Larry avoided
his gaze.
"She's gone! ... She's gone!" Neale panted.
"Wal, mebbe Slingerland moved camp an' burned this place," suggested
Larry. "He was sore after them four road-agents rustled in heah."
"No--no. He'd have left the cabin. In case he moved--Allie was to
write me a note--telling me how to find them. I remember--we picked
out the place to hide the note ... Oh! she's gone! She's gone!"
"Wal, then, mebbe Slingerland got away an' the cabin was burned
after."
"I can't hope that ... I tell you--it means hell's opened up before
me."
"Wal, it's tough, I know, Neale, but mebbe--"
Neale wheeled fiercely upon him. "You're only saying those things!
You don't believe them! Tell me what you do really think."
"Lord, pard, it couldn't be no wuss," replied Larry, his lean face
working. "I figger only one way. This heah. Slingerland had left
Allie alone ... Then--she was made away with an' the cabin burned."
"Indians?"
"Mebbe. But I lean more to the idee of an outfit like thet one what
was heah."
Neale groaned in his torture. "Not that, Reddy--not that! ... The
Indians would kill her--scalp her--or take her captive into their
tribe ... But a gang of cutthroat ruffians like these ... My God! if
I KNEW that had happened it'd kill me."
Larry swore at his friend.
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