And I found you, and in the best hour of my bitter life--when I had
risen above the woman of shame, above thought of self--then you,
with hellish stupidity, imagined I was seeking you--YOU for myself!
Your annoyance, your scorn, robbed me of my wits. I could not tell
you. I could only speak her name and bid you come.
You branded me before that grinning crowd, you struck me! And the
fires of hell--MY hell--burst in my heart. I ran out of there--mad
to kill your soul--to cause you everlasting torment. I swore I would
give that key of Allie Lee's room to the first man who entered my
house.
The first man was Larry Red King. He was drunk. He looked wild. I
welcomed him. I sent him to her room.
But Larry King was your friend. I had forgotten that. He came out
with her. He was sober and terrible. Like the mad woman that I was I
rushed at him to tear her away. He shot me. I see his eyes now. But
oh, thank God, he shot me! It was a deliverance.
I fell on the stairs, but I saw that flaming-faced devil kill four
of Durade's men. He got Allie Lee out. Later I heard he had been
killed and that Durade had caught the girl.
Neale, hurry to find her. Kill that Spaniard. No man could tell why
he has spared her, but I tell you he will not spare her long.
Don't ever forget Hough or Ancliffe or that terrible cowboy.
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