“Allie Lee. My father is Allison Lee.”
“Whew!” The gambler whistled softly and, turning, glanced at the door, then beckoned Ancliffe. The Englishman arose. In the adjoining rooms sounds of strife were abating.
“Ancliffe, this girl is Allie Lee—daughter of Allison Lee—a big man of the U.P.R.... Something terribly wrong here.” And he whispered to Ancliffe.
Allie became aware of the Englishman’s scrutiny, doubtful, sad, yet kind and curious. Indeed these men had heard of her.
“Hough, you must be mistaken,” he said.
Allie felt a sudden rush of emotion. Her opportunity had come. “I am Allie Lee. My mother ran off with Durade—to California. He used her as a lure to draw men to his gambling-hells—as he uses me now... Two years ago we escaped—started east with a caravan. The Indians attacked us. I crawled under a rock—escaped the massacre. I—”
“Never mind all your story,” interrupted Hough. “We haven’t time for that. I believe you... You are held a close prisoner?”
“Oh yes—locked and barred. I never get out. I have been threatened so—that until now I feared to tell anyone. But Durade—he is going mad. I—I can bear it no longer.”
“Miss Lee, you shall not bear it,” declared Ancliffe. “We’ll take you out of here.”
“How?” queried Hough, shortly.