20
Neale took up lodgings with his friend Larry. He did not at first tell the cowboy about his recovery of Allie Lee and then her loss for the second time; and when finally he could not delay the revelation any longer he regretted that he had been compelled to tell.
Larry took the news hard. He inclined to the idea that she had fallen again into the hands of the Indians. Nevertheless, he showed himself terribly bitter against men of the Fresno stamp, and in fact against all the outlaw, ruffianly, desperado class so numerous in Benton.
Neale begged Larry to be cautious, to go slow, to ferret out things, and so help him, instead of making it harder to locate Allie through his impetuosity.
“Pard, I reckon Allie’s done for,” said Larry, gloomily.
“No—no! Larry, I feel she’s alive—well. If she were dead or—or—well, wouldn’t I know?” protested Neale.
But Larry was not convinced. He had seen the hard side of border life; he knew the odds against Allie.
“Reckon I’ll look fer that Fresno,” he said.
And deeper than before he plunged into Benton’s wild life.
One evening Neale, on returning from work to his lodgings, found the cowboy there. In the dim light Larry looked strange. He had his gun-belt in his hands. Neale turned up the lamp.