded slow, heavy tread of boots. An
Irishman entered. Then a tall man. Allie's troubled soul suddenly
calmed. She saw Neale.

Slowly he advanced a few steps. Another man entered, and Allie knew
him by his buckskin garb. Neale turned, his face in the light. And a
poignant cry leaped up from Allie's heart to be checked on her lips. Was
this her young and hopeful and splendid lover? She recognized him, yet
now did not know him. He stood bareheaded, and her swift, all-embracing
glance saw the gray over his temples, and the eyes that looked out from
across the border of a dark hell, and face white as death and twitching
with spent passion.

"Mr.--Lee," he panted, very low,