“Boys, it’s come at last! I knowed I’d run into you some day,” he said, and he gripped them with horny hands.
Neale tried to speak, but a terrible cramp in his throat choked him. He appealed with his hands to Slingerland. The trapper lost his smile and the iron set returned to his features.
Larry choked over his utterance. “Al-lie! What aboot—her?”
“Boys, it’s broke me down!” replied Slingerland, hoarsely. “I swear to you I never left Allie alone fer a year—an’ then—the fust time—when she made me go—I come back an’ finds the cabin burnt.... She’s gone! Gone!... No redskin job. That damned riffraff out of Californy. I tracked ‘em. Then a hell of a storm comes up. No tracks left! All’s lost! An’ I goes back to my traps in the mountains.”
“What—became—of—her?” whispered Neale.
Slingerland looked away from him.
“Son! You remember Allie. She’d die, quick!... Wouldn’t she, Larry?”
“Shore. Thet girl—couldn’t—hev lived a day,” replied Larry, thickly.
Neale plunged blindly away from his friends. Then the torture in his breast seemed to burst. The sobs came, heavy, racking. He sank upon a box and bowed his head. There Larry and Slingerland found him.
The cowboy looked down with helpless pain. “Aw, pard—don’t take it—so hard,” he implored.