During the hurried settling of camp Durade came to Allie.

“Allie,” he said, “you don’t have to keep cooped up in there unless I tell you.  But don’t talk to any one—­and don’t go that way.”

He pointed toward the humming camp.  “That place beats any gold-diggings I ever saw,” he concluded.

The tall, scant sage afforded Allie some little seclusion, and she walked there until Durade called her to supper.  She ate alone on a wagon-seat, and when twilight fell she climbed into her wagon, grateful that it was high off the ground and so inclosed her from all except sound.

Darkness came; the fire died down; the low voices of Durade and his men, and of callers who visited them, flowed continuously.

Then, presently, there arose a strange murmur, unlike any sound Allie had ever heard.  It swelled into a low, distant roar.  She was curious about it.  Peeping out of her wagon-cover she saw where the darkness flared to yellow with a line of lights—­torches or lanterns or fires.  Crossing and re-crossing these lights were black objects, in twos and threes and dozens.  And from this direction floated the strange, low roar.  Suddenly she realized.  It was the life of the camp.  Hundreds and thousands of men were there together, and as the night advanced the low roar rose and fell, and lulled away to come again—­strange, sad, hideous, mirthful.  For a long time Allie could not sleep.

Next morning Durade called her.  When she unlaced the canvas flaps, it was to see the sun high and to hear the bustle of work all about her.

Durade brought her breakfast and gave her instructions.  While he was about in the daytime she might come out and do what she could to amuse herself; but when he was absent or at night she must be in her wagon-tent, laced in, and she was not to answer any call.  She would be guarded by Stitt, one of his men, a deaf mute, faithful to his interests, and who had orders to handle her roughly should she disobey.  Allie would not have been inclined to mutiny, even without the fear and abhorrence she felt of this ugly and deformed mute.

That day Durade caused to be erected tents, canopies, tables, benches, and last a larger tent, into which the tables and benches were carried.  Fresno worked hard, as did all the men except Stitt, who had nothing to do but watch Allie’s wagon.  Wearily the time passed for her.  How many days must she spend thus, watching idly, because there was nothing else to do?  Still, back in her consciousness there was a vague and growing thought.  Sooner or later Neale would appear in the flesh, as he now came to her in her dreams.

That night Allie, peeping out, saw by the fire and torch-light a multitude of men drawn to Durade’s large tent.  Mexicans, Negroes, Irishmen—­all kinds of men passed, loud and profane, careless and reckless, quarrelsome and loquacious.  Soon there arose in her ears the long-forgotten but now familiar sounds of a gambling-hell in full blast.  The rolling rattle of the wheel, sharp, strident, and keen, intermingled with the strange rich false clink of gold.