"I'm--running--away ... Indians!" panted Allie.
"Whar?" asked the lean old scout.
"Over the ridges--miles--twenty miles--more. They had me. I got--
away ... four--three days ago."
The group around Allie opened to admit another man.
"Who's this--who's this?" called a quick voice, soft and liquid, yet
with a quality of steel in it.
Allie had heard that voice. She saw a tall man in long black coat
and wide black hat and flowered vest and flowing tie. Her heart
contracted.
"ALLIE!" rang the voice.
She looked up to see a dark, handsome face--a Spanish face with
almond eyes, sloe-black and magnetic--a face that suddenly blazed.
She recognized the man with whom her mother had run away--the man
she had long believed her father--the adventurer Durade! Then she
fainted.
14
Allie recovered to find herself lying in a canvas-covered wagon, and
being worked over by several sympathetic women. She did not see
Durade. But she knew she had not been mistaken. The wagon was
rolling along as fast as oxen could travel. Evidently the caravan
had been alarmed by the proximity of the Sioux and was making as
much progress as possible.
Allie did not answer many questions. She drank thirstily, but she
was too exhausted to eat.
"Whose caravan?" was the only query she made.
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