by Zane Grey
14
Allie recovered to find herself lying in a canvas-covered wagon, andbeing worked over by several sympathetic women. She did not see Durade.But she knew she had not been mistaken. The wagon was rolling along asfast as oxen could travel. Evidently the caravan had been alarmed by theproximity of the Sioux and was making as much progress as possible.
Allie did not answer many questions. She drank thirstily, but she wastoo exhausted to eat.
"Whose caravan?" was the only query she made.
"Durade's," replied one woman, and it was evident from the way she spokethat this was a man of consequence.
As Allie lay there, slowly succumbing to weariness and drowsiness, shethought of the irony of fate that had let her escape the Sioux onlyto fall into the hands of Durade. Still, there was hope. Durade wastraveling toward the east. Out there somewhere he would meet Neale, andthen blood would be spilled. She had always regarded Durade strangely,wondering that in spite of his kindness to her she could not really carefor him. She understood now and hated him passionately. And if there wasany one she feared it was Durade. Allie lost herself in the past,seeing the stream of mixed humanity that passed through Durade'sgambling-halls. No doubt he was on his way, first to search for hermother, and secondly, to profit by the building of the railroad. But hewould never find her mother. Allie was glad.
At length she fell asleep and slept long, then dozed at intervals. Thecaravan halted. Allie heard the familiar sing-song calls to the oxen.Soon all was bustle about her, and this fully awakened her. In a momentor more she must expect to be face to face with Durade. What shouldshe tell him? How much should she let him know? Not one word about hermother! He would be less afraid of her if he found out that the motherwas dead. Durade had always feared Allie's mother.
The women with whom Allie had ridden helped her out of the wagon, and,finding her too weak to stand, they made a bed for her on the ground.The camp site appeared to be just the same as any other part of thatmonotonous plain-land, but evidently there was a stream or water-holenear by. Allie saw her companions were the only women in the caravan;they were plain persons, blunt, yet kind, used to hard, honest work, andprobably wives of defenders of the wagon-train.
They could not conceal their curiosity in regard to Allie, nor theirwonder. She had heard them whispering together whenever they came near.
Presently Allie saw Durade. He was approaching. How well she rememberedhim! Yet the lapse of time and the change between her childhood and thepresent seemed incalculable. He spoke to the women, motioning in herdirection. His bearing and action were that of a man of education, and agentleman. Yet he looked what her mother had called him--a broken man ofclass, an adventurer, a victim of base passions.
He came and knelt by Allie. "How are you now?" he asked. His voice wasgentle and courteous, different from that of the other men.
"I can't stand up," replied Allie.
"Are you hurt?"
"No--only worn out."
"You escaped from Indians?"
"Yes--a tribe of Sioux. They intended to keep me captive. But a youngsquaw freed me--led me off."
He paused as if it was an effort to speak, and a long, thin, shapelyhand went to his throat. "Your mother?" he asked, hoarsely. Suddenly hisface had turned white.
Allie gazed straight into his eyes, with wonder, pain, suspicion. "Mymother! I've not seen her for nearly two years."
"My God! What happened? You lost her? You became separated?...Indians--bandits?... Tell me!"
"I have--no--more to tell," said Allie. His pain revived her own. Shepitied Durade. He had changed--aged--there were lines in his face thatwere new to her.
"I spent a year in and around Ogden, searching," went on Durade. "Tellme--more."
"No!" cried Allie.
"Do you know, then?" he asked, very low.
"I'm not your daughter--and mother ran off from you. Yes, I know that,"replied Allie, bitterly.
"But I brought you up--took care of you--helped educate you," protestedDurade, with agitation. "You were my own child, I thought. I was alwayskind to you. I--I loved the mother in the daughter."
"Yes, I know.... But you were wicked."
"If you won't tell me it must mean she's still alive," he replied,swiftly. "She's not dead;... I'll find her. I'll make her come back tome--or kill her... After all these years--to leave me!"
He seemed wrestling with mingled emotions. The man was proud and strong,but defeat in life, in the crowning passion of life, showed in his whiteface. The evil in him was not manifest then.
"Where have you lived all this time?" he asked, presently.
"Back in the hills with a trapper."
"You have grown. When I saw you I thought it was the ghost of yourmother. You are just as she was when we met."
He seemed lost in sad retrospection. Allie saw streaks of gray in hisonce jet-black hair.
"What will you do?" asked Allie.
He was startled. The softness left him. A blaze seemed to leap underskin and eyes, and suddenly he was different--he was Durade the gambler,instinct with the lust of gold and life.
"Your mother left me for YOU," he said, with terrible bitterness. "Andthe game has played you into my hands. I'll keep you. I'll hold you toget even with her."
Allie felt stir in her the fear she had had of him in her childhood whenshe disobeyed. "But you can't keep me against my will--not among peoplewe'll meet eastward."
"I can, and I will!" he declared, softly, but implacably. "We'renot going East. We'll be in rougher places than the gold-camps ofCalifornia. There's no law but gold and guns out here... But--if youspeak of me to any one may your God have mercy on you!"
The blaze of him betrayed the Spaniard. He meant more than dishonor,torture, and death. The evil in him was rampant. The love that had beenthe only good in an abnormal and disordered mind had turned to hate.
Allie knew him. He was the first person who had ever dominated herthrough sheer force of will. Unless she abided by his command her fatewould be worse than if she had stayed captive among the Sioux. This manwas not an American. His years among men of later mold had not changedthe Old World cruelty of his nature. She recognized the fact in utterdespair. She had not strength left to keep her eyes open.
After a while Allie grew conscious that Durade had left her. She feltlike a creature that had been fascinated by a deadly snake and then leftto itself; in the mean time she could do nothing but wait. Shudderingly,mournfully, she resigned herself to the feeling that she must stay underDurade's control until a dominance stronger than his should release her.Neale seemed suddenly to have retreated far into the past, to have goneout of the realm of her consciousness. And yet the sound of his voice,the sight of his face, would make instantly that spirit of hers--hisspirit--to leap like a tigress in her defense. But where was Neale? Thehabits of life were all powerful; and all her habits had been formedunder Durade's magnetic eye. Neale retreated and so did spirit, courage,hope. Love remained, despairing, yet unquenchable.
Allie's resignation established a return to normal feelings. She ate andgrew stronger; she slept and was refreshed.
The caravan moved on about twenty-five miles a day. At the next campAllie tried walking again, to find her feet were bruised, her legscramped, and action awkward and painful. But she persevered, and thetingling of revived circulation was like needles pricking her flesh. Shelimped from one camp-fire to another; and all the rough men had a kindword or question or glance for her. Allie did not believe they were allhonest men. Durade had employed a large force, and apparently he hadtaken on every one who applied. Miners, hunters, scouts, and men of nohall-mark except that of wildness composed the mixed caravan. It spokemuch for Durade that they were under control. Allie well rememberedhearing her mother say that he had a genius for drawing men to him andmanaging them.
Once during her walk, when every one appeared busy, a big fellow withhulking shoulders and bandaged head stepped beside her.
"Girl," he whispered, "if you want
a knife slipped into Durade, tell himabout me!"
Allie recognized the whisper before she did the heated, red face withits crooked nose and bold eyes and ugly mouth. Fresno! He must haveescaped from the Sioux and fallen in with Durade.
Allie shrunk from him. Durade, compared with this kind of ruffian, was ahaven of refuge. She passed on without a sign. But Fresno was safe fromher. This meeting made her aware of an impulse to run back to Durade,instinctively, just as she had when a child. He had ruined her mother;he had meant to make a lure of her, the daughter; he had showed whathis vengeance would be upon that mother, just as he had showed Allie herdoom should she betray him. But notwithstanding all this, Durade was notFresno, nor like any of those men whose eyes seemed to burn her.
She returned to the wagon and to the several women and men attached toit, with the assurance that there were at least some good persons inthat motley caravan crew.
The women, naturally curious and sympathetic, questioned her in oneway and another. Who was she, what had happened to her, where were herpeople or friends? How had she ever escaped robbers and Indians in thatawful country? Was she really Durade's daughter?
Allie did not tell much about herself, and finally she was left inpeace.
The lean old scout who had first seen Allie as she staggered into thetrail told her it was over a hundred miles to the first camp of therailroad-builders.
"Down-hill all the way," he concluded. "An' we'll make it in a jiffy."
Nevertheless, it took nearly all of four days to sight the camp of thetraders--the advance-guard of the great construction work.
In those four days Allie had recovered her bloom, her health, herstrength--everything except the wonderful assurance which had been hers.Durade had spoken daily with her, and had been kind, watchful, like aguardian.
It was with a curious thrill that Allie gazed around as she rode intothe construction camp--horses and men and implements all following theline of Neale's work. Could Neale be there? If so, how dead was herheart to his nearness?
The tents of the workers, some new and white, others soiled and ragged,stretched everywhere; large tents belched smoke and resounded with thering of hammers on anvil; soldiers stood on guard; men, red-shirted andblue-shirted, swarmed as thick as ants; in a wide hollow a long line ofhorses, in double row, heads together, pulled hay from a rack as long asthe line, and they pulled and snorted and bit at one another; a strongsmell of hay and burning wood mingled with the odor of hot coffee andsteaming beans; fires blazed on all sides; under another huge tent, ormany tents without walls, stretched wooden tables and benches; on thescant sage and rocks and brush, and everywhere upon the tents, lay in amyriad of colors and varieties the lately washed clothes of the toilers;and through the wide street of the camp clattered teams and swearingteamsters, dragging plows with clanking chains and huge scoops turnedupside down. Bordering the camp, running east as far as eye could see,stretched a high, flat, yellow lane, with the earth hollowed away fromit, so that it stood higher than the level plain--and this was the workof the graders, the road-bed of the Union Pacific Railroad, the U. P.Trail.
This camp appeared to be Durade's destination. His caravan rode throughand halted on the outskirts of the far side. Preparations began for whatAllie concluded was to be a permanent halt. At once began a significantdisintegration of Durade's party. One by one the scouts received paymentfrom their employer, and with horse and pack disappeared toward thecamp. The lean old fellow who had taken kindly interest in Allie lookedin at the opening of the canvas over her wagon, and, wishing her luck,bade her good-by. The women likewise said good-by, informing her thatthey were going on home. Not one man among those left would Allie havetrusted.
During the hurried settling of camp Durade came to Allie.
"Allie," he said, "you don't have to keep cooped up in there unless Itell you. But don't talk to any one--and don't go that way."
He pointed toward the humming camp. "That place beats any gold-diggingsI ever saw," he concluded.
The tall, scant sage afforded Allie some little seclusion, and shewalked there until Durade called her to supper. She ate alone on awagon-seat, and when twilight fell she climbed into her wagon, gratefulthat it was high off the ground and so inclosed her from all exceptsound.
Darkness came; the fire died down; the low voices of Durade and his men,and of callers who visited them, flowed continuously.
Then, presently, there arose a strange murmur, unlike any sound Alliehad ever heard. It swelled into a low, distant roar. She was curiousabout it. Peeping out of her wagon-cover she saw where the darknessflared to yellow with a line of lights--torches or lanterns or fires.Crossing and re-crossing these lights were black objects, in twos andthrees and dozens. And from this direction floated the strange, lowroar. Suddenly she realized. It was the life of the camp. Hundreds andthousands of men were there together, and as the night advanced thelow roar rose and fell, and lulled away to come again--strange, sad,hideous, mirthful. For a long time Allie could not sleep.
Next morning Durade called her. When she unlaced the canvas flaps, itwas to see the sun high and to hear the bustle of work all about her.
Durade brought her breakfast and gave her instructions. While he wasabout in the daytime she might come out and do what she could toamuse herself; but when he was absent or at night she must be in herwagon-tent, laced in, and she was not to answer any call. She wouldbe guarded by Stitt, one of his men, a deaf mute, faithful to hisinterests, and who had orders to handle her roughly should she disobey.Allie would not have been inclined to mutiny, even without the fear andabhorrence she felt of this ugly and deformed mute.
That day Durade caused to be erected tents, canopies, tables, benches,and last a larger tent, into which the tables and benches were carried.Fresno worked hard, as did all the men except Stitt, who had nothing todo but watch Allie's wagon. Wearily the time passed for her. How manydays must she spend thus, watching idly, because there was nothing elseto do? Still, back in her consciousness there was a vague and growingthought. Sooner or later Neale would appear in the flesh, as he now cameto her in her dreams.
That night Allie, peeping out, saw by the fire and torch-light amultitude of men drawn to Durade's large tent. Mexicans, Negroes,Irishmen--all kinds of men passed, loud and profane, careless andreckless, quarrelsome and loquacious. Soon there arose in her ears thelong-forgotten but now familiar sounds of a gambling-hell in full blast.The rolling rattle of the wheel, sharp, strident, and keen, intermingledwith the strange rich false clink of gold.
It needed only a few days and nights for Allie Lee to divine Durade'sretrogression. Before this he had been a gambler for the sake ofgambling, even a sportsman in his evil way; now he seemed possessed ofan unscrupulous intent, a strange, cold, devouring passion to get goldand more gold--always more gold. Allie divined evidence of this, sawit, heard it. The man had struck the descent, and he was all the moredangerous for his lapse from his former standards, poor as they hadbeen.
Not a week had elapsed before the gambling-hell roared all night. Alliegot most of her sleep during the day. She tried to shut out what soundshe could, and tried to be deaf to the rest. But she had to hear theangry brawls, pistol-shots, and shrill cries; yes, and the trample ofheavy boots as men dragged a dead gamester out to the ditch.
Day was a relief, a blessing. Allie was frequently cooped up in hernarrow canvas-covered wagon, but she saw from there the life of thegrading camp.
There were various bosses--the boarding boss, who fed the laborers; thestable boss, who had charge of the teams; the grading boss, who ruledthe diggers and scrapers; and the time-keeper boss, who kept track ofthe work of all.
In the early morning a horde of hungry men stampeded the boarding-tentswhere the cooks and waiters made mad haste to satisfy loud and merrydemands. At sunset the same horde dropped in, dirty and hot and lame,and fought for seats while others waited for their turn.
Out on the level plain stretched the hundreds of teams, moving on andreturning, the d
rivers shouting, the horses bending. The hot sun glared,the wind whipped up the dust, the laborers speeded up to the shout ofthe boss. And ever westward crept the low, level, yellow bank of sandand gravel--the road-bed of the first transcontinental railway.
Thus the daytime had its turmoil, too, but this last was splendid,like the toil of heroes united to gain some common end. And the army ofsoldiers waited, ever keen-eyed, for the skulking Sioux.
Mull, the boss of the camp, became a friend of Durade's. The wilySpaniard could draw to him any class of men. This Mull had been a driverof truck-horses in New York, and now he was a driver of men.
He was huge, like a bull, heavy-lipped and red-cheeked, hairy andcoarse, with big sunken eyes. A brute--a caveman. He drank; he gambled.He was at once a bully and a pirate. Responsible to no one but hiscontractor, he hated the contractor and he hated his job. He was greatin his place, brutal with fist and foot, a gleaner of results from hardmen at a hard time.
He won gold from Durade, or, as Fresno guffawed to a comrade, he hadbeen allowed to win it. Durade picked his man. He had big schemes and heneeded Mull.
Benton was Durade's objective point--Benton, the great and growingcamp-city, where gold and blood were spilled in the dusty streets andlife roared like a blast from hell.
All that Allie heard of Benton increased her dread, and at last shedetermined that she would run any risk rather than be taken there. Andso one night, as soon as it grew dark, she slipped out of the wagon and,under cover of darkness, made her escape.
