"Kill him--bring her back--and you can have the gold," shouted
Durade.
Following that came the heavy tramp of boots and the low roar of
angry men.
Hough leaned toward Ancliffe. "They've got us penned in."
"Yes. But it's pretty dark here. And they'll be slow. You watch
while I tear a hole through somewhere," replied Ancliffe.
He was perfectly cool and might have been speaking of some casual
incident. He extinguished his cigarette, dropped it, then put on his
gloves.
Hough loomed tall and dark. His face showed pale in the shadow. He
stood with his elbows stiff against his sides, a derringer in each
hand.
"I wish I had heavier guns," he said.
Allie's thrill of emotion spent itself in a shudder of realization.
Calmly and chivalrously these two strangers had taken a stand
against her enemies and with a few cool words and actions had
accepted whatever might betide.
"I must tell you--oh, I must!" she whispered, with her hand on
Hough's arm. "I heard you send for Neale and Larry King ... It made
my heart stop! ... Neale--Warren Neale is my sweetheart. See, I wear
his ring! ... Reddy King is my dearest friend--my brother! ..."
Hough bent low to peer into Allie's face--to see her ring. Then he
turned to Ancliffe.
"How things work out! ... I always suspected what was wrong with
Neale.
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