“General Lodge, it was indeed a narrow shave for me,” replied another voice, low and husky.
Allie slowly sat up, with the dreamy waiting abstraction less strong. Her father, Allison Lee, and General Lodge, Neale’s old chief, were there in the other room.
“Neale almost killed Durade! Broke him! Cut him all up!” said the general, with agitation. “I had it from McDermott, one of my spikers—a reliable man.... Neale was shot—perhaps cut, too.... But he doesn’t seem to know it.”
Allie sprang up, transfixed and thrilling.
“Neale almost killed—him!” echoed Allison Lee, hoarsely. Then followed a sound of a chair falling.
“Indeed, Allison, it’s true,” broke in a strange voice. “The street’s full of men—all talking—all stirred up.”
Other men entered the room.
“Is Neale here?” queried General Lodge, sharply.
“They’re trying to hold him up—in the office. The boys want to pat him on the back.... Durade was not liked,” replied some one.
“Is Neale badly hurt?”