... Lass, with all due respect to your
father, I reckon you'd better come back to me an' Neale."
"Did he tell you--to say that?" she whispered, tremulously.
"Lord, no!" ejaculated Slingerland.
"Does he--care--for me still?"
"Lass, he's dyin' fer you--an' I never spoke a truer word."
Allie shuddered close to him, blinded, stormed by an exquisite
bitter-sweet fury of love. She seemed rising, uplifted, filled with
rich, strong joy.
"I forgave him," she murmured, dreamily low to herself.
"War, mebbe you'll be right glad you did--presently," said
Slingerland, with animation. "'Specially when thar wasn't nothin'
much to forgive."
Allie became mute. She could not lift her eyes.
"Lass, listen!" began Slingerland. "After you left Roarin' City
Neale went at hard work. Began by heavin' ties an' rails, an' now
he's slingin' a sledge.... This was amazin' to me. I seen him only
onct since, an' thet was the other day. But I heerd about him. I
rode over to Roarin' City several times. An' I made it my bizness to
find out about Neale.... He never came into the town at all. They
said he worked like a slave the first day, bleedin' hard. But he
couldn't be stopped. An' the work didn't kill him, though thar was
some as swore it would. They said he changed, an' when he toughened
up thar was never but one man as could equal him, an' thet was an
Irish feller named Casey.
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