She listened to the mysterious life of Benton, wondering and fearful; and through the hours there came to her the nameless certainty of something tremendous and terrible that was to happen to her.  But spirit and hope were unquenchable.  Not prayer nor reason nor ignorance was the source of her sustained and inexplicable courage.  A star shone over her destiny or a good angel hovered near.  She sensed in a vague and perplexing way that she must be the center of a mysterious cycle of events.  The hours were fraught with strain and suspense, yet they passed fleetingly.  A glorious and saving moment was coming—­a meeting that would be as terrible as sweet.  Benton held her lover Neale and her friend Larry.  They were searching for her.  She felt their nearness.  It was that which kept her alive.  She knew the truth with her heart.  And while she thrilled at the sound of every step, she also shuddered, for there was Durade with his desperadoes.  Blood would be spilled.  Somewhere, somehow, that meeting would come.  Neale would rush to her.  And the cowboy! ...  Allie remembered the red blaze of his face, the singular, piercing blue of his eye, his cool, easy, careless air, his drawling speech—­and underneath all his lazy gentleness a deadliness of blood and iron.

So Allie Lee listened to all sounds, particularly to all footsteps, waiting for that one which was to make her heart stand still.

Some one had entered the room adjoining hers and was now fumbling at the rude door which had always been barred from the other side.  It opened.  Stitt, the mute who attended and guarded her, appeared, carrying bundles.  Entering, he deposited these upon Allie’s bed.  Then he made signs for her to change from the garb she wore to the clothes contained in the bundles.  Further, he gave her to understand that she was to hurry, that she was to be taken away.  With that he went out, shutting and barring the door after him.

Allie’s hands shook as she opened the packages.  That very hour might bring her freedom.  She was surprised to find a complete outfit of woman’s apparel, well made and of fine material.  Benton, then, had stores and women.  Hurriedly she made the change, which was very welcome.  The dress did not fit her as well as it might have done, but the bonnet and cloak were satisfactory, as were also the little boots.  She found a long, dark veil and wondered if she was expected to put that on.

A knocking at the door preceded a call, “Allie, are you ready?”

“Yes,” she replied.

The door opened.  Durade entered.  He appeared thinner than she had ever seen him, with more white in or beneath his olive complexion, and there were marks of strain and of passion on his face.  Allie knew he labored under some strong, suppressed excitement.  More and more he seemed to lose something of his old character—­of the stately Spanish manner.

“Put that veil on,” he said.  “I’m not ready for Benton to see you.”