The U. P. Trail, Zane Grey [robert munsch read aloud .txt] 📗

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, and the bloody patch on his shirt heaved with his breath, “my only—regret—is—I didn’t—think to make—Durade—tell the truth.... He lied.... He wanted to—revenge himself—on Allie’s mother—through Allie.... What he said—about Allie—was a lie—as black as his heart. He meant evil—for her. But—somehow she was saved. He was a tiger—playing—and he waited—too long. You must realize—her innocence—and understand. God has watched over Allie Lee! It was not luck—nor accident. But innocence!... Hough died to save her! Then Ancliffe! Then my old friend—Larry King! These men—broken—gone to hell—out here—felt an innocence that made them—mad—as I have just been.... That is proof—if you need it.... Men of ruined lives—could not rise—and die—as they did—victims of a false impression—of innocence.... They knew!”

Neale’s voice sank to a whisper, his eyes intent to read belief in the cold face of Allison Lee.

“I thank you, Neale, for your service to me and your defense of her,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Sir—I—I—”

“Can I reward you in any way?”

The gray burned out of Neale’s face. “I ask—nothing—except that you believe me.”

Lee did not grant this, nor was there any softening of his cold face.

“I would like to ask you a few questions,” he said. “General Lodge here informed me that you saved my—my daughter’s life long ago.... Can you tell me what became of her mother?”

“She was in the caravan—massacred by Sioux,” replied Neale. “I saw her buried. Her grave is not so many miles from here.”

Then a tremor changed Allison Lee’s expression. He turned away an instant: his hand closed tight; he bit his lips. This evidence of feeling in him relaxed the stony scrutiny of the watchers, and they shifted uneasily on their feet.

Allie stood watching—waiting, with her heart at her lips.

“Where did you take my daughter?” queried Lee, presently.

“To the home of a trapper. My friend—Slingerland,” replied Neale, indicating the buckskin-clad figure. “She lived there—slowly recovering. You don’t know that she lost her mind—for a while. But she recovered.... And during an absence of Slingerland’s—she was taken away.”

“Were you and she—sweethearts?”

“Yes.”

“And engaged to marry?”

“Of course,” replied Neale, dreamily.

“That cannot be now.”

“I understand. I didn’t expect—I didn’t think....”

Allie Lee had believed many times that her heart was breaking, but now she knew it had never broken till then. Why did he not turn to see her waiting there—stricken motionless and voiceless, wild to give the lie to those cold, strange words?

“Then, Neale—if you will not accept anything from me, let us terminate this painful interview,” said Allison Lee.

“I’m sorry. I only wanted to tell you—and ask to see—Allie—a moment,” replied Neale.

“No. It might cause a breakdown. I don’t want to risk anything that might prevent my taking the next train with her.”

“Going to take her—back East?” asked Neale, as if talking to himself.

“Certainly.”

“Then—I—won’t see her!” Neale murmured, dazedly.

At this juncture General Lodge stepped out. His face was dark, his mouth stern.

His action caused a breaking of the strange, vise-like clutch—the mute and motionless spell—that had fallen upon Allie. She felt the gathering of tremendous forces in her; in an instant she would show these stupid men the tumult of a woman’s heart.

“Lee, be generous,” spoke up General Lodge, feelingly. “Let Neale see the girl.”

“I said no!” snapped Lee.

“But why not, in Heaven’s name?”

“Why? I told you why,” declared Lee, passionately.

“But, Lee—that implication may not be true. We didn’t read all that letter,” protested General Lodge.

“Ask him.”

Then the general turned to Neale. “Boy—tell me—did this Stanton woman love you—did you strike her? Did you—” The general’s voice failed.

Neale faced about with a tragic darkening of his face. “To my shame—it is true,” he said, clearly.

Then Allie Lee swept forward. “Oh, Neale!”

He seemed to rise and leap at once. And she ran straight into his arms. No man, no trouble, no mystery, no dishonor, no barrier—nothing could have held her back the instant she saw how the sight of her, how the sound of her voice, had transformed Neale. For one tumultuous, glorious, terrible moment she clung to his neck, blind, her heart bursting. Then she fell back with hands seeking her breast.

“I heard!” she cried. “I know nothing of Beauty