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.