“Ancliffe, how many cards?” called one of the black-garbed men.

The Englishman threw down his cards.  “None,” he said.

The game was interrupted by a commotion in the adjoining room, which was the public gambling-hall of Durade’s establishment.

“Another fight!” exclaimed Durade, impatiently.  “And only Mull and Fresno showed up to-day.”

Harsh voices and heavy stamps were followed by a pistol-shot.  Durade hurriedly arose.

“Gentlemen, excuse me,” he said, and went out.  One of the gamblers also left the room, and another crossed it to peep through the door.

This left the Englishman sitting at the table with the last gambler, whose back was turned toward Allie.  She saw the Englishman lean forward to speak.  Then the gambler arose and, turning, came directly toward her.

“My name is Place Hough,” he said, speaking rapidly and low.  “I am a gambler—­but gentleman.  I’ve heard strange rumors about you, and now I see for myself.  Are you Allie Lee?”

Allie’s heart seemed to come to her throat.  She shook all over, and she gazed with piercing intensity at the man.  When he had arisen from the table he had appeared the same black-garbed, hard-faced gambler as any of the others.  But looked at closely, he was different.  Underneath the cold, expressionless face worked something mobile and soft.  His eyes were of crystal clearness and remarkable for a penetrating power.  They shone with wonder, curiosity, sympathy.

Allie instinctively trusted the voice and then consciously trusted the man.  “Oh, sir, I am—­distressed—­ill from fright!” she faltered.  “If I only dared—­”

“You dare tell me,” he interrupted, swiftly.  “Be quick.  Are you here willingly with this man?”

“Oh no!”

“What then?”

“Oh, sir—­you do not think—­I—­”

“I knew you were good, innocent—­the moment I laid eyes on you, ...  Who are you?”

“Allie Lee.  My father is Allison Lee.”

“Whew!” The gambler whistled softly and, turning, glanced at the door, then beckoned Ancliffe.  The Englishman arose.  In the adjoining rooms sounds of strife were abating.

“Ancliffe, this girl is Allie Lee—­daughter of Allison Lee—­a big man of the U.P.R. ...  Something terribly wrong here.”  And he whispered to Ancliffe.

Allie became aware of the Englishman’s scrutiny, doubtful, sad, yet kind and curious.  Indeed these men had heard of her.

“Hough, you must be mistaken,” he said.

Allie felt a sudden rush of emotion.  Her opportunity had come.  “I am Allie Lee.  My mother ran off with Durade—­to California.  He used her as a lure to draw men to his gambling-hells—­as he uses me now ...  Two years ago we escaped—­started east with a caravan.  The Indians attacked us.  I crawled under a rock—­escaped the massacre.  I—­”

“Never mind all your story,” interrupted Hough.  “We haven’t time for that.  I believe you ...  You are held a close prisoner?”