I locked her in a room and hurried out to find you. For the first time in years I had a happy moment. I understood why you had never cared for me. I respected you. Then I would have gone to hell for you. It was my joy that you must owe your happiness to me--that I would be the one to give you back Allie Lee and hope, and the old, ambitious life. Oh, I gloried in my power. It was sweet. You would owe every kiss of hers, every moment of pride, to the woman you had repulsed. That was to be my revenge. 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. Ancliffe’s death was beautiful. I am cold. It’s hard to write. All is darkening. I hear the moan of wind. Forgive me! Neale, the difference between me and Allie Lee--is a good man’s love. Men are blind to woman’s agony. She laid her cheek here--on my breast. I--who always wanted a child. I shall die alone. No--I think God is here. There is some one! After all, I was a woman. Neale forgive-- 31 “Wor I there?” echoed McDermott, as he wiped the clammy sweat from his face. “B’gosh, I wor!” It was half-past five. There appeared to be an unusual number of men on the street, not so hurried and business-like and merry as generally, and given to collecting in groups, low-voiced and excited. General Lodge drew McDermott inside. “Come. You need a bracer. Man, you look sick,” he said. At the bar McDermott’s brown and knotty hand shook as he lifted a glass and gulped a drink of whisky. “Gineral, I ain’t the mon I wuz,” complained McDermott. “Casey’s gone! An’ we had hell wid the Injuns gittin’ here. An’ thin jest afther I stepped off the train--it happened.”