“Troopers!” he cried, joyfully.  A great black pressing weight seemed lifted off his mind.  The troops would soon rout that band of sneaking Sioux.

Neale ran to the back room, where, above the din outside, he made himself heard.  But for all he could see or hear his tidings of rescue did not at once affect the men there.  Then he forgot them and the fight outside in his search for Allie.  The cabin was on fire, and he did not mean to leave it until he was absolutely sure she was not hidden or lying in a faint in some corner.  And he had not made sure of that until the burning roof began to fall in.  Then he leaped out the window and ran back to the inclosure.

The blaze here was no longer bright, but Neale could see distinctly.  Some of the piles of ties were burning.  The heat had begun to drive the men out.  Troopers were everywhere.  And it appeared the rattle of rifles was receding up the valley.  The Sioux had retreated.

Here Neale continued his search for Allie.  He found Mrs. Dillon and her companions, but Allie was not with them.  All he could learn from the frightened women was that Allie had been in their company when they started to run from the cabin.  They had not seen her since.

Still Neale did not despair, though his heart sank.  Allie was hiding somewhere.  Frantically he searched the inclosure, questioned every man he met, rushed back to the burning cabin, where the fire drove him out.  But there was no trace of Allie.

Then the conviction of calamity settled upon him.  While the cabin burned, and the troopers and graders watched, Neale now searched for the face of the man he had recognized—­the ruffian Allie called Fresno.  This search was likewise fruitless.

The following hours were a hideous, slow nightmare for Neale.  He had left one hope—­that daylight would disclose Allie somewhere.

Day eventually dawned.  It disclosed many facts.  The Sioux had departed, and if they had suffered any loss there was no evidence of it.  The engineers’ quarters, cabin, and tents had burned to the ground.  Utensils, bedding, food, grain, tools, and instruments—­ everything of value except the papers Neale had saved—­had gone up in smoke.  The troopers who had rescued the work-train must now depend upon that train for new supplies.  Many of the graders had been wounded, some seriously, but none fatally.  Nine of them were missing, as was Allie Lee.

The blow was terrible for Neale.  Yet he did not sink under it.  He did not consider the opinion of his sympathetic friends that Allie had wildly run out of the burning cabin to fall into the hands of the Sioux.  He returned with the graders to their camp; and it was no surprise to him to find the wagon-train, that had tarried near, gone in the night.  He trailed that wagon-train to the next camp, where on the busy road he lost the wheel-tracks.  Next day he rode horseback all the way in to Benton.  But all his hunting and questioning availed nothing.