“Where did you take my daughter?” queried Lee, presently.

“To the home of a trapper.  My friend—­Slingerland,” replied Neale, indicating the buckskin-clad figure.  “She lived there—­slowly recovering.  You don’t know that she lost her mind—­for a while.  But she recovered....  And during an absence of Slingerland’s—­she was taken away.”

“Were you and she—­sweethearts?”

“Yes.”

“And engaged to marry?”

“Of course,” replied Neale, dreamily.

“That cannot be now.”

“I understand.  I didn’t expect—­I didn’t think....”

Allie Lee had believed many times that her heart was breaking, but now she knew it had never broken till then.  Why did he not turn to see her waiting there—­stricken motionless and voiceless, wild to give the lie to those cold, strange words?

“Then, Neale—­if you will not accept anything from me, let us terminate this painful interview,” said Allison Lee.

“I’m sorry.  I only wanted to tell you—­and ask to see—­Allie—­a moment,” replied Neale.

“No.  It might cause a breakdown.  I don’t want to risk anything that might prevent my taking the next train with her.”

“Going to take her—­back East?” asked Neale, as if talking to himself.

“Certainly.”

“Then—­I—­won’t see her!” Neale murmured, dazedly.

At this juncture General Lodge stepped out.  His face was dark, his mouth stern.

His action caused a breaking of the strange, vise-like clutch—­the mute and motionless spell—­that had fallen upon Allie.  She felt the gathering of tremendous forces in her; in an instant she would show these stupid men the tumult of a woman’s heart.

“Lee, be generous,” spoke up General Lodge, feelingly.  “Let Neale see the girl.”

“I said no!” snapped Lee.

“But why not, in Heaven’s name?”

“Why?  I told you why,” declared Lee, passionately.

“But, Lee—­that implication may not be true.  We didn’t read all that letter,” protested General Lodge.

“Ask him.”

Then the general turned to Neale.  “Boy—­tell me—­did this Stanton woman love you—­did you strike her?  Did you—­” The general’s voice failed.

Neale faced about with a tragic darkening of his face.  “To my shame —­it is true,” he said, clearly.

Then Allie Lee swept forward.  “Oh, Neale!”

He seemed to rise and leap at once.  And she ran straight into his arms.  No man, no trouble, no mystery, no dishonor, no barrier—­ nothing could have held her back the instant she saw how the sight of her, how the sound of her voice, had transformed Neale.  For one tumultuous, glorious, terrible moment she clung to his neck, blind, her heart bursting.  Then she fell back with hands seeking her breast.

“I heard!” she cried.  “I know nothing of Beauty Stanton’s letter....  But you didn’t shoot her.  It was Larry.  I saw him do it.”