“I wish I had heavier guns,” he said.

Allie’s thrill of emotion spent itself in a shudder of realization.  Calmly and chivalrously these two strangers had taken a stand against her enemies and with a few cool words and actions had accepted whatever might betide.

“I must tell you—­oh, I must!” she whispered, with her hand on Hough’s arm.  “I heard you send for Neale and Larry King ...  It made my heart stop! ...  Neale—­Warren Neale is my sweetheart.  See, I wear his ring! ...  Reddy King is my dearest friend—­my brother! ...”

Hough bent low to peer into Allie’s face—­to see her ring.  Then he turned to Ancliffe.

“How things work out! ...  I always suspected what was wrong with Neale.  Now I know—­after seeing his girl.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Ancliffe.

“Well, I’ll block Durade’s gang.  Will you save the girl?”

“Assuredly,” answered the imperturbable Englishman.  “Where shall I take her?”

“Where can she be safe?  The troop camp?  No, too far, ...  Aha! take her to Stanton.  Tell Stanton the truth.  Stanton will hide her.  Then find Neale and King.”

Hough turned to Allie.  “I’m glad you spoke—­about Neale,” he said, and there was a curious softness in his voice.  “I owe him a great deal.  I like him ...  Ancliffe will get you out of here—­and safely back to Neale.”

Allie knew somehow—­from something in his tone, his presence—­that he would never leave this gloomy inclosure.  She heard Ancliffe ripping a board off the wall or fence, and that sound seemed alarmingly loud.  The voices no longer were heard behind the canvas house.  The wind whipped through the bare framework.  Somewhere at a distance were music and revelry.  Benton’s night roar had begun.  Over all seemed to hang a menacing and ponderous darkness.

Suddenly a light appeared moving slowly from the most obscure corner of the space, perhaps fifty paces distant.

Hough drew Allie closer to Ancliffe.  “Get behind me,” he whispered.

A sharp ripping and splitting of wood told of Ancliffe’s progress; also it located the fugitives for Durade’s gang.  The light vanished; quick voices rasped out; then stealthy feet padded over the boards.

Allie saw or imagined she saw gliding forms black against the pale gloom.  She was so close to Ancliffe that he touched her as he worked.  Turning, she beheld a ray of light through an aperture he had made.

Suddenly the gloom split to a reddish flare.  It revealed dark forms.  A gun cracked.  Allie heard the heavy thud of a bullet against the wall.  Then Hough shot.  His derringer made a small, spiteful report.  It was followed by a cry—­a groan.  Other guns cracked.  Bullets pattered on the wood.  Allie heard the spat of lead striking Hough.  It had a sickening sound.  He moved as if from a blow.  A volley followed and Allie saw the bright flashes.  All about her bullets were whistling and thudding.  She knew with a keen horror every time Hough was struck.  Hoarse yells and strangling cries mixed with the diminishing shots.