A knocking at the door preceded a call, “Allie, are you ready?”
The door opened. Durade entered. He appeared thinner than she had ever seen him, with more white in or beneath his olive complexion, and there were marks of strain and of passion on his face. Allie knew he labored under some strong, suppressed excitement. More and more he seemed to lose something of his old character--of the stately Spanish manner.
“Put that veil on,” he said. “I’m not ready for Benton to see you.”
“Only down the street. I’ve a new place,” he replied. “Come. Stitt will bring your things.”
Allie could not see very well through the heavy veil and she stumbled over the rude threshold. Durade took hold of her arm and presently led her out into the light. The air was hot, windy, dusty. The street was full of hurrying and lounging men. Allie heard different snatches of speech as she and Durade went on. Some stared and leered at her, at which times Durade’s hold tightened on her arm and his step quickened. She was certain no one looked at Durade. Some man jostled her, another pinched her arm. Her ears tingled with unfamiliar coarse speech.
They walked through heavy sand and dust, then along a board walk, to turn aside before what was apparently a new brick structure, but a closer view proved it to be only painted wood. The place rang hollow with a sound of hammers. It looked well, but did not feel stable underfoot. Durade led her through two large hall-like rooms into a small one, light and newly furnished.
“The best Benton afforded,” said Durade, waving his hand. “You’ll be comfortable. There are books--newspapers. Here’s a door opening into a little room. It’s dark, but there’s water, towel, soap. And you’ve a mirror.... Allie, this is luxury to what you’ve had to put up with.”
“It is, indeed,” she replied, removing her veil, and then the cloak and bonnet. “But--am I to be shut up here?”
“Yes. Sometimes at night early I’ll take you out to walk. But Benton is--”
“Benton will not last long,” he finished, with a shrug of his shoulders. “There’ll be another one of these towns out along the line. We’ll go there. And then to Omaha.”
More than once he had hinted at going on eastward.
“I’ll find your mother--some day,” he added, darkly. “If I didn’t believe that I’d do differently by you.”