She returned to the wagon and to the several women and men attached to it, with the assurance that there were at least some good persons in that motley caravan crew.

The women, naturally curious and sympathetic, questioned her in one way and another.  Who was she, what had happened to her, where were her people or friends?  How had she ever escaped robbers and Indians in that awful country?  Was she really Durade’s daughter?

Allie did not tell much about herself, and finally she was left in peace.

The lean old scout who had first seen Allie as she staggered into the trail told her it was over a hundred miles to the first camp of the railroad-builders.

“Down-hill all the way,” he concluded.  “An’ we’ll make it in a jiffy.”

Nevertheless, it took nearly all of four days to sight the camp of the traders—­the advance-guard of the great construction work.

In those four days Allie had recovered her bloom, her health, her strength—­everything except the wonderful assurance which had been hers.  Durade had spoken daily with her, and had been kind, watchful, like a guardian.

It was with a curious thrill that Allie gazed around as she rode into the construction camp—­horses and men and implements all following the line of Neale’s work.  Could Neale be there?  If so, how dead was her heart to his nearness?

The tents of the workers, some new and white, others soiled and ragged, stretched everywhere; large tents belched smoke and resounded with the ring of hammers on anvil; soldiers stood on guard; men, red-shirted and blue-shirted, swarmed as thick as ants; in a wide hollow a long line of horses, in double row, heads together, pulled hay from a rack as long as the line, and they pulled and snorted and bit at one another; a strong smell of hay and burning wood mingled with the odor of hot coffee and steaming beans; fires blazed on all sides; under another huge tent, or many tents without walls, stretched wooden tables and benches; on the scant sage and rocks and brush, and everywhere upon the tents, lay in a myriad of colors and varieties the lately washed clothes of the toilers; and through the wide street of the camp clattered teams and swearing teamsters, dragging plows with clanking chains and huge scoops turned upside down.  Bordering the camp, running east as far as eye could see, stretched a high, flat, yellow lane, with the earth hollowed away from it, so that it stood higher than the level plain—­and this was the work of the graders, the road-bed of the Union Pacific Railroad, the U. P. Trail.

This camp appeared to be Durade’s destination.  His caravan rode through and halted on the outskirts of the far side.  Preparations began for what Allie concluded was to be a permanent halt.  At once began a significant disintegration of Durade’s party.  One by one the scouts received payment from their employer, and with horse and pack disappeared toward the camp.  The lean old fellow who had taken kindly interest in Allie looked in at the opening of the canvas over her wagon, and, wishing her luck, bade her good-by.  The women likewise said good-by, informing her that they were going on home.  Not one man among those left would Allie have trusted.