Her father, Allison Lee, and General Lodge, Neale's old
chief, were there in the other room.
"Neale almost killed Durade! Broke him! Cut him all up!" said the
general, with agitation. "I had it from McDermott, one of my
spikers--a reliable man.... Neale was shot--perhaps cut, too.... But
he doesn't seem to know it."
Allie sprang up, transfixed and thrilling.
"Neale almost killed--him!" echoed Allison Lee, hoarsely. Then
followed a sound of a chair falling.
"Indeed, Allison, it's true," broke in a strange voice. "The
street's full of men--all talking--all stirred up."
Other men entered the room.
"Is Neale here?" queried General Lodge, sharply.
"They're trying to hold him up--in the office. The boys want to pat
him on the back.... Durade was not liked," replied some one.
"Is Neale badly hurt?"
"I don't know. He looked it. He was all bloody."
"Colonel Dillon, did you see Neale?" went on the sharp, eager voice.
"Yes. He seemed dazed--wild. Probably badly hurt. Yet he moved
steadily. No one could stop him," answered another strange voice.
"Ah! here comes McDermott!" exclaimed General Lodge. Allie's ears
throbbed to a slow, shuffling, heavy tread. Her consciousness
received the fact of Neale's injury, but her heart refused to accept
it as perilous.
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