THE MAN OF THE FOREST

by Zane Grey

Harper and Brothers

New York

1920

Published: 1919

CHAPTER I

At sunset hour the forest was still, lonely, sweet with tang of fir andspruce, blazing in gold and red and green; and the man who glided onunder the great trees seemed to blend with the colors and, disappearing, to have become a part of the wild woodland. 

Old Baldy, highest of the White Mountains, stood up round and bare, rimmed bright gold in the last glow of the setting sun. Then, as thefire dropped behind the domed peak, a change, a cold and darkeningblight, passed down the black spear-pointed slopes over all thatmountain world. 

It was a wild, richly timbered, and abundantly watered region of darkforests and grassy parks, ten thousand feet above sea-level, isolatedon all sides by the southern Arizona desert--the virgin home of elk anddeer, of bear and lion, of wolf and fox, and the birthplace as well asthe hiding-place of the fierce Apache. 

September in that latitude was marked by the sudden cool night breezefollowing shortly after sundown. Twilight appeared to come on its wings, as did faint sounds, not distinguishable before in the stillness. 

Milt Dale, man of the forest, halted at the edge of a timbered ridge, tolisten and to watch. Beneath him lay a narrow valley, open and grassy, from which rose a faint murmur of running water. Its music was piercedby the wild staccato yelp of a hunting coyote. From overhead in thegiant fir came a twittering and rustling of grouse settling for thenight; and from across the valley drifted the last low calls of wildturkeys going to roost. 

To Dale's keen ear these sounds were all they should have been, betokening an unchanged serenity of forestland. He was glad, for he hadexpected to hear the clipclop of white men's horses--which to hear upin those fastnesses was hateful to him. He and the Indian were friends. That fierce foe had no enmity toward the lone hunter. But there hidsomewhere in the forest a gang of bad men, sheep-thieves, whom Dale didnot want to meet. 

As he started out upon the slope, a sudden flaring of the afterglow ofsunset flooded down from Old Baldy, filling the valley with lights andshadows, yellow and blue, like the radiance of the sky. The pools in thecurves of the brook shone darkly bright. Dale's gaze swept up and downthe valley, and then tried to pierce the black shadows across the brookwhere the wall of spruce stood up, its speared and spiked crest againstthe pale clouds. The wind began to moan in the trees and there was afeeling of rain in the air. Dale, striking a trail, turned his back tothe fading afterglow and strode down the valley. 

With night at hand and a rain-storm brewing, he did not head for hisown camp, some miles distant, but directed his steps toward an old logcabin. When he reached it darkness had almost set in. He approached withcaution. This cabin, like the few others scattered in the valleys, mightharbor Indians or a bear or a panther. Nothing, however, appeared to bethere. Then Dale studied the clouds driving across the sky, and he feltthe cool dampness of a fine, misty rain on his face. It would rain offand on during the night. Whereupon he entered the cabin. 

And the next moment he heard quick hoof-beats of trotting horses. Peering out, he saw dim, moving forms in the darkness, quite closeat hand. They had approached against the wind so that sound had beendeadened. Five horses with riders, Dale made out--saw them loom close. Then he heard rough voices. Quickly he turned to feel in the dark for aladder he knew led to a loft; and finding it, he quickly mounted, takingcare not to make a noise with his rifle, and lay down upon the floorof brush and poles. Scarcely had he done so when heavy steps, withaccompaniment of clinking spurs, passed through the door below into thecabin. 

"Wal, Beasley, are you here?" queried a loud voice. 

There was no reply. The man below growled under his breath, and againthe spurs jingled. 

"Fellars, Beasley ain't here yet, " he called. "Put the hosses under theshed. We'll wait. "

"Wait, huh!" came a harsh reply. "Mebbe all night--an' we got nuthin' toeat. "

"Shut up, Moze. Reckon you're no good for anythin' but eatin'. Put themhosses away an' some of you rustle fire-wood in here. "

Low, muttered curses, then mingled with dull thuds of hoofs and strainof leather and heaves of tired horses. 

Another shuffling, clinking footstep entered the cabin. 

"Snake, it'd been sense to fetch a pack along, " drawled this newcomer. 

"Reckon so, Jim. But we didn't, an' what's the use hollerin'? Beasleywon't keep us waitin' long. "

Dale, lying still and prone, felt a slow start in all his blood--athrilling wave. That deep-voiced man below was Snake Anson, the worstand most dangerous character of the region; and the others, undoubtedly, composed his gang, long notorious in that sparsely settled country. And the Beasley mentioned--he was one of the two biggest ranchers andsheep-raisers of the White Mountain ranges. What was the meaning ofa rendezvous between Snake Anson and Beasley? Milt Dale answered thatquestion to Beasley's discredit; and many strange matters pertaining tosheep and herders, always a mystery to the little village of Pine, nowbecame as clear as daylight. 

Other men entered the cabin. 

"It ain't a-goin' to rain much, " said one. Then came a crash of woodthrown to the ground. 

"Jim, hyar's a chunk of pine log, dry as punk, " said another. 

Rustlings and slow footsteps, and then heavy thuds attested to theprobability that Jim was knocking the end of a log upon the ground tosplit off a corner whereby a handful of dry splinters could be procured. 

"Snake, lemme your pipe, an' I'll hev a fire in a jiffy. "

"Wal, I want my terbacco an' I ain't carin' about no fire, " repliedSnake. 

"Reckon you're the meanest cuss in these woods, " drawled Jim. 

Sharp click of steel on flint--many times--and then a sound of hardblowing and sputtering told of Jim's efforts to start a fire. Presentlythe pitchy blackness of the cabin changed; there came a little cracklingof wood and the rustle of flame, and then a steady growing roar. 

As it chanced, Dale lay face down upon the floor of the loft, and rightnear his eyes there were cracks between the boughs. When the fire blazedup he was fairly well able to see the men below. The only one he hadever seen was Jim Wilson, who had been well known at Pine before SnakeAnson had ever been heard of. Jim was the best of a bad lot, and he hadfriends among the honest people. It was rumored that he and Snake didnot pull well together. 

"Fire feels good, " said the burly Moze, who appeared as broad as he wasblack-visaged. "Fall's sure a-comin'. .. Now if only we had some grub!"

"Moze, there's a hunk of deer meat in my saddle-bag, an' if you git ityou can have half, " spoke up another voice. 

Moze shuffled out with alacrity. 

In the firelight Snake Anson's face looked lean and serpent-like, hiseyes glittered, and his long neck and all of his long length carried outthe analogy of his name. 

"Snake, what's this here deal with Beasley?" inquired Jim. 

"Reckon you'll l'arn when I do, " replied the leader. He appeared tiredand thoughtful. 

"Ain't we done away with enough of them poor greaser herders--fornothin'?" queried the youngest of the gang, a boy in years, whose hard, bitter lips and hungry eyes somehow set him apart from his comrades. 

"You're dead right, Burt--an' that's my stand, " replied the man whohad sent Moze out. "Snake, snow 'll be flyin' round these woods beforelong, " said Jim Wilson. "Are we goin' to winter down in the Tonto Basinor over on the Gila?"

"Reckon we'll do some tall ridin' before we strike south, " repliedSnake, gruffly. 

At the juncture Moze returned. 

"Boss, I heerd a hoss comin' up the trail, " he said. 

Snake rose and stood at the door, listening. Outside the wind moanedfitfully and scattering raindrops pattered upon the cabin. 

"A-huh!" exclaimed Snake, in relief. 

Silence ensued then for a moment, at the end of which interval Daleheard a rapid clip-clop on the rocky trail outside. The men belowshuffled uneasily, but none of them spoke. The fire cracked cheerily. Snake Anson stepped back from before the door with an action thatexpressed both doubt and caution. 

The trotting horse had halted out there somewhere. 

"Ho there, inside!" called a voice from the darkness. 

"Ho yourself!" replied Anson. 

"That you, Snake?" quickly followed the query. 

"Reckon so, " returned Anson, showing himself. 

The newcomer entered. He was a large man, wearing a slicker that shonewet in the firelight. His sombrero, pulled well down, shadowed his face, so that the upper half of his features might as well have been masked. He had a black, drooping mustache, and a chin like a rock. A potentialforce, matured and powerful, seemed to be wrapped in his movements. 

"Hullo, Snake! Hullo, Wilson!" he said. "I've backed out on the otherdeal. Sent for you on--on another little matter. .. Particular private. "

Here he indicated with a significant gesture that Snake's men were toleave the cabin. 

"A-huh! ejaculated Anson, dubiously. Then he turned abruptly. Moze, you an' Shady an' Burt go wait outside. Reckon this ain't the deal Iexpected. .. . An' you can saddle the hosses. "

The three members of the gang filed out, all glancing keenly at thestranger, who had moved back into the shadow. 

"All right now, Beasley, " said Anson, low-voiced. "What's your game?Jim, here, is in on my deals. "

Then Beasley came forward to the fire, stretching his hands to theblaze. 

"Nothin' to do with sheep, " replied he. 

"Wal, I reckoned not, " assented the other. "An' say--whatever your gameis, I ain't likin' the way you kept me waitin' an' ridin' around. Wewaited near all day at Big Spring. Then thet greaser rode up an' sent ushere. We're a long way from camp with no grub an' no blankets. "

"I won't keep you long, " said Beasley. "But even if I did you'd notmind--when I tell you this deal concerns Al Auchincloss--the man whomade an outlaw of you!"

Anson's sudden action then seemed a leap of his whole frame. Wilson, likewise, bent forward eagerly. Beasley glanced at the door--then beganto whisper. 

"Old Auchincloss is on his last legs. He's goin' to croak. He's sentback to Missouri for a niece--a young girl--an' he means to leave hisranches an' sheep--all his stock to her. Seems he has no one else. .. . Them ranches--an' all them sheep an' hosses! You know me an' Al werepardners in sheep-raisin' for years. He swore I cheated him an' he threwme out. An' all these years I've been swearin' he did me dirt--owed mesheep an' money. I've got as many friends in Pine--an' all the way downthe trail--as Auchincloss has. .. . An' Snake, see here--"

He paused to draw a deep breath and his big hands trembled over theblaze. Anson leaned forward, like a serpent ready to strike, and JimWilson was as tense with his divination of the plot at hand. 

"See here, " panted Beasley. "The girl's due to arrive at Magdalena onthe sixteenth. That's a week from to-morrow. She'll take the stage toSnowdrop, where some of Auchincloss's men will meet her with a team. "

"A-huh!" grunted Anson as Beasley halted again. "An' what of all thet?"

"She mustn't never get as far as Snowdrop!"

"You want me to hold up the stage--an' get the girl?"

"Exactly. "

"Wal--an' what then?"

"Make off with her. .. . She disappears. That's your affair. . .. I'llpress my claims on Auchincloss--hound him--an' be ready when he croaksto take over his property. Then the girl can come back, for all Icare. .. . You an' Wilson fix up the deal between you. If you have to letthe gang in on it don't give them any hunch as to who an' what. This 'llmake you a rich stake. An' providin', when it's paid, you strike for newterritory. "

"Thet might be wise, " muttered Snake Anson. "Beasley, the weak point inyour game is the uncertainty of life. Old Al is tough. He may fool you. "

"Auchincloss is a dyin' man, " declared Beasley, with such positivenessthat it could not be doubted. 

"Wal, he sure wasn't plumb hearty when I last seen him. .. . Beasley, incase I play your game--how'm I to know that girl?"

"Her name's Helen Rayner, " replied Beasley, eagerly. "She's twentyyears old. All of them Auchinclosses was handsome an' they say she's thehandsomest. "

"A-huh!. .. Beasley, this 's sure a bigger deal--an' one I ain'tfancyin'. .. . But I never doubted your word. .. . Come on--an' talk out. What's in it for me?"

"Don't let any one in on this. You two can hold up the stage. Why, itwas never held up. .. . But you want to mask. .. . How about ten thousandsheep--or what they bring at Phenix in gold?"

Jim Wilson whistled low. 

"An' leave for new territory?" repeated Snake Anson, under his breath. 

"You've said it. "

"Wal, I ain't fancyin' the girl end of this deal, but you can count onme. .. . September sixteenth at Magdalena--an' her name's Helen--an' she'shandsome?"

"Yes. My herders will begin drivin' south in about two weeks. Later, ifthe weather holds good, send me word by one of them an' I'll meet you. "

Beasley spread his hands once more over the blaze, pulled on his glovesand pulled down his sombrero, and with an abrupt word of parting strodeout into the night. 

"Jim, what do you make of him?" queried Snake Anson. 

"Pard, he's got us beat two ways for Sunday, " replied Wilson. 

"A-huh!. .. Wal, let's get back to camp. " And he led the way out. 

Low voices drifted into the cabin, then came snorts of horses andstriking hoofs, and after that a steady trot, gradually ceasing. Once more the moan of wind and soft patter of rain filled the foreststillness. 

CHAPTER II

Milt Dale quietly sat up to gaze, with thoughtful eyes, into the gloom. 

He was thirty years old. As a boy of fourteen he had run off from hisschool and home in Iowa and, joining a wagon-train of pioneers, he wasone of the first to see log cabins built on the slopes of the WhiteMountains. But he had not taken kindly to farming or sheep-raising ormonotonous home toil, and for twelve years he had lived in the forest, with only infrequent visits to Pine and Show Down and Snowdrop. Thiswandering forest life of his did not indicate that he did not care forthe villagers, for he did care, and he was welcome everywhere, butthat he loved wild life and solitude and beauty with the primitiveinstinctive force of a savage. 

And on this night he had stumbled upon a dark plot against the only oneof all the honest white people in that region whom he could not call afriend. 

"That man Beasley!" he soliloquized. "Beasley--in cahoots with SnakeAnson!. .. Well, he was right. Al Auchincloss is on his last legs. Poorold man! When I tell him he'll never believe ME, that's sure!"

Discovery of the plot meant to Dale that he must hurry down to Pine. 

"A girl--Helen Rayner--twenty years old, " he mused. "Beasley wants hermade off with. .. . That means--worse than killed!"

Dale accepted facts of life with that equanimity and fatality acquiredby one long versed in the cruel annals of forest lore. Bad men workedtheir evil just as savage wolves relayed a deer. He had shot wolves forthat trick. With men, good or bad, he had not clashed. Old women andchildren appealed to him, but he had never had any interest in girls. The image, then, of this Helen Rayner came strangely to Dale; and hesuddenly realized that he had meant somehow to circumvent Beasley, notto befriend old Al Auchincloss, but for the sake of the girl. Probablyshe was already on her way West, alone, eager, hopeful of a future home. How little people guessed what awaited them at a journey's end! Manytrails ended abruptly in the forest--and only trained woodsmen couldread the tragedy. 

"Strange how I cut across country to-day from Spruce Swamp, " reflectedDale. Circumstances, movements, usually were not strange to him. Hismethods and habits were seldom changed by chance. The matter, then, ofhis turning off a course out of his way for no apparent reason, andof his having overheard a plot singularly involving a young girl, wasindeed an adventure to provoke thought. It provoked more, for Dale grewconscious of an unfamiliar smoldering heat along his veins. He who hadlittle to do with the strife of men, and nothing to do with anger, felthis blood grow hot at the cowardly trap laid for an innocent girl. 

"Old Al won't listen to me, " pondered Dale. "An' even if he did, hewouldn't believe me. Maybe nobody will. .. . All the same, Snake Ansonwon't get that girl. "

With these last words Dale satisfied himself of his own position, andhis pondering ceased. Taking his rifle, he descended from the loft andpeered out of the door. The night had grown darker, windier, cooler;broken clouds were scudding across the sky; only a few stars showed;fine rain was blowing from the northwest; and the forest seemed full ofa low, dull roar. 

"Reckon I'd better hang up here, " he said, and turned to the fire. Thecoals were red now. From the depths of his hunting-coat he procured alittle bag of salt and some strips of dried meat. These strips he laidfor a moment on the hot embers, until they began to sizzle and curl;then with a sharpened stick he removed them and ate like a hungry huntergrateful for little. 

He sat on a block of wood with his palms spread to the dying warmth ofthe fire and his eyes fixed upon the changing, glowing, golden embers. Outside, the wind continued to rise and the moan of the forest increasedto a roar. Dale felt the comfortable warmth stealing over him, drowsilylulling; and he heard the storm-wind in the trees, now like a waterfall, and anon like a retreating army, and again low and sad; and he sawpictures in the glowing embers, strange as dreams. 

Presently he rose and, climbing to the loft, he stretched himself out, and soon fell asleep. 

When the gray dawn broke he was on his way, 'cross-country, to thevillage of Pine. 

During the night the wind had shifted and the rain had ceased. Asuspicion of frost shone on the grass in open places. All was gray--theparks, the glades--and deeper, darker gray marked the aisles of theforest. Shadows lurked under the trees and the silence seemed consistentwith spectral forms. Then the east kindled, the gray lightened, thedreaming woodland awoke to the far-reaching rays of a bursting red sun. 

This was always the happiest moment of Dale's lonely days, as sunsetwas his saddest. He responded, and there was something in his blood thatanswered the whistle of a stag from a near-by ridge. His strides werelong, noiseless, and they left dark trace where his feet brushed thedew-laden grass. 

Dale pursued a zigzag course over the ridges to escape the hardestclimbing, but the "senacas"--those parklike meadows so named by Mexicansheep-herders--were as round and level as if they had been made by manin beautiful contrast to the dark-green, rough, and rugged ridges. Bothopen senaca and dense wooded ridge showed to his quick eye an abundanceof game. The cracking of twigs and disappearing flash of gray among thespruces, a round black lumbering object, a twittering in the brush, and stealthy steps, were all easy signs for Dale to read. Once, as henoiselessly emerged into a little glade, he espied a red fox stalkingsome quarry, which, as he advanced, proved to be a flock of partridges. They whirred up, brushing the branches, and the fox trotted away. Inevery senaca Dale encountered wild turkeys feeding on the seeds of thehigh grass. 

It had always been his custom, on his visits to Pine, to kill andpack fresh meat down to several old friends, who were glad to give himlodging. And, hurried though he was now, he did not intend to make anexception of this trip. 

At length he got down into the pine belt, where the great, gnarled, yellow trees soared aloft, stately, and aloof from one another, and theground was a brown, odorous, springy mat of pine-needles, level as afloor. Squirrels watched him from all around, scurrying away at hisnear approach--tiny, brown, light-striped squirrels, and larger ones, russet-colored, and the splendid dark-grays with their white bushy tailsand plumed ears. 

This belt of pine ended abruptly upon wide, gray, rolling, open land, almost like a prairie, with foot-hills lifting near and far, and thered-gold blaze of aspen thickets catching the morning sun. Here Daleflushed a flock of wild turkeys, upward of forty in number, and theirsubdued color of gray flecked with white, and graceful, sleek build, showed them to be hens. There was not a gobbler in the flock. They beganto run pell-mell out into the grass, until only their heads appearedbobbing along, and finally disappeared. Dale caught a glimpse ofskulking coyotes that evidently had been stalking the turkeys, and asthey saw him and darted into the timber he took a quick shot at thehindmost. His bullet struck low, as he had meant it to, but too low, andthe coyote got only a dusting of earth and pine-needles thrown up intohis face. This frightened him so that he leaped aside blindly to buttinto a tree, rolled over, gained his feet, and then the cover of theforest. Dale was amused at this. His hand was against all the predatorybeasts of the forest, though he had learned that lion and bear and wolfand fox were all as necessary to the great scheme of nature as were thegentle, beautiful wild creatures upon which they preyed. But some heloved better than others, and so he deplored the inexplicable cruelty. 

He crossed the wide, grassy plain and struck another gradual descentwhere aspens and pines crowded a shallow ravine and warm, sun-lightedglades bordered along a sparkling brook. Here he heard a turkey gobble, and that was a signal for him to change his course and make a crouching, silent detour around a clump of aspens. In a sunny patch of grassa dozen or more big gobblers stood, all suspiciously facing in hisdirection, heads erect, with that wild aspect peculiar to their species. Old wild turkey gobblers were the most difficult game to stalk. Daleshot two of them. The others began to run like ostriches, thudding overthe ground, spreading their wings, and with that running start launchedtheir heavy bodies into whirring flight. They flew low, at about theheight of a man from the grass, and vanished in the woods. 

Dale threw the two turkeys over his shoulder and went on his way. Soonhe came to a break in the forest level, from which he gazed down aleague-long slope of pine and cedar, out upon the bare, glisteningdesert, stretching away, endlessly rolling out to the dim, dark horizonline. 

The little hamlet of Pine lay on the last level of sparsely timberedforest. A road, running parallel with a dark-watered, swift-flowingstream, divided the cluster of log cabins from which columns of bluesmoke drifted lazily aloft. Fields of corn and fields of oats, yellowin the sunlight, surrounded the village; and green pastures, dottedwith horses and cattle, reached away to the denser woodland. This siteappeared to be a natural clearing, for there was no evidence of cuttimber. The scene was rather too wild to be pastoral, but it was serene, tranquil, giving the impression of a remote community, prosperous andhappy, drifting along the peaceful tenor of sequestered lives. 

Dale halted before a neat little log cabin and a little patch of gardenbordered with sunflowers. His call was answered by an old woman, grayand bent, but remarkably spry, who appeared at the door. 

"Why, land's sakes, if it ain't Milt Dale!" she exclaimed, in welcome. 

"Reckon it's me, Mrs. Cass, " he replied. "An' I've brought you aturkey. "

"Milt, you're that good boy who never forgits old Widow Cass. .. . Whata gobbler! First one I've seen this fall. My man Tom used to fetch homegobblers like that. .. . An' mebbe he'll come home again sometime. "

Her husband, Tom Cass, had gone into the forest years before and hadnever returned. But the old woman always looked for him and never gaveup hope. 

"Men have been lost in the forest an' yet come back, " replied Dale, ashe had said to her many a time. 

"Come right in. You air hungry, I know. Now, son, when last did you eata fresh egg or a flapjack?"

"You should remember, " he answered, laughing, as he followed her into asmall, clean kitchen. 

"Laws-a'-me! An' thet's months ago, " she replied, shaking her gray head. "Milt, you should give up that wild life--an' marry--an' have a home. "

"You always tell me that. "

"Yes, an' I'll see you do it yet. .. . Now you set there, an' pretty soonI'll give you thet to eat which 'll make your mouth water. "

"What's the news, Auntie?" he asked. 

"Nary news in this dead place. Why, nobody's been to Snowdrop in twoweeks!. .. Sary Jones died, poor old soul--she's better off--an' one ofmy cows run away. Milt, she's wild when she gits loose in the woods. An' you'll have to track her, 'cause nobody else can. An' John Dakker'sheifer was killed by a lion, an' Lem Harden's fast hoss--you know hisfavorite--was stole by hoss-thieves. Lem is jest crazy. An' that remindsme, Milt, where's your big ranger, thet you'd never sell or lend?"

"My horses are up in the woods, Auntie; safe, I reckon, fromhorse-thieves. "

"Well, that's a blessin'. We've had some stock stole this summer, Milt, an' no mistake. "

Thus, while preparing a meal for Dale, the old woman went on recountingall that had happened in the little village since his last visit. Daleenjoyed her gossip and quaint philosophy, and it was exceedingly goodto sit at her table. In his opinion, nowhere else could there have beensuch butter and cream, such ham and eggs. Besides, she always had applepie, it seemed, at any time he happened in; and apple pie was one ofDale's few regrets while up in the lonely forest. 

"How's old Al Auchincloss?" presently inquired Dale. 

"Poorly--poorly, " sighed Mrs. Cass. "But he tramps an' rides aroundsame as ever. Al's not long for this world. .. . An', Milt, that remindsme--there's the biggest news you ever heard. "

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Dale, to encourage the excited old woman. 

"Al has sent back to Saint Joe for his niece, Helen Rayner. She's toinherit all his property. We've heard much of her--a purty lass, theysay. .. . Now, Milt Dale, here's your chance. Stay out of the woods an' goto work. .. . You can marry that girl!"

"No chance for me, Auntie, " replied Dale, smiling. 

The old woman snorted. "Much you know! Any girl would have you, MiltDale, if you'd only throw a kerchief. "

"Me!. .. An' why, Auntie?" he queried, half amused, half thoughtful. Whenhe got back to civilization he always had to adjust his thoughts to theideas of people. 

"Why? I declare, Milt, you live so in the woods you're like a boy often--an' then sometimes as old as the hills. .. . There's no young man tocompare with you, hereabouts. An' this girl--she'll have all the spunkof the Auchinclosses. "

"Then maybe she'd not be such a catch, after all, " replied Dale. 

"Wal, you've no cause to love them, that's sure. But, Milt, theAuchincloss women are always good wives. "

"Dear Auntie, you're dreamin', " said Dale, soberly. "I want no wife. I'mhappy in the woods. "

"Air you goin' to live like an Injun all your days, Milt Dale?" shequeried, sharply. 

"I hope so. "

"You ought to be ashamed. But some lass will change you, boy, an' mebbeit'll be this Helen Rayner. I hope an' pray so to thet. "

"Auntie, supposin' she did change me. She'd never change old Al. Hehates me, you know. "

"Wal, I ain't so sure, Milt. I met Al the other day. He inquired foryou, an' said you was wild, but he reckoned men like you was good forpioneer settlements. Lord knows the good turns you've done this village!Milt, old Al doesn't approve of your wild life, but he never had no hardfeelin's till thet tame lion of yours killed so many of his sheep. "

"Auntie, I don't believe Tom ever killed Al's sheep, " declared Dale, positively. 

"Wal, Al thinks so, an' many other people, " replied Mrs. Cass, shakingher gray head doubtfully. "You never swore he didn't. An' there was themtwo sheep-herders who did swear they seen him. "

"They only saw a cougar. An' they were so scared they ran. "

"Who wouldn't? Thet big beast is enough to scare any one. For land'ssakes, don't ever fetch him down here again! I'll never forgit the timeyou did. All the folks an' children an' hosses in Pine broke an' runthet day. "

"Yes; but Tom wasn't to blame. Auntie, he's the tamest of my pets. Didn't he try to put his head on your lap an' lick your hand?"

"Wal, Milt, I ain't gainsayin' your cougar pet didn't act better 'n alot of people I know. Fer he did. But the looks of him an' what's beensaid was enough for me. "

"An' what's all that, Auntie?"

"They say he's wild when out of your sight. An' thet he'd trail an' killanythin' you put him after. "

"I trained him to be just that way. "

"Wal, leave Tom to home up in the woods--when you visit us. "

Dale finished his hearty meal, and listened awhile longer to the oldwoman's talk; then, taking his rifle and the other turkey, he bade hergood-by. She followed him out. 

"Now, Milt, you'll come soon again, won't you--jest to see Al'sniece--who'll be here in a week?"

"I reckon I'll drop in some day. .. . Auntie, have you seen my friends, the Mormon boys?"

"No, I 'ain't seen them an' don't want to, " she retorted. "Milt Dale, ifany one ever corrals you it'll be Mormons. "

"Don't worry, Auntie. I like those boys. They often see me up in thewoods an' ask me to help them track a hoss or help kill some freshmeat. "

"They're workin' for Beasley now. "

"Is that so?" rejoined Dale, with a sudden start. "An' what doin'?"

"Beasley is gettin' so rich he's buildin' a fence, an' didn't haveenough help, so I hear. "

"Beasley gettin' rich!" repeated Dale, thoughtfully. "More sheep an'horses an' cattle than ever, I reckon?"

"Laws-a'-me! Why, Milt, Beasley 'ain't any idea what he owns. Yes, he'sthe biggest man in these parts, since poor old Al's took to failin'. Ireckon Al's health ain't none improved by Beasley's success. They've badsome bitter quarrels lately--so I hear. Al ain't what he was. "

Dale bade good-by again to his old friend and strode away, thoughtfuland serious. Beasley would not only be difficult to circumvent, but hewould be dangerous to oppose. There did not appear much doubt of hisdriving his way rough-shod to the dominance of affairs there in Pine. Dale, passing down the road, began to meet acquaintances who hadhearty welcome for his presence and interest in his doings, so that hispondering was interrupted for the time being. He carried the turkey toanother old friend, and when he left her house he went on to the villagestore. This was a large log cabin, roughly covered with clapboards, witha wide plank platform in front and a hitching-rail in the road. Severalhorses were standing there, and a group of lazy, shirt-sleeved loungers. 

"I'll be doggoned if it ain't Milt Dale!" exclaimed one. 

"Howdy, Milt, old buckskin! Right down glad to see you, " greetedanother. 

"Hello, Dale! You air shore good for sore eyes, " drawled still another. 

After a long period of absence Dale always experienced a singular warmthof feeling when he met these acquaintances. It faded quickly when he gotback to the intimacy of his woodland, and that was because the people ofPine, with few exceptions--though they liked him and greatly admired hisoutdoor wisdom--regarded him as a sort of nonentity. Because he lovedthe wild and preferred it to village and range life, they had classedhim as not one of them. Some believed him lazy; others believed himshiftless; others thought him an Indian in mind and habits; and therewere many who called him slow-witted. Then there was another side totheir regard for him, which always afforded him good-natured amusement. Two of this group asked him to bring in some turkey or venison; anotherwanted to hunt with him. Lem Harden came out of the store and appealedto Dale to recover his stolen horse. Lem's brother wanted a wild-runningmare tracked and brought home. Jesse Lyons wanted a colt broken, andbroken with patience, not violence, as was the method of the hard-ridingboys at Pine. So one and all they besieged Dale with their selfishneeds, all unconscious of the flattering nature of these overtures. Andon the moment there happened by two women whose remarks, as they enteredthe store, bore strong testimony to Dale's personality. 

"If there ain't Milt Dale!" exclaimed the older of the two. "How lucky!My cow's sick, an' the men are no good doctorin'. I'll jest ask Miltover. "

"No one like Milt!" responded the other woman, heartily. 

"Good day there--you Milt Dale!" called the first speaker. "When you gitaway from these lazy men come over. "

Dale never refused a service, and that was why his infrequent visits toPine were wont to be prolonged beyond his own pleasure. 

Presently Beasley strode down the street, and when about to enter thestore he espied Dale. 

"Hullo there, Milt!" he called, cordially, as he came forward withextended hand. His greeting was sincere, but the lightning glance heshot over Dale was not born of his pleasure. Seen in daylight, Beasleywas a big, bold, bluff man, with strong, dark features. His aggressivepresence suggested that he was a good friend and a bad enemy. 

Dale shook hands with him. 

"How are you, Beasley?"

"Ain't complainin', Milt, though I got more work than I can rustle. Reckon you wouldn't take a job bossin' my sheep-herders?"

"Reckon I wouldn't, " replied Dale. "Thanks all the same. "

"What's goin' on up in the woods?"

"Plenty of turkey an' deer. Lots of bear, too. The Indians have workedback on the south side early this fall. But I reckon winter will comelate an' be mild. "

"Good! An' where 're you headin' from?"

"'Cross-country from my camp, " replied Dale, rather evasively. 

"Your camp! Nobody ever found that yet, " declared Beasley, gruffly. 

"It's up there, " said Dale. 

"Reckon you've got that cougar chained in your cabin door?" queriedBeasley, and there was a barely distinguishable shudder of his muscularframe. Also the pupils dilated in his hard brown eyes. 

"Tom ain't chained. An' I haven't no cabin, Beasley. "

"You mean to tell me that big brute stays in your camp without bein'hog-tied or corralled!" demanded Beasley. 

"Sure he does. "

"Beats me! But, then, I'm queer on cougars. Have had many a cougar trailme at night. Ain't sayin' I was scared. But I don't care for that brandof varmint. .. . Milt, you goin' to stay down awhile?"

"Yes, I'll hang around some. "

"Come over to the ranch. Glad to see you any time. Some old huntin'pards of yours are workin' for me. "

"Thanks, Beasley. I reckon I'll come over. "

Beasley turned away and took a step, and then, as if with anafter-thought, he wheeled again. 

"Suppose you've heard about old Al Auchincloss bein' near petered out?"queried Beasley. A strong, ponderous cast of thought seemed to emanatefrom his features. Dale divined that Beasley's next step would be tofurther his advancement by some word or hint. 

"Widow Cass was tellin' me all the news. Too bad about old Al, " repliedDale. 

"Sure is. He's done for. An' I'm sorry--though Al's never been square--"

"Beasley, " interrupted Dale, quickly, "you can't say that to me. AlAuchincloss always was the whitest an' squarest man in this sheepcountry. "

Beasley gave Dale a fleeting, dark glance. 

"Dale, what you think ain't goin' to influence feelin' on this range, "returned Beasley, deliberately. "You live in the woods an'--"

"Reckon livin' in the woods I might think--an' know a whole lot, "interposed Dale, just as deliberately. The group of men exchangedsurprised glances. This was Milt Dale in different aspect. And Beasleydid not conceal a puzzled surprise. 

"About what--now?" he asked, bluntly. 

"Why, about what's goin' on in Pine, " replied Dale. 

Some of the men laughed. 

"Shore lots goin' on--an' no mistake, " put in Lem Harden. 

Probably the keen Beasley had never before considered Milt Dale as aresponsible person; certainly never one in any way to cross his trail. But on the instant, perhaps, some instinct was born, or he divined anantagonism in Dale that was both surprising and perplexing. 

"Dale, I've differences with Al Auchincloss--have had them for years, "said Beasley. "Much of what he owns is mine. An' it's goin' to come tome. Now I reckon people will be takin' sides--some for me an' some forAl. Most are for me. .. . Where do you stand? Al Auchincloss never had nouse for you, an' besides he's a dyin' man. Are you goin' on his side?"

"Yes, I reckon I am. "

"Wal, I'm glad you've declared yourself, " rejoined Beasley, shortly, and he strode away with the ponderous gait of a man who would brush anyobstacle from his path. 

"Milt, thet's bad--makin' Beasley sore at you, " said Lem Harden. "He'son the way to boss this outfit. "

"He's sure goin' to step into Al's boots, " said another. 

"Thet was white of Milt to stick up fer poor old Al, " declared Lem'sbrother. 

Dale broke away from them and wended a thoughtful way down the road. Theburden of what he knew about Beasley weighed less heavily upon him, andthe close-lipped course he had decided upon appeared wisest. He neededto think before undertaking to call upon old Al Auchincloss; and to thatend he sought an hour's seclusion under the pines. 

CHAPTER III

In the afternoon, Dale, having accomplished some tasks imposed upon himby his old friends at Pine, directed slow steps toward the Auchinclossranch. 

The flat, square stone and log cabin of unusually large size stood upona little hill half a mile out of the village. A home as well as a fort, it had been the first structure erected in that region, and the processof building had more than once been interrupted by Indian attacks. The Apaches had for some time, however, confined their fierce raids topoints south of the White Mountain range. Auchincloss's house lookeddown upon barns and sheds and corrals of all sizes and shapes, andhundreds of acres of well-cultivated soil. Fields of oats waved gray andyellow in the afternoon sun; an immense green pasture was divided by awillow-bordered brook, and here were droves of horses, and out on therolling bare flats were straggling herds of cattle. 

The whole ranch showed many years of toil and the perseverance ofman. The brook irrigated the verdant valley between the ranch and thevillage. Water for the house, however, came down from the high, woodedslope of the mountain, and had been brought there by a simple expedient. Pine logs of uniform size had been laid end to end, with a deep troughcut in them, and they made a shining line down the slope, across thevalley, and up the little hill to the Auchincloss home. Near the housethe hollowed halves of logs had been bound together, making a crudepipe. Water ran uphill in this case, one of the facts that made theranch famous, as it had always been a wonder and delight to the smallboys of Pine. The two good women who managed Auchincloss's largehousehold were often shocked by the strange things that floated intotheir kitchen with the ever-flowing stream of clear, cold mountainwater. 

As it happened this day Dale encountered Al Auchincloss sitting in theshade of a porch, talking to some of his sheep-herders and stockmen. Auchincloss was a short man of extremely powerful build and great widthof shoulder. He had no gray hairs, and he did not look old, yet therewas in his face a certain weariness, something that resembled slopinglines of distress, dim and pale, that told of age and the ebb-tide ofvitality. His features, cast in large mold, were clean-cut and comely, and he had frank blue eyes, somewhat sad, yet still full of spirit. 

Dale had no idea how his visit would be taken, and he certainly wouldnot have been surprised to be ordered off the place. He had not set footthere for years. Therefore it was with surprise that he saw Auchinclosswave away the herders and take his entrance without any particularexpression. 

"Howdy, Al! How are you?" greeted Dale, easily, as he leaned his rifleagainst the log wall. 

Auchincloss did not rise, but he offered his hand. 

"Wal, Milt Dale, I reckon this is the first time I ever seen you that Icouldn't lay you flat on your back, " replied the rancher. His tone wasboth testy and full of pathos. 

"I take it you mean you ain't very well, " replied Dale. "I'm sorry, Al. "

"No, it ain't thet. Never was sick in my life. I'm just played out, likea hoss thet had been strong an' willin', an' did too much. .. . Wal, youdon't look a day older, Milt. Livin' in the woods rolls over a man'shead. "

"Yes, I'm feelin' fine, an' time never bothers me. "

"Wal, mebbe you ain't such a fool, after all. I've wonderedlately--since I had time to think. .. . But, Milt, you don't git noricher. "

"Al, I have all I want an' need. "

"Wal, then, you don't support anybody; you don't do any good in theworld. "

"We don't agree, Al, " replied Dale, with his slow smile. 

"Reckon we never did. .. . An' you jest come over to pay your respects tome, eh?"

"Not altogether, " answered Dale, ponderingly. "First off, I'd like tosay I'll pay back them sheep you always claimed my tame cougar killed. "

"You will! An' how'd you go about that?"

"Wasn't very many sheep, was there?

"A matter of fifty head. "

"So many! Al, do you still think old Tom killed them sheep?"

"Humph! Milt, I know damn well he did. "

"Al, now how could you know somethin' I don't? Be reasonable, now. Let'sdon't fall out about this again. I'll pay back the sheep. Work it out--"

"Milt Dale, you'll come down here an' work out that fifty head ofsheep!" ejaculated the old rancher, incredulously. 

"Sure. "

"Wal, I'll be damned!" He sat back and gazed with shrewd eyes at Dale. "What's got into you, Milt? Hev you heard about my niece thet's comin', an' think you'll shine up to her?"

"Yes, Al, her comin' has a good deal to do with my deal, " replied Dale, soberly. "But I never thought to shine up to her, as you hint. "

"Haw! Haw! You're just like all the other colts hereabouts. Reckon it'sa good sign, too. It'll take a woman to fetch you out of the woods. But, boy, this niece of mine, Helen Rayner, will stand you on your head. I never seen her. They say she's jest like her mother. An' NellAuchincloss--what a girl she was!"

Dale felt his face grow red. Indeed, this was strange conversation forhim. 

"Honest, Al--" he began. 

"Son, don't lie to an old man. "

"Lie! I wouldn't lie to any one. Al, it's only men who live in towns an'are always makin' deals. I live in the forest, where there's nothin' tomake me lie. "

"Wal, no offense meant, I'm sure, " responded Auchincloss. "An' mebbethere's somethin' in what you say. .. We was talkin' about them sheepyour big cat killed. Wal, Milt, I can't prove it, that's sure. An' mebbeyou'll think me doddery when I tell you my reason. It wasn't what themgreaser herders said about seein' a cougar in the herd. "

"What was it, then?" queried Dale, much interested. 

"Wal, thet day a year ago I seen your pet. He was lyin' in front of thestore an' you was inside tradin', fer supplies, I reckon. It was likemeetin' an enemy face to face. Because, damn me if I didn't know thatcougar was guilty when he looked in my eyes! There!"

The old rancher expected to be laughed at. But Dale was grave. 

"Al, I know how you felt, " he replied, as if they were discussing anaction of a human being. "Sure I'd hate to doubt old Tom. But he's acougar. An' the ways of animals are strange. .. Anyway, Al, I'll makegood the loss of your sheep. "

"No, you won't, " rejoined Auchincloss, quickly. "We'll call it off. I'mtakin' it square of you to make the offer. Thet's enough. So forget yourworry about work, if you had any. "

"There's somethin' else, Al, I wanted to say, " began Dale, withhesitation. "An' it's about Beasley. "

Auchincloss started violently, and a flame of red shot into his face. Then he raised a big hand that shook. Dale saw in a flash how the oldman's nerves had gone. 

"Don't mention--thet--thet greaser--to me!" burst out the rancher. "Itmakes me see--red. .. . Dale, I ain't overlookin' that you spoke up ferme to-day--stood fer my side. Lem Harden told me. I was glad. An' thet'swhy--to-day--I forgot our old quarrel. .. . But not a word about thetsheep-thief--or I'll drive you off the place!"

"But, Al--be reasonable, " remonstrated Dale. "It's necessary thet Ispeak of--of Beasley. "

"It ain't. Not to me. I won't listen. "

"Reckon you'll have to, Al, " returned Dale. "Beasley's after yourproperty. He's made a deal--"

"By Heaven! I know that!" shouted Auchincloss, tottering up, with hisface now black-red. "Do you think thet's new to me? Shut up, Dale! Ican't stand it. "

"But Al--there's worse, " went on Dale, hurriedly. "Worse! Your life'sthreatened--an' your niece, Helen--she's to be--"

"Shut up--an' clear out!" roared Auchincloss, waving his huge fists. 

He seemed on the verge of a collapse as, shaking all over, he backedinto the door. A few seconds of rage had transformed him into a pitifulold man. 

"But, Al--I'm your friend--" began Dale, appealingly. 

"Friend, hey?" returned the rancher, with grim, bitter passion. "Thenyou're the only one. .. . Milt Dale, I'm rich an' I'm a dyin' man. I trustnobody. .. But, you wild hunter--if you're my friend--prove it!. .. Gokill thet greaser sheep-thief! DO somethin'--an' then come talk to me!"

With that he lurched, half falling, into the house, and slammed thedoor. 

Dale stood there for a blank moment, and then, taking up his rifle, hestrode away. 

Toward sunset Dale located the camp of his four Mormon friends, andreached it in time for supper. 

John, Roy, Joe, and Hal Beeman were sons of a pioneer Mormon who hadsettled the little community of Snowdrop. They were young men in years, but hard labor and hard life in the open had made them look matured. Only a year's difference in age stood between John and Roy, and betweenRoy and Joe, and likewise Joe and Hal. When it came to appearance theywere difficult to distinguish from one another. Horsemen, sheep-herders, cattle-raisers, hunters--they all possessed long, wiry, powerful frames, lean, bronzed, still faces, and the quiet, keen eyes of men used to theopen. 

Their camp was situated beside a spring in a cove surrounded by aspens, some three miles from Pine; and, though working for Beasley, nearthe village, they had ridden to and fro from camp, after the habit ofseclusion peculiar to their kind. 

Dale and the brothers had much in common, and a warm regard had sprangup. But their exchange of confidences had wholly concerned thingspertaining to the forest. Dale ate supper with them, and talked as usualwhen he met them, without giving any hint of the purpose forming in hismind. After the meal he helped Joe round up the horses, hobble them forthe night, and drive them into a grassy glade among the pines. Later, when the shadows stole through the forest on the cool wind, and thecamp-fire glowed comfortably, Dale broached the subject that possessedhim. 

"An' so you're working for Beasley?" he queried, by way of startingconversation. 

"We was, " drawled John. "But to-day, bein' the end of our month, we gotour pay an' quit. Beasley sure was sore. "

"Why'd you knock off?"

John essayed no reply, and his brothers all had that quiet, suppressedlook of knowledge under restraint. 

"Listen to what I come to tell you, then you'll talk, " went on Dale. Andhurriedly he told of Beasley's plot to abduct Al Auchincloss's niece andclaim the dying man's property. 

When Dale ended, rather breathlessly, the Mormon boys sat without anyshow of surprise or feeling. John, the eldest, took up a stick andslowly poked the red embers of the fire, making the white sparks fly. 

"Now, Milt, why'd you tell us thet?" he asked, guardedly. 

"You're the only friends I've got, " replied Dale. "It didn't seem safefor me to talk down in the village. I thought of you boys right off. Iain't goin' to let Snake Anson get that girl. An' I need help, so I cometo you. "

"Beasley's strong around Pine, an' old Al's weakenin'. Beasley will gitthe property, girl or no girl, " said John. 

"Things don't always turn out as they look. But no matter about that. The girl deal is what riled me. .. . She's to arrive at Magdalena onthe sixteenth, an' take stage for Snowdrop. .. . Now what to do? If shetravels on that stage I'll be on it, you bet. But she oughtn't to be init at all. . .. Boys, somehow I'm goin' to save her. Will you help me? Ireckon I've been in some tight corners for you. Sure, this 's different. But are you my friends? You know now what Beasley is. An' you're alllost at the hands of Snake Anson's gang. You've got fast hosses, eyesfor trackin', an' you can handle a rifle. You're the kind of fellows I'dwant in a tight pinch with a bad gang. Will you stand by me or see me goalone?"

Then John Beeman, silently, and with pale face, gave Dale's hand apowerful grip, and one by one the other brothers rose to do likewise. Their eyes flashed with hard glint and a strange bitterness hoveredaround their thin lips. 

"Milt, mebbe we know what Beasley is better 'n you, " said John, atlength. "He ruined my father. He's cheated other Mormons. We boys haveproved to ourselves thet he gets the sheep Anson's gang steals. .. . An'drives the herds to Phenix! Our people won't let us accuse Beasley. Sowe've suffered in silence. My father always said, let some one else saythe first word against Beasley, an' you've come to us!"

Roy Beeman put a hand on Dale's shoulder. He, perhaps, was the keenestof the brothers and the one to whom adventure and peril called most. He had been oftenest with Dale, on many a long trail, and he was thehardest rider and the most relentless tracker in all that range country. 

"An' we're goin' with you, " he said, in a strong and rolling voice. 

They resumed their seats before the fire. John threw on more wood, andwith a crackling and sparkling the blaze curled up, fanned by the wind. As twilight deepened into night the moan in the pines increased to aroar. A pack of coyotes commenced to pierce the air in staccato cries. 

The five young men conversed long and earnestly, considering, planning, rejecting ideas advanced by each. Dale and Roy Beeman suggested most ofwhat became acceptable to all. Hunters of their type resembled explorersin slow and deliberate attention to details. What they had to deal withhere was a situation of unlimited possibilities; the horses and outfitneeded; a long detour to reach Magdalena unobserved; the rescue of astrange girl who would no doubt be self-willed and determined to rideon the stage--the rescue forcible, if necessary; the fight and theinevitable pursuit; the flight into the forest, and the safe delivery ofthe girl to Auchincloss. 

"Then, Milt, will we go after Beasley?" queried Roy Beeman, significantly. 

Dale was silent and thoughtful. 

"Sufficient unto the day!" said John. "An' fellars, let's go to bed. "

They rolled out their tarpaulins, Dale sharing Roy's blankets, and soonwere asleep, while the red embers slowly faded, and the great roar ofwind died down, and the forest stillness set in. 

CHAPTER IV

Helen Rayner had been on the westbound overland train fully twenty-fourhours before she made an alarming discovery. 

Accompanied by her sister Bo, a precocious girl of sixteen, Helen hadleft St. Joseph with a heart saddened by farewells to loved ones athome, yet full of thrilling and vivid anticipations of the strange lifein the Far West. All her people had the pioneer spirit; love of change, action, adventure, was in her blood. Then duty to a widowed motherwith a large and growing family had called to Helen to accept this richuncle's offer. She had taught school and also her little brothers andsisters; she had helped along in other ways. And now, though thetearing up of the roots of old loved ties was hard, this opportunity wasirresistible in its call. The prayer of her dreams had been answered. Tobring good fortune to her family; to take care of this beautiful, wildlittle sister; to leave the yellow, sordid, humdrum towns for the great, rolling, boundless open; to live on a wonderful ranch that was some dayto be her own; to have fulfilled a deep, instinctive, and undevelopedlove of horses, cattle, sheep, of desert and mountain, of trees andbrooks and wild flowers--all this was the sum of her most passionatelongings, now in some marvelous, fairylike way to come true. 

A check to her happy anticipations, a blank, sickening dash of coldwater upon her warm and intimate dreams, had been the discoverythat Harve Riggs was on the train. His presence could mean only onething--that he had followed her. Riggs had been the worst of manysore trials back there in St. Joseph. He had possessed some claim orinfluence upon her mother, who favored his offer of marriage to Helen;he was neither attractive, nor good, nor industrious, nor anything thatinterested her; he was the boastful, strutting adventurer, not genuinelyWestern, and he affected long hair and guns and notoriety. Helen hadsuspected the veracity of the many fights he claimed had been his, and also she suspected that he was not really big enough to be bad--asWestern men were bad. But on the train, in the station at La Junta, oneglimpse of him, manifestly spying upon her while trying to keep out ofher sight, warned Helen that she now might have a problem on her hands. 

The recognition sobered her. All was not to be a road of roses to thisnew home in the West. Riggs would follow her, if he could not accompanyher, and to gain his own ends he would stoop to anything. Helen felt thestartling realization of being cast upon her own resources, and thena numbing discouragement and loneliness and helplessness. But thesefeelings did not long persist in the quick pride and flash of hertemper. Opportunity knocked at her door and she meant to be at home toit. She would not have been Al Auchincloss's niece if she had faltered. And, when temper was succeeded by genuine anger, she could have laughedto scorn this Harve Riggs and his schemes, whatever they were. Onceand for all she dismissed fear of him. When she left St. Joseph she hadfaced the West with a beating heart and a high resolve to be worthy ofthat West. Homes had to be made out there in that far country, so UncleAl had written, and women were needed to make homes. She meant to be oneof these women and to make of her sister another. And with the thoughtthat she would know definitely what to say to Riggs when he approachedher, sooner or later, Helen dismissed him from mind. 

While the train was in motion, enabling Helen to watch the ever-changingscenery, and resting her from the strenuous task of keeping Bo well inhand at stations, she lapsed again into dreamy gaze at the pine forestsand the red, rocky gullies and the dim, bold mountains. She saw the sunset over distant ranges of New Mexico--a golden blaze of glory, as newto her as the strange fancies born in her, thrilling and fleeting by. Bo's raptures were not silent, and the instant the sun sank and thecolor faded she just as rapturously importuned Helen to get out the hugebasket of food they had brought from home. 

They had two seats, facing each other, at the end of the coach, andpiled there, with the basket on top, was luggage that constituted allthe girls owned in the world. Indeed, it was very much more than theyhad ever owned before, because their mother, in her care for them anddesire to have them look well in the eyes of this rich uncle, had spentmoney and pains to give them pretty and serviceable clothes. 

The girls sat together, with the heavy basket on their knees, and atewhile they gazed out at the cool, dark ridges. The train clatteredslowly on, apparently over a road that was all curves. And it wassupper-time for everybody in that crowded coach. If Helen had not beenso absorbed by the great, wild mountain-land she would have had moreinterest in the passengers. As it was she saw them, and was amusedand thoughtful at the men and women and a few children in the car, allmiddle-class people, poor and hopeful, traveling out there to the NewWest to find homes. It was splendid and beautiful, this fact, yet itinspired a brief and inexplicable sadness. From the train window, thatworld of forest and crag, with its long bare reaches between, seemed solonely, so wild, so unlivable. How endless the distance! For hours andmiles upon miles no house, no hut, no Indian tepee! It was amazing, thelength and breadth of this beautiful land. And Helen, who loved brooksand running streams, saw no water at all. 

Then darkness settled down over the slow-moving panorama; a cool nightwind blew in at the window; white stars began to blink out of the blue. The sisters, with hands clasped and heads nestled together, went tosleep under a heavy cloak. 

Early the next morning, while the girls were again delving into theirapparently bottomless basket, the train stopped at Las Vegas. 

"Look! Look!" cried Bo, in thrilling voice. "Cowboys! Oh, Nell, look!"

Helen, laughing, looked first at her sister, and thought how most of allshe was good to look at. Bo was little, instinct with pulsating life, and she had chestnut hair and dark-blue eyes. These eyes were flashing, roguish, and they drew like magnets. 

Outside on the rude station platform were railroad men, Mexicans, anda group of lounging cowboys. Long, lean, bow-legged fellows they were, with young, frank faces and intent eyes. One of them seemed particularlyattractive with his superb build, his red-bronze face and bright-redscarf, his swinging gun, and the huge, long, curved spurs. Evidentlyhe caught Bo's admiring gaze, for, with a word to his companions, hesauntered toward the window where the girls sat. His gait was singular, almost awkward, as if he was not accustomed to walking. The long spursjingled musically. He removed his sombrero and stood at ease, frank, cool, smiling. Helen liked him on sight, and, looking to see what effecthe had upon Bo, she found that young lady staring, frightened stiff. 

"Good mawnin', " drawled the cowboy, with slow, good-humored smile. "Nowwhere might you-all be travelin'?"

The sound of his voice, the clean-cut and droll geniality; seemed newand delightful to Helen. 

"We go to Magdalena--then take stage for the White Mountains, " repliedHelen. 

The cowboy's still, intent eyes showed surprise. 

"Apache country, miss, " he said. "I reckon I'm sorry. Thet's shore noplace for you-all. .. Beggin' your pawdin--you ain't Mormons?"

"No. We're nieces of Al Auchincloss, " rejoined Helen. 

"Wal, you don't say! I've been down Magdalena way an' heerd of Al. .. . Reckon you're goin' a-visitin'?"

"It's to be home for us. "

"Shore thet's fine. The West needs girls. .. . Yes, I've heerd of Al. An old Arizona cattle-man in a sheep country! Thet's bad. .. . Now I'mwonderin'--if I'd drift down there an' ask him for a job ridin' forhim--would I get it?"

His lazy smile was infectious and his meaning was as clear as crystalwater. The gaze he bent upon Bo somehow pleased Helen. The last year ortwo, since Bo had grown prettier all the time, she had been a magnet foradmiring glances. This one of the cowboy's inspired respect and liking, as well as amusement. It certainly was not lost upon Bo. 

"My uncle once said in a letter that he never had enough men to run hisranch, " replied Helen, smiling. 

"Shore I'll go. I reckon I'd jest naturally drift that way--now. "

He seemed so laconic, so easy, so nice, that he could not have beentaken seriously, yet Helen's quick perceptions registered a daring, asomething that was both sudden and inevitable in him. His last word wasas clear as the soft look he fixed upon Bo. 

Helen had a mischievous trait, which, subdue it as she would, occasionally cropped out; and Bo, who once in her wilful life had beenrendered speechless, offered such a temptation. 

"Maybe my little sister will put in a good word for you--to Uncle Al, "said Helen. Just then the train jerked, and started slowly. The cowboytook two long strides beside the car, his heated boyish face almost on alevel with the window, his eyes, now shy and a little wistful, yet bold, too, fixed upon Bo. 

"Good-by--Sweetheart!" he called. 

He halted--was lost to view. 

"Well!" ejaculated Helen, contritely, half sorry, half amused. "What asudden young gentleman!"

Bo had blushed beautifully. 

"Nell, wasn't he glorious!" she burst out, with eyes shining. 

"I'd hardly call him that, but he was--nice, " replied Helen, muchrelieved that Bo had apparently not taken offense at her. 

It appeared plain that Bo resisted a frantic desire to look out of thewindow and to wave her hand. But she only peeped out, manifestly to herdisappointment. 

"Do you think he--he'll come to Uncle Al's?" asked Bo. 

"Child, he was only in fun. "

"Nell, I'll bet you he comes. Oh, it'd be great! I'm going to lovecowboys. They don't look like that Harve Riggs who ran after you so. "

Helen sighed, partly because of the reminder of her odious suitor, andpartly because Bo's future already called mysteriously to the child. Helen had to be at once a mother and a protector to a girl of intenseand wilful spirit. 

One of the trainmen directed the girls' attention to a green, slopingmountain rising to a bold, blunt bluff of bare rock; and, callingit Starvation Peak, he told a story of how Indians had once drivenSpaniards up there and starved them. Bo was intensely interested, andthereafter she watched more keenly than ever, and always had a questionfor a passing trainman. The adobe houses of the Mexicans pleased her, and, then the train got out into Indian country, where pueblos appearednear the track and Indians with their bright colors and shaggy wildmustangs--then she was enraptured. 

"But these Indians are peaceful!" she exclaimed once, regretfully. 

"Gracious, child! You don't want to see hostile Indians, do you?"queried Helen. 

"I do, you bet, " was the frank rejoinder. 

"Well, I'LL bet that I'll be sorry I didn't leave you with mother. "

"Nell--you never will!"

They reached Albuquerque about noon, and this important station, wherethey had to change trains, had been the first dreaded anticipation ofthe journey. It certainly was a busy place--full of jabbering Mexicans, stalking, red-faced, wicked-looking cowboys, lolling Indians. In theconfusion Helen would have been hard put to it to preserve calmness, with Bo to watch, and all that baggage to carry, and the other train tofind; but the kindly brakeman who had been attentive to them now helpedthem off the train into the other--a service for which Helen was verygrateful. 

"Albuquerque's a hard place, " confided the trainman. "Better stay in thecar--and don't hang out the windows. .. . Good luck to you!"

Only a few passengers were in the car and they were Mexicans at theforward end. This branch train consisted of one passenger-coach, with abaggage-car, attached to a string of freight-cars. Helen told herself, somewhat grimly, that soon she would know surely whether or not hersuspicions of Harve Riggs had warrant. If he was going on to Magdalenaon that day he must go in this coach. Presently Bo, who was not obeyingadmonitions, drew her head out of the window. Her eyes were wide inamaze, her mouth open. 

"Nell! I saw that man Riggs!" she whispered. "He's going to get on thistrain. "

"Bo, I saw him yesterday, " replied Helen, soberly. 

"He's followed you--the--the--"

"Now, Bo, don't get excited, " remonstrated Helen. "We've left home now. We've got to take things as they come. Never mind if Riggs has followedme. I'll settle him. "

"Oh! Then you won't speak--have anything to do with him?"

"I won't if I can help it. "

Other passengers boarded the train, dusty, uncouth, ragged men, andsome hard-featured, poorly clad women, marked by toil, and several moreMexicans. With bustle and loud talk they found their several seats. 

Then Helen saw Harve Riggs enter, burdened with much luggage. He was aman of about medium height, of dark, flashy appearance, cultivating longblack mustache and hair. His apparel was striking, as it consisted ofblack frock-coat, black trousers stuffed in high, fancy-topped boots, an embroidered vest, and flowing tie, and a black sombrero. His belt andgun were prominent. It was significant that he excited comment among theother passengers. 

When he had deposited his pieces of baggage he seemed to square himself, and, turning abruptly, approached the seat occupied by the girls. Whenhe reached it he sat down upon the arm of the one opposite, took offhis sombrero, and deliberately looked at Helen. His eyes were light, glinting, with hard, restless quiver, and his mouth was coarse andarrogant. Helen had never seen him detached from her home surroundings, and now the difference struck cold upon her heart. 

"Hello, Nell!" he said. "Surprised to see me?"

"No, " she replied, coldly. 

"I'll gamble you are. "

"Harve Riggs, I told you the day before I left home that nothing youcould do or say mattered to me. "

"Reckon that ain't so, Nell. Any woman I keep track of has reason tothink. An' you know it. "

"Then you followed me--out here?" demanded Helen, and her voice, despiteher control, quivered with anger. 

"I sure did, " he replied, and there was as much thought of himself inthe act as there was of her. 

"Why? Why? It's useless--hopeless. "

"I swore I'd have you, or nobody else would, " he replied, and here, inthe passion of his voice there sounded egotism rather than hunger fora woman's love. "But I reckon I'd have struck West anyhow, sooner orlater. "

"You're not going to--all the way--to Pine?" faltered Helen, momentarilyweakening. 

"Nell, I'll camp on your trail from now on, " he declared. 

Then Bo sat bolt-upright, with pale face and flashing eyes. 

"Harve Riggs, you leave Nell alone, " she burst out, in ringing, braveyoung voice. "I'll tell you what--I'll bet--if you follow her andnag her any more, my uncle Al or some cowboy will run you out of thecountry. "

"Hello, Pepper!" replied Riggs, coolly. "I see your manners haven'timproved an' you're still wild about cowboys. "

"People don't have good manners with--with--"

"Bo, hush!" admonished Helen. It was difficult to reprove Bo just then, for that young lady had not the slightest fear of Riggs. Indeed, shelooked as if she could slap his face. And Helen realized that howeverher intelligence had grasped the possibilities of leaving home for awild country, and whatever her determination to be brave, the actualbeginning of self-reliance had left her spirit weak. She would riseout of that. But just now this flashing-eyed little sister seemed aprotector. Bo would readily adapt herself to the West, Helen thought, because she was so young, primitive, elemental. 

Whereupon Bo turned her back to Riggs and looked out of the window. Theman laughed. Then he stood up and leaned over Helen. 

"Nell, I'm goin' wherever you go, " he said, steadily. "You can take thatfriendly or not, just as it pleases you. But if you've got any senseyou'll not give these people out here a hunch against me. I might hurtsomebody. .. . An' wouldn't it be better--to act friends? For I'm goin' tolook after you, whether you like it or not. "

Helen had considered this man an annoyance, and later a menace, and nowshe must declare open enmity with him. However disgusting the idea thathe considered himself a factor in her new life, it was the truth. Heexisted, he had control over his movements. She could not change that. She hated the need of thinking so much about him; and suddenly, with ahot, bursting anger, she hated the man. 

"You'll not look after me. I'll take care of myself, " she said, andshe turned her back upon him. She heard him mutter under his breath andslowly move away down the car. Then Bo slipped a hand in hers. 

"Never mind, Nell, " she whispered. "You know what old Sheriff Hainessaid about Harve Riggs. 'A four-flush would-be gun-fighter! If he everstrikes a real Western town he'll get run out of it. ' I just wish myred-faced cowboy had got on this train!"

Helen felt a rush of gladness that she had yielded to Bo's wildimportunities to take her West. The spirit which had made Boincorrigible at home probably would make her react happily to life outin this free country. Yet Helen, with all her warmth and gratefulness, had to laugh at her sister. 

"Your red-faced cowboy! Why, Bo, you were scared stiff. And now youclaim him!"

"I certainly could love that fellow, " replied Bo, dreamily. 

"Child, you've been saying that about fellows for a long time. Andyou've never looked twice at any of them yet. "

"He was different. .. . Nell, I'll bet he comes to Pine. "

"I hope he does. I wish he was on this train. I liked his looks, Bo. "

"Well, Nell dear, he looked at ME first and last--so don't get yourhopes up. .. . Oh, the train's starting!. .. Good-by, Albu-ker--what's thatawful name?. .. Nell, let's eat dinner. I'm starved. "

Then Helen forgot her troubles and the uncertain future, and what withlistening to Bo's chatter, and partaking again of the endless goodthings to eat in the huge basket, and watching the noble mountains, shedrew once more into happy mood. 

The valley of the Rio Grande opened to view, wide near at hand in agreat gray-green gap between the bare black mountains, narrow in thedistance, where the yellow river wound away, glistening under a hotsun. Bo squealed in glee at sight of naked little Mexican children thatdarted into adobe huts as the train clattered by, and she exclaimed herpleasure in the Indians, and the mustangs, and particularly in a groupof cowboys riding into town on spirited horses. Helen saw all Bo pointedout, but it was to the wonderful rolling valley that her gaze clunglongest, and to the dim purple distance that seemed to hold somethingfrom her. She had never before experienced any feeling like that; shehad never seen a tenth so far. And the sight awoke something strangein her. The sun was burning hot, as she could tell when she put a handoutside the window, and a strong wind blew sheets of dry dust at thetrain. She gathered at once what tremendous factors in the Southwestwere the sun and the dust and the wind. And her realization made herlove them. It was there; the open, the wild, the beautiful, the lonelyland; and she felt the poignant call of blood in her--to seek, tostrive, to find, to live. One look down that yellow valley, endlessbetween its dark iron ramparts, had given her understanding of heruncle. She must be like him in spirit, as it was claimed she resembledhim otherwise. 

At length Bo grew tired of watching scenery that contained no life, and, with her bright head on the faded cloak, she went to sleep. But Helenkept steady, farseeing gaze out upon that land of rock and plain; andduring the long hours, as she watched through clouds of dust and veilsof heat, some strong and doubtful and restless sentiment seemed tochange and then to fix. It was her physical acceptance--her eyes and hersenses taking the West as she had already taken it in spirit. 

A woman should love her home wherever fate placed her, Helen believed, and not so much from duty as from delight and romance and living. Howcould life ever be tedious or monotonous out here in this tremendousvastness of bare earth and open sky, where the need to achieve madethinking and pondering superficial?

It was with regret that she saw the last of the valley of the RioGrande, and then of its paralleled mountain ranges. But the milesbrought compensation in other valleys, other bold, black upheavals ofrock, and then again bare, boundless yellow plains, and sparsely cedaredridges, and white dry washes, ghastly in the sunlight, and dazzlingbeds of alkali, and then a desert space where golden and blue flowersbloomed. 

She noted, too, that the whites and yellows of earth and rock hadbegun to shade to red--and this she knew meant an approach toArizona. Arizona, the wild, the lonely, the red desert, the greenplateau--Arizona with its thundering rivers, its unknown spaces, itspasture-lands and timber-lands, its wild horses, cowboys, outlaws, wolves and lions and savages! As to a boy, that name stirred andthrilled and sang to her of nameless, sweet, intangible things, mysterious and all of adventure. But she, being a girl of twenty, whohad accepted responsibilities, must conceal the depths of her heart andthat which her mother had complained was her misfortune in not beingborn a boy. 

Time passed, while Helen watched and learned and dreamed. The trainstopped, at long intervals, at wayside stations where there seemednothing but adobe sheds and lazy Mexicans, and dust and heat. Bo awokeand began to chatter, and to dig into the basket. She learned from theconductor that Magdalena was only two stations on. And she was full ofconjectures as to who would meet them, what would happen. So Helen wasdrawn back to sober realities, in which there was considerable zest. Assuredly she did not know what was going to happen. Twice Riggs passedup and down the aisle, his dark face and light eyes and sardonic smiledeliberately forced upon her sight. But again Helen fought a growingdread with contemptuous scorn. This fellow was not half a man. It wasnot conceivable what he could do, except annoy her, until she arrivedat Pine. Her uncle was to meet her or send for her at Snowdrop, whichplace, Helen knew, was distant a good long ride by stage from Magdalena. This stage-ride was the climax and the dread of all the long journey, inHelen's considerations. 

"Oh, Nell!" cried Bo, with delight. "We're nearly there! Next station, the conductor said. "

"I wonder if the stage travels at night, " said Helen, thoughtfully. 

"Sure it does!" replied the irrepressible Bo. 

The train, though it clattered along as usual, seemed to Helen to fly. There the sun was setting over bleak New Mexican bluffs, Magdalena wasat hand, and night, and adventure. Helen's heart beat fast. Shewatched the yellow plains where the cattle grazed; their presence, andirrigation ditches and cottonwood-trees told her that the railroad partof the journey was nearly ended. Then, at Bo's little scream, shelooked across the car and out of the window to see a line of low, flat, red-adobe houses. The train began to slow down. Helen saw children run, white children and Mexican together; then more houses, and high upon ahill an immense adobe church, crude and glaring, yet somehow beautiful. 

Helen told Bo to put on her bonnet, and, performing a like office forherself, she was ashamed of the trembling of her fingers. There werebustle and talk in the car. 

The train stopped. Helen peered out to see a straggling crowd ofMexicans and Indians, all motionless and stolid, as if trains or nothingelse mattered. Next Helen saw a white man, and that was a relief. Hestood out in front of the others. Tall and broad, somehow striking, hedrew a second glance that showed him to be a hunter clad in gray-fringedbuckskin, and carrying a rifle. 

CHAPTER V

Here, there was no kindly brakeman to help the sisters with theirluggage. Helen bade Bo take her share; thus burdened, they made anawkward and laborious shift to get off the train. 

Upon the platform of the car a strong hand seized Helen's heavy bag, with which she was straining, and a loud voice called out:

"Girls, we're here--sure out in the wild an' woolly West!"

The speaker was Riggs, and he had possessed himself of part of herbaggage with action and speech meant more to impress the curiouscrowd than to be really kind. In the excitement of arriving Helenhad forgotten him. The manner of sudden reminder--the insincerity ofit--made her temper flash. She almost fell, encumbered as she was, inher hurry to descend the steps. She saw the tall hunter in gray stepforward close to her as she reached for the bag Riggs held. 

"Mr. Riggs, I'll carry my bag, " she said. 

"Let me lug this. You help Bo with hers, " he replied, familiarly. 

"But I want it, " she rejoined, quietly, with sharp determination. Nolittle force was needed to pull the bag away from Riggs. 

"See here, Helen, you ain't goin' any farther with that joke, are you?"he queried, deprecatingly, and he still spoke quite loud. 

"It's no joke to me, " replied Helen. "I told you I didn't want yourattention. "

"Sure. But that was temper. I'm your friend--from your home town. An' Iain't goin' to let a quarrel keep me from lookin' after you till you'resafe at your uncle's. "

Helen turned her back upon him. The tall hunter had just helped Bo offthe car. Then Helen looked up into a smooth bronzed face and piercinggray eyes. 

"Are you Helen Rayner?" he asked. 

"Yes. "

"My name's Dale. I've come to meet you. "

"Ah! My uncle sent you?" added Helen, in quick relief. 

"No; I can't say Al sent me, " began the man, "but I reckon--"

He was interrupted by Riggs, who, grasping Helen by the arm, pulled herback a step. 

"Say, mister, did Auchincloss send you to meet my young friends here?"he demanded, arrogantly. 

Dale's glance turned from Helen to Riggs. She could not read this quietgray gaze, but it thrilled her. 

"No. I come on my own hook, " he answered. 

"You'll understand, then--they're in my charge, " added Riggs. 

This time the steady light-gray eyes met Helen's, and if there was not asmile in them or behind them she was still further baffled. 

"Helen, I reckon you said you didn't want this fellow's attention. "

"I certainly said that, " replied Helen, quickly. Just then Bo slippedclose to her and gave her arm a little squeeze. Probably Bo's thoughtwas like hers--here was a real Western man. That was her firstimpression, and following swiftly upon it was a sensation of easednerves. 

Riggs swaggered closer to Dale. 

"Say, Buckskin, I hail from Texas--"

"You're wastin' our time an' we've need to hurry, " interrupted Dale. Histone seemed friendly. "An' if you ever lived long in Texas you wouldn'tpester a lady an' you sure wouldn't talk like you do. "

"What!" shouted Riggs, hotly. He dropped his right hand significantly tohis hip. 

"Don't throw your gun. It might go off, " said Dale. 

Whatever Riggs's intention had been--and it was probably just what Daleevidently had read it--he now flushed an angry red and jerked at hisgun. 

Dale's hand flashed too swiftly for Helen's eye to follow it. But sheheard the thud as it struck. The gun went flying to the platform andscattered a group of Indians and Mexicans. 

"You'll hurt yourself some day, " said Dale. 

Helen had never heard a slow, cool voice like this hunter's. Withoutexcitement or emotion or hurry, it yet seemed full and significant ofthings the words did not mean. Bo uttered a strange little exultant cry. 

Riggs's arm had dropped limp. No doubt it was numb. He stared, and hispredominating expression was surprise. As the shuffling crowd began tosnicker and whisper, Riggs gave Dale a malignant glance, shifted it toHelen, and then lurched away in the direction of his gun. 

Dale did not pay any more attention to him. Gathering up Helen'sbaggage, he said, "Come on, " and shouldered a lane through the gapingcrowd. The girls followed close at his heels. 

"Nell! what 'd I tell you?" whispered Bo. "Oh, you're all atremble!"

Helen was aware of her unsteadiness; anger and fear and relief in quicksuccession had left her rather weak. Once through the motley crowdof loungers, she saw an old gray stage-coach and four lean horses. Agrizzled, sunburned man sat on the driver's seat, whip and reins inhand. Beside him was a younger man with rifle across his knees. Anotherman, young, tall, lean, dark, stood holding the coach door open. Hetouched his sombrero to the girls. His eyes were sharp as he addressedDale. 

"Milt, wasn't you held up?"

"No. But some long-haired galoot was tryin' to hold up the girls. Wanted to throw his gun on me. I was sure scared, " replied Dale, as hedeposited the luggage. 

Bo laughed. Her eyes, resting upon Dale, were warm and bright. Theyoung man at the coach door took a second look at her, and then a smilechanged the dark hardness of his face. 

Dale helped the girls up the high step into the stage, and then, placingthe lighter luggage, in with them, he threw the heavier pieces on top. 

"Joe, climb up, " he said. 

"Wal, Milt, " drawled the driver, "let's ooze along. "

Dale hesitated, with his hand on the door. He glanced at the crowd, nowedging close again, and then at Helen. 

"I reckon I ought to tell you, " he said, and indecision appeared toconcern him. 

"What?" exclaimed Helen. 

"Bad news. But talkin' takes time. An' we mustn't lose any. "

"There's need of hurry?" queried Helen, sitting up sharply. 

"I reckon. "

"Is this the stage to Snowdrop?

"No. That leaves in the mornin'. We rustled this old trap to get a startto-night. "

"The sooner the better. But I--I don't understand, " said Helen, bewildered. 

"It'll not be safe for you to ride on the mornin' stage, " returned Dale. 

"Safe! Oh, what do you mean?" exclaimed Helen. Apprehensively she gazedat him and then back at Bo. 

"Explainin' will take time. An' facts may change your mind. But if youcan't trust me--"

"Trust you!" interposed Helen, blankly. "You mean to take us toSnowdrop?"

"I reckon we'd better go roundabout an' not hit Snowdrop, " he replied, shortly. 

"Then to Pine--to my uncle--Al Auchincloss?

"Yes, I'm goin' to try hard. "

Helen caught her breath. She divined that some peril menaced her. Shelooked steadily, with all a woman's keenness, into this man's face. Themoment was one of the fateful decisions she knew the West had in storefor her. Her future and that of Bo's were now to be dependent upon herjudgments. It was a hard moment and, though she shivered inwardly, shewelcomed the initial and inevitable step. This man Dale, by his dress ofbuckskin, must be either scout or hunter. His size, his action, the toneof his voice had been reassuring. But Helen must decide from what shesaw in his face whether or not to trust him. And that face wasclear bronze, unlined, unshadowed, like a tranquil mask, clean-cut, strong-jawed, with eyes of wonderful transparent gray. 

"Yes, I'll trust you, " she said. "Get in, and let us hurry. Then you canexplain. "

"All ready, Bill. Send 'em along, " called Dale. 

He had to stoop to enter the stage, and, once in, he appeared to fillthat side upon which he sat. Then the driver cracked his whip; thestage lurched and began to roll; the motley crowd was left behind. Helenawakened to the reality, as she saw Bo staring with big eyes at thehunter, that a stranger adventure than she had ever dreamed of had beganwith the rattling roll of that old stage-coach. 

Dale laid off his sombrero and leaned forward, holding his rifle betweenhis knees. The light shone better upon his features now that he wasbareheaded. Helen had never seen a face like that, which at first glanceappeared darkly bronzed and hard, and then became clear, cold, aloof, still, intense. She wished she might see a smile upon it. And now thatthe die was cast she could not tell why she had trusted it. There wassingular force in it, but she did not recognize what kind of force. Oneinstant she thought it was stern, and the next that it was sweet, andagain that it was neither. 

"I'm glad you've got your sister, " he said, presently. 

"How did you know she's my sister?"

"I reckon she looks like you. "

"No one else ever thought so, " replied Helen, trying to smile. 

Bo had no difficulty in smiling, as she said, "Wish I was half as prettyas Nell. "

"Nell. Isn't your name Helen?" queried Dale. 

"Yes. But my--some few call me Nell. "

"I like Nell better than Helen. An' what's yours?" went on Dale, lookingat Bo. 

"Mine's Bo. Just plain B-o. Isn't it silly? But I wasn't asked when theygave it to me, " she replied. 

"Bo. It's nice an' short. Never heard it before. But I haven't met manypeople for years. "

"Oh! we've left the town!" cried Bo. "Look, Nell! How bare! It's justlike desert. "

"It is desert. We've forty miles of that before we come to a hill or atree. "

Helen glanced out. A flat, dull-green expanse waved away from the roadon and on to a bright, dark horizon-line, where the sun was settingrayless in a clear sky. Open, desolate, and lonely, the scene gave her acold thrill. 

"Did your uncle Al ever write anythin' about a man named Beasley?" askedDale. 

"Indeed he did, " replied Helen, with a start of surprise. "Beasley! Thatname is familiar to us--and detestable. My uncle complained of this manfor years. Then he grew bitter--accused Beasley. But the last year or sonot a word!"

"Well, now, " began the hunter, earnestly, "let's get the bad news over. I'm sorry you must be worried. But you must learn to take the West as itis. There's good an' bad, maybe more bad. That's because the country'syoung. .. . So to come right out with it--this Beasley hired a gang ofoutlaws to meet the stage you was goin' in to Snowdrop--to-morrow--an'to make off with you. "

"Make off with me?" ejaculated Helen, bewildered. 

"Kidnap you! Which, in that gang, would be worse than killing you!"declared Dale, grimly, and he closed a huge fist on his knee. 

Helen was utterly astounded. 

"How hor-rible!" she gasped out. "Make off with me!. .. What in Heaven'sname for?"

Bo gave vent to a fierce little utterance. 

"For reasons you ought to guess, " replied Dale, and he leaned forwardagain. Neither his voice nor face changed in the least, but yet therewas a something about him that fascinated Helen. "I'm a hunter. I livein the woods. A few nights ago I happened to be caught out in a storman' I took to an old log cabin. Soon as I got there I heard horses. I hid up in the loft. Some men rode up an' come in. It was dark. Theycouldn't see me. An' they talked. It turned out they were Snake Ansonan' his gang of sheep-thieves. They expected to meet Beasley there. Pretty soon he came. He told Anson how old Al, your uncle, was on hislast legs--how he had sent for you to have his property when he died. Beasley swore he had claims on Al. An' he made a deal with Anson to getyou out of the way. He named the day you were to reach Magdalena. WithAl dead an' you not there, Beasley could get the property. An' then hewouldn't care if you did come to claim it. It 'd be too late. .. . Well, they rode away that night. An' next day I rustled down to Pine. They'reall my friends at Pine, except old Al. But they think I'm queer. Ididn't want to confide in many people. Beasley is strong in Pine, an'for that matter I suspect Snake Anson has other friends there besidesBeasley. So I went to see your uncle. He never had any use for mebecause he thought I was lazy like an Indian. Old Al hates lazy men. Then we fell out--or he fell out--because he believed a tame lion ofmine had killed some of his sheep. An' now I reckon that Tom might havedone it. I tried to lead up to this deal of Beasley's about you, butold Al wouldn't listen. He's cross--very cross. An' when I tried to tellhim, why, he went right out of his head. Sent me off the ranch. Now Ireckon you begin to see what a pickle I was in. Finally I went to fourfriends I could trust. They're Mormon boys--brothers. That's Joe outon top, with the driver. I told them all about Beasley's deal an' askedthem to help me. So we planned to beat Anson an' his gang to Magdalena. It happens that Beasley is as strong in Magdalena as he is in Pine. An' we had to go careful. But the boys had a couple of friendshere--Mormons, too, who agreed to help us. They had this old stage. .. . An' here you are. " Dale spread out his big hands and looked gravely atHelen and then at Bo. 

"You're perfectly splendid!" cried Bo, ringingly. She was white; herfingers were clenched; her eyes blazed. 

Dale appeared startled out of his gravity, and surprised, then pleased. A smile made his face like a boy's. Helen felt her body all rigid, yetslightly trembling. Her hands were cold. The horror of this revelationheld her speechless. But in her heart she echoed Bo's exclamation ofadmiration and gratitude. 

"So far, then, " resumed Dale, with a heavy breath of relief. "No wonderyou're upset. I've a blunt way of talkin'. .. . Now we've thirty miles toride on this Snowdrop road before we can turn off. To-day sometime therest of the boys--Roy, John, an' Hal--were to leave Show Down, which'sa town farther on from Snowdrop. They have my horses an' packs besidestheir own. Somewhere on the road we'll meet them--to-night, maybe--ortomorrow. I hope not to-night, because that 'd mean Anson's gang wasridin' in to Magdalena. "

Helen wrung her hands helplessly. 

"Oh, have I no courage?" she whispered. 

"Nell, I'm as scared as you are, " said Bo, consolingly, embracing hersister. 

"I reckon that's natural, " said Dale, as if excusing them. "But, scaredor not, you both brace up. It's a bad job. But I've done my best. An'you'll be safer with me an' the Beeman boys than you'd be in Magdalena, or anywhere else, except your uncle's. "

"Mr. --Mr. Dale, " faltered Helen, with her tears falling, "don't think mea coward--or--or ungrateful. I'm neither. It's only I'm so--so shocked. After all we hoped and expected--this--this--is such a--a terriblesurprise. "

"Never mind, Nell dear. Let's take what comes, " murmured Bo. 

"That's the talk, " said Dale. "You see, I've come right out with theworst. Maybe we'll get through easy. When we meet the boys we'll take tothe horses an' the trails. Can you ride?"

"Bo has been used to horses all her life and I ride fairly well, "responded Helen. The idea of riding quickened her spirit. 

"Good! We may have some hard ridin' before I get you up to Pine. Hello!What's that?"

Above the creaking, rattling, rolling roar of the stage Helen heard arapid beat of hoofs. A horse flashed by, galloping hard. 

Dale opened the door and peered out. The stage rolled to a halt. Hestepped down and gazed ahead. 

"Joe, who was that?" he queried. 

"Nary me. An' Bill didn't know him, either, " replied Joe. "I seen him'way back. He was ridin' some. An' he slowed up goin' past us. Now he'srunnin' again. "

Dale shook his head as if he did not like the circumstances. 

"Milt, he'll never get by Roy on this road, " said Joe. 

"Maybe he'll get by before Roy strikes in on the road. "

"It ain't likely. "

Helen could not restrain her fears. "Mr. Dale, you think he was amessenger--going ahead to post that--that Anson gang?"

"He might be, " replied Dale, simply. 

Then the young man called Joe leaned out from the seat above and called:"Miss Helen, don't you worry. Thet fellar is more liable to stop leadthan anythin' else. "

His words, meant to be kind and reassuring, were almost as sinister toHelen as the menace to her own life. Long had she known how cheap lifewas held in the West, but she had only known it abstractly, and she hadnever let the fact remain before her consciousness. This cheerful youngman spoke calmly of spilling blood in her behalf. The thought it rousedwas tragic--for bloodshed was insupportable to her--and then the thrillswhich followed were so new, strange, bold, and tingling that they wererevolting. Helen grew conscious of unplumbed depths, of instincts atwhich she was amazed and ashamed. 

"Joe, hand down that basket of grub--the small one with the canteen, "said Dale, reaching out a long arm. Presently he placed a cloth-coveredbasket inside the stage. "Girls, eat all you want an' then some. "

"We have a basket half full yet, " replied Helen. 

"You'll need it all before we get to Pine. .. . Now, I'll ride up on topwith the boys an' eat my supper. It'll be dark, presently, an' we'llstop often to listen. But don't be scared. "

With that he took his rifle and, closing the door, clambered up to thedriver's seat. Then the stage lurched again and began to roll along. 

Not the least thing to wonder at of this eventful evening was the way Boreached for the basket of food. Helen simply stared at her. 

"Bo, you CAN'T EAT!" she exclaimed. 

"I should smile I can, " replied that practical young lady. "And you'regoing to if I have to stuff things in your mouth. Where's your wits, Nell? He said we must eat. That means our strength is going to have somepretty severe trials. .. . Gee! it's all great--just like a story! Theunexpected--why, he looks like a prince turned hunter!--long, dark, stage journey--held up--fight--escape--wild ride on horses--woodsand camps and wild places--pursued--hidden in the forest--more hardrides--then safe at the ranch. And of course he falls madly in love withme--no, you, for I'll be true to my Las Vegas lover--"

"Hush, silly! Bo, tell me, aren't you SCARED?"

"Scared! I'm scared stiff. But if Western girls stand such things, wecan. No Western girl is going to beat ME!"

That brought Helen to a realization of the brave place she had givenherself in dreams, and she was at once ashamed of herself and wildlyproud of this little sister. 

"Bo, thank Heaven I brought you with me!" exclaimed Helen, fervently. "I'll eat if it chokes me. "

Whereupon she found herself actually hungry, and while she ate sheglanced out of the stage, first from one side and then from the other. These windows had no glass and they let the cool night air blow in. The sun had long since sunk. Out to the west, where a bold, blackhorizon-line swept away endlessly, the sky was clear gold, shadingto yellow and blue above. Stars were out, pale and wan, but growingbrighter. The earth appeared bare and heaving, like a calm sea. The windbore a fragrance new to Helen, acridly sweet and clean, and it was socold it made her fingers numb. 

"I heard some animal yelp, " said Bo, suddenly, and she listened withhead poised. 

But Helen heard nothing save the steady clip-clop of hoofs, the clink ofchains, the creak and rattle of the old stage, and occasionally the lowvoices of the men above. 

When the girls had satisfied hunger and thirst, night had settled downblack. They pulled the cloaks up over them, and close together leanedback in a corner of the seat and talked in whispers. Helen did not havemuch to say, but Bo was talkative. 

"This beats me!" she said once, after an interval. "Where are we, Nell?Those men up there are Mormons. Maybe they are abducting us!"

"Mr. Dale isn't a Mormon, " replied Helen. 

"How do you know?"

"I could tell by the way he spoke of his friends. "

"Well, I wish it wasn't so dark. I'm not afraid of men in daylight. .. . Nell, did you ever see such a wonderful looking fellow? What'd they callhim? Milt--Milt Dale. He said he lived in the woods. If I hadn't fallenin love with that cowboy who called me--well, I'd be a goner now. "

After an interval of silence Bo whispered, startlingly, "Wonder if HarveRiggs is following us now?"

"Of course he is, " replied Helen, hopelessly. 

"He'd better look out. Why, Nell, he never saw--he never--what did UncleAl used to call it?--sav--savvied--that's it. Riggs never savvied thathunter. But I did, you bet. "

"Savvied! What do you mean, Bo?"

"I mean that long-haired galoot never saw his real danger. But I feltit. Something went light inside me. Dale never took him seriously atall. "

"Riggs will turn up at Uncle Al's, sure as I'm born, " said Helen. 

"Let him turn, " replied Bo, contemptuously. "Nell, don't you ever botheryour head again about him. I'll bet they're all men out here. And Iwouldn't be in Harve Riggs's boots for a lot. "

After that Bo talked of her uncle and his fatal illness, and from thatshe drifted back to the loved ones at home, now seemingly at the otherside of the world, and then she broke down and cried, after which shefell asleep on Helen's shoulder. 

But Helen could not have fallen asleep if she had wanted to. 

She had always, since she could remember, longed for a moving, activelife; and for want of a better idea she had chosen to dream of gipsies. And now it struck her grimly that, if these first few hours of heradvent in the West were forecasts of the future, she was destined tohave her longings more than fulfilled. 

Presently the stage rolled slower and slower, until it came to a halt. Then the horses heaved, the harnesses clinked, the men whispered. Otherwise there was an intense quiet. She looked out, expecting tofind it pitch-dark. It was black, yet a transparent blackness. To hersurprise she could see a long way. A shooting-star electrified her. The men were listening. She listened, too, but beyond the slight soundsabout the stage she heard nothing. Presently the driver clucked to hishorses, and travel was resumed. 

For a while the stage rolled on rapidly, evidently downhill, swayingfrom side to side, and rattling as if about to fall to pieces. Then itslowed on a level, and again it halted for a few moments, and once morein motion it began a laborsome climb. Helen imagined miles had beencovered. The desert appeared to heave into billows, growing rougher, anddark, round bushes dimly stood out. The road grew uneven and rocky, andwhen the stage began another descent its violent rocking jolted Bo outof her sleep and in fact almost out of Helen's arms. 

"Where am I?" asked Bo, dazedly. 

"Bo, you're having your heart's desire, but I can't tell you where youare, " replied Helen. 

Bo awakened thoroughly, which fact was now no wonder, considering thejostling of the old stage. 

"Hold on to me, Nell!. .. Is it a runaway?"

"We've come about a thousand miles like this, I think, " replied Helen. "I've not a whole bone in my body. "

Bo peered out of the window. 

"Oh, how dark and lonesome! But it'd be nice if it wasn't so cold. I'mfreezing. "

"I thought you loved cold air, " taunted Helen. 

"Say, Nell, you begin to talk like yourself, " responded Bo. 

It was difficult to hold on to the stage and each other and the cloakall at once, but they succeeded, except in the roughest places, whenfrom time to time they were bounced around. Bo sustained a sharp rap onthe head. 

"Oooooo!" she moaned. "Nell Rayner, I'll never forgive you for fetchingme on this awful trip. "

"Just think of your handsome Las Vegas cowboy, " replied Helen. 

Either this remark subdued Bo or the suggestion sufficed to reconcileher to the hardships of the ride. 

Meanwhile, as they talked and maintained silence and tried to sleep, thedriver of the stage kept at his task after the manner of Western men whoknew how to get the best out of horses and bad roads and distance. 

By and by the stage halted again and remained at a standstill for solong, with the men whispering on top, that Helen and Bo were roused toapprehension. 

Suddenly a sharp whistle came from the darkness ahead. 

"Thet's Roy, " said Joe Beeman, in a low voice. 

"I reckon. An' meetin' us so quick looks bad, " replied Dale. "Drive on, Bill. "

"Mebbe it seems quick to you, " muttered the driver, "but if we hain'tcome thirty mile, an' if thet ridge thar hain't your turnin'-off place, why, I don't know nothin'. "

The stage rolled on a little farther, while Helen and Bo sat claspingeach other tight, wondering with bated breath what was to be the nextthing to happen. 

Then once more they were at a standstill. Helen heard the thud of bootsstriking the ground, and the snorts of horses. 

"Nell, I see horses, " whispered Bo, excitedly. "There, to the side ofthe road. .. And here comes a man. .. . Oh, if he shouldn't be the onethey're expecting!"

Helen peered out to see a tall, dark form, moving silently, and beyondit a vague outline of horses, and then pale gleams of what must havebeen pack-loads. 

Dale loomed up, and met the stranger in the road. 

"Howdy, Milt? You got the girl sure, or you wouldn't be here, " said alow voice. 

"Roy, I've got two girls--sisters, " replied Dale. 

The man Roy whistled softly under his breath. Then another lean, rangyform strode out of the darkness, and was met by Dale. 

"Now, boys--how about Anson's gang?" queried Dale. 

"At Snowdrop, drinkin' an' quarrelin'. Reckon they'll leave there aboutdaybreak, " replied Roy. 

"How long have you been here?"

"Mebbe a couple of hours. "

"Any horse go by?"

"No. "

"Roy, a strange rider passed us before dark. He was hittin' the road. An' he's got by here before you came. "

"I don't like thet news, " replied Roy, tersely. "Let's rustle. Withgirls on hossback you'll need all the start you can get. Hey, John?"

"Snake Anson shore can foller hoss tracks, " replied the third man. 

"Milt, say the word, " went on Roy, as he looked up at the stars. "Daylight not far away. Here's the forks of the road, an' your hosses, an' our outfit. You can be in the pines by sunup. "

In the silence that ensued Helen heard the throb of her heart andthe panting little breaths of her sister. They both peered out, handsclenched together, watching and listening in strained attention. 

"It's possible that rider last night wasn't a messenger to Anson, " saidDale. "In that case Anson won't make anythin' of our wheel tracks orhorse tracks. He'll go right on to meet the regular stage. Bill, can yougo back an' meet the stage comin' before Anson does?"

"Wal, I reckon so--an' take it easy at thet, " replied Bill. 

"All right, " continued Dale, instantly. "John, you an' Joe an' Hal rideback to meet the regular stage. An' when you meet it get on an' be on itwhen Anson holds it up. "

"Thet's shore agreeable to me, " drawled John. 

"I'd like to be on it, too, " said Roy, grimly. 

"No. I'll need you till I'm safe in the woods. Bill, hand down the bags. An' you, Roy, help me pack them. Did you get all the supplies I wanted?"

"Shore did. If the young ladies ain't powerful particular you can feedthem well for a couple of months. "

Dale wheeled and, striding to the stage, he opened the door. 

"Girls, you're not asleep? Come, " he called. 

Bo stepped down first. 

"I was asleep till this--this vehicle fell off the road back a ways, "she replied. 

Roy Beeman's low laugh was significant. He took off his sombrero andstood silent. The old driver smothered a loud guffaw. 

"Veehicle! Wal, I'll be doggoned! Joe, did you hear thet? All the spunkygurls ain't born out West. "

As Helen followed with cloak and bag Roy assisted her, and sheencountered keen eyes upon her face. He seemed both gentle andrespectful, and she felt his solicitude. His heavy gun, swinging low, struck her as she stepped down. 

Dale reached into the stage and hauled out baskets and bags. These heset down on the ground. 

"Turn around, Bill, an' go along with you. John an' Hal will followpresently, " ordered Dale. 

"Wal, gurls, " said Bill, looking down upon them, "I was shore powerfulglad to meet you-all. An' I'm ashamed of my country--offerin' two sichpurty gurls insults an' low-down tricks. But shore you'll go throughsafe now. You couldn't be in better company fer ridin' or huntin' ormarryin' or gittin' religion--"

"Shut up, you old grizzly!" broke in Dale, sharply. 

"Haw! Haw! Good-by, gurls, an' good luck!" ended Bill, as he began towhip the reins. 

Bo said good-by quite distinctly, but Helen could only murmur hers. Theold driver seemed a friend. 

Then the horses wheeled and stamped, the stage careened and creaked, presently to roll out of sight in the gloom. 

"You're shiverin', " said Dale, suddenly, looking down upon Helen. Shefelt his big, hard hand clasp hers. "Cold as ice!"

"I am c-cold, " replied Helen. "I guess we're not warmly dressed. "

"Nell, we roasted all day, and now we're freezing, " declared Bo. "Ididn't know it was winter at night out here. "

"Miss, haven't you some warm gloves an' a coat?" asked Roy, anxiously. "It 'ain't begun to get cold yet. "

"Nell, we've heavy gloves, riding-suits and boots--all fine and new--inthis black bag, " said Bo, enthusiastically kicking a bag at her feet. 

"Yes, so we have. But a lot of good they'll do us, to-night, " returnedHelen. 

"Miss, you'd do well to change right here, " said Roy, earnestly. "It'llsave time in the long run an' a lot of sufferin' before sunup. "

Helen stared at the young man, absolutely amazed with his simplicity. She was advised to change her traveling-dress for a riding-suit--outsomewhere in a cold, windy desert--in the middle of the night--amongstrange young men!

"Bo, which bag is it?" asked Dale, as if she were his sister. And whenshe indicated the one, he picked it up. "Come off the road. "

Bo followed him, and Helen found herself mechanically at their heels. Dale led them a few paces off the road behind some low bushes. 

"Hurry an' change here, " he said. "We'll make a pack of your outfit an'leave room for this bag. "

Then he stalked away and in a few strides disappeared. 

Bo sat down to begin unlacing her shoes. Helen could just see her pale, pretty face and big, gleaming eyes by the light of the stars. It struckher then that Bo was going to make eminently more of a success ofWestern life than she was. 

"Nell, those fellows are n-nice, " said Bo, reflectively. "Aren't youc-cold? Say, he said hurry!"

It was beyond Helen's comprehension how she ever began to disrobe outthere in that open, windy desert, but after she had gotten launched onthe task she found that it required more fortitude than courage. Thecold wind pierced right through her. Almost she could have laughed atthe way Bo made things fly. 

"G-g-g-gee!" chattered Bo. "I n-never w-was so c-c-cold in all my life. Nell Rayner, m-may the g-good Lord forgive y-you!"

Helen was too intent on her own troubles to take breath to talk. She wasa strong, healthy girl, swift and efficient with her hands, yet this, the hardest physical ordeal she had ever experienced, almost overcameher. Bo outdistanced her by moments, helped her with buttons, and lacedone whole boot for her. Then, with hands that stung, Helen packed thetraveling-suits in the bag. 

"There! But what an awful mess!" exclaimed Helen. "Oh, Bo, our prettytraveling-dresses!"

"We'll press them t-to-morrow--on a l-log, " replied Bo, and she giggled. 

They started for the road. Bo, strange to note, did not carry her shareof the burden, and she seemed unsteady on her feet. 

The men were waiting beside a group of horses, one of which carried apack. 

"Nothin' slow about you, " said Dale, relieving Helen of the grip. "Roy, put them up while I sling on this bag. "

Roy led out two of the horses. 

"Get up, " he said, indicating Bo. "The stirrups are short on thissaddle. "

Bo was an adept at mounting, but she made such awkward and slow work ofit in this instance that Helen could not believe her eyes. 

"Haw 're the stirrups?" asked Roy. "Stand in them. Guess they're aboutright. .. . Careful now! Thet hoss is skittish. Hold him in. "

Bo was not living up to the reputation with which Helen had creditedher. 

"Now, miss, you get up, " said Roy to Helen. And in another instant shefound herself astride a black, spirited horse. Numb with cold as shewas, she yet felt the coursing thrills along her veins. 

Roy was at the stirrups with swift hands. 

"You're taller 'n I guessed, " he said. "Stay up, but lift your foot. .. . Shore now, I'm glad you have them thick, soft boots. Mebbe we'll rideall over the White Mountains. "

"Bo, do you hear that?" called Helen. 

But Bo did not answer. She was leaning rather unnaturally in her saddle. Helen became anxious. Just then Dale strode back to them. 

"All cinched up, Roy?"

"Jest ready, " replied Roy. 

Then Dale stood beside Helen. How tall he was! His wide shoulders seemedon a level with the pommel of her saddle. He put an affectionate hand onthe horse. 

"His name's Ranger an' he's the fastest an' finest horse in thiscountry. "

"I reckon he shore is--along with my bay, " corroborated Roy. 

"Roy, if you rode Ranger he'd beat your pet, " said Dale. "We can startnow. Roy, you drive the pack-horses. "

He took another look at Helen's saddle and then moved to do likewisewith Bo's. 

"Are you--all right?" he asked, quickly. 

Bo reeled in her seat. 

"I'm n-near froze, " she replied, in a faint voice. Her face shone whitein the starlight. Helen recognized that Bo was more than cold. 

"Oh, Bo!" she called, in distress. 

"Nell, don't you worry, now. "

"Let me carry you, " suggested Dale. 

"No. I'll s-s-stick on this horse or d-die, " fiercely retorted Bo. 

The two men looked up at her white face and then at each other. Then Roywalked away toward the dark bunch of horses off the road and Dale swungastride the one horse left. 

"Keep close to me, " he said. 

Bo fell in line and Helen brought up the rear. 

Helen imagined she was near the end of a dream. Presently she wouldawaken with a start and see the pale walls of her little room athome, and hear the cherry branches brushing her window, and the oldclarion-voiced cock proclaim the hour of dawn. 

CHAPTER VI

The horses trotted. And the exercise soon warmed Helen, until she wasfairly comfortable except in her fingers. In mind, however, she grewmore miserable as she more fully realized her situation. The night nowbecame so dark that, although the head of her horse was alongside theflank of Bo's, she could scarcely see Bo. From time to time Helen'sanxious query brought from her sister the answer that she was all right. 

Helen had not ridden a horse for more than a year, and for severalyears she had not ridden with any regularity. Despite her thrillsupon mounting, she had entertained misgivings. But she was agreeablysurprised, for the horse, Ranger, had an easy gait, and she found shehad not forgotten how to ride. Bo, having been used to riding on a farmnear home, might be expected to acquit herself admirably. It occurredto Helen what a plight they would have been in but for the thick, comfortable riding outfits. 

Dark as the night was, Helen could dimly make out the road underneath. It was rocky, and apparently little used. When Dale turned off the roadinto the low brush or sage of what seemed a level plain, the travelingwas harder, rougher, and yet no slower. The horses kept to the gait ofthe leaders. Helen, discovering it unnecessary, ceased attempting toguide Ranger. There were dim shapes in the gloom ahead, and always theygave Helen uneasiness, until closer approach proved them to be rocksor low, scrubby trees. These increased in both size and number as thehorses progressed. Often Helen looked back into the gloom behind. This act was involuntary and occasioned her sensations of dread. Daleexpected to be pursued. And Helen experienced, along with the dread, flashes of unfamiliar resentment. Not only was there an attempt afootto rob her of her heritage, but even her personal liberty. Then sheshuddered at the significance of Dale's words regarding her possibleabduction by this hired gang. It seemed monstrous, impossible. Yet, manifestly it was true enough to Dale and his allies. The West, then, inreality was raw, hard, inevitable. 

Suddenly her horse stopped. He had come up alongside Bo's horse. Dalehad halted ahead, and apparently was listening. Roy and the pack-trainwere out of sight in the gloom. 

"What is it?" whispered Helen. 

"Reckon I heard a wolf, " replied Dale. 

"Was that cry a wolf's?" asked Bo. "I heard. It was wild. "

"We're gettin' up close to the foot-hills, " said Dale. "Feel how muchcolder the air is. "

"I'm warm now, " replied Bo. "I guess being near froze was what ailedme. .. . Nell, how 're you?"

"I'm warm, too, but--" Helen answered. 

"If you had your choice of being here or back home, snug in bed--whichwould you take?" asked Bo. 

"Bo!" exclaimed Helen, aghast. 

"Well, I'd choose to be right here on this horse, " rejoined Bo. 

Dale heard her, for he turned an instant, then slapped his horse andstarted on. 

Helen now rode beside Bo, and for a long time they climbed steadily insilence. Helen knew when that dark hour before dawn had passed, and shewelcomed an almost imperceptible lightening in the east. Then the starspaled. Gradually a grayness absorbed all but the larger stars. Thegreat white morning star, wonderful as Helen had never seen it, lost itsbrilliance and life and seemed to retreat into the dimming blue. 

Daylight came gradually, so that the gray desert became distinguishableby degrees. Rolling bare hills, half obscured by the gray lifting mantleof night, rose in the foreground, and behind was gray space, slowlytaking form and substance. In the east there was a kindling of palerose and silver that lengthened and brightened along a horizon growingvisibly rugged. 

"Reckon we'd better catch up with Roy, " said Dale, and he spurred hishorse. 

Ranger and Bo's mount needed no other urging, and they swung into acanter. Far ahead the pack-animals showed with Roy driving them. Thecold wind was so keen in Helen's face that tears blurred her eyes andfroze her cheeks. And riding Ranger at that pace was like riding ina rocking-chair. That ride, invigorating and exciting, seemed all tooshort. 

"Oh, Nell, I don't care--what becomes of--me!" exclaimed Bo, breathlessly. 

Her face was white and red, fresh as a rose, her eyes glanced darklyblue, her hair blew out in bright, unruly strands. Helen knew she feltsome of the physical stimulation that had so roused Bo, and seemed soirresistible, but somber thought was not deflected thereby. 

It was clear daylight when Roy led off round a knoll from which patchesof scrubby trees--cedars, Dale called them--straggled up on the side ofthe foot-hills. 

"They grow on the north slopes, where the snow stays longest, " saidDale. 

They descended into a valley that looked shallow, but proved to be deepand wide, and then began to climb another foot-hill. Upon surmounting itHelen saw the rising sun, and so glorious a view confronted her that shewas unable to answer Bo's wild exclamations. 

Bare, yellow, cedar-dotted slopes, apparently level, so gradual was theascent, stretched away to a dense ragged line of forest that roseblack over range after range, at last to fail near the bare summit of amagnificent mountain, sunrise-flushed against the blue sky. 

"Oh, beautiful!" cried Bo. "But they ought to be called BlackMountains. "

"Old Baldy, there, is white half the year, " replied Dale. 

"Look back an' see what you say, " suggested Roy. 

The girls turned to gaze silently. Helen imagined she looked down uponthe whole wide world. How vastly different was the desert! Verily ityawned away from her, red and gold near at hand, growing softly flushedwith purple far away, a barren void, borderless and immense, wheredark-green patches and black lines and upheaved ridges only served toemphasize distance and space. 

"See thet little green spot, " said Roy, pointing. "Thet's Snowdrop. An'the other one--'way to the right--thet's Show Down. "

"Where is Pine?" queried Helen, eagerly. 

"Farther still, up over the foot-hills at the edge of the woods. "

"Then we're riding away from it. "

"Yes. If we'd gone straight for Pine thet gang could overtake us. Pineis four days' ride. An' by takin' to the mountains Milt can hide histracks. An' when he's thrown Anson off the scent, then he'll circle downto Pine. "

"Mr. Dale, do you think you'll get us there safely--and soon?" askedHelen, wistfully. 

"I won't promise soon, but I promise safe. An' I don't like bein' calledMister, " he replied. 

"Are we ever going to eat?" inquired Bo, demurely. 

At this query Roy Beeman turned with a laugh to look at Bo. Helen sawhis face fully in the light, and it was thin and hard, darkly bronzed, with eyes like those of a hawk, and with square chin and lean jawsshowing scant, light beard. 

"We shore are, " he replied. "Soon as we reach the timber. Thet won't belong. "

"Reckon we can rustle some an' then take a good rest, " said Dale, and heurged his horse into a jog-trot. 

During a steady trot for a long hour, Helen's roving eyes wereeverywhere, taking note of the things from near to far--the scant sagethat soon gave place to as scanty a grass, and the dark blots thatproved to be dwarf cedars, and the ravines opening out as if by magicfrom what had appeared level ground, to wind away widening between graystone walls, and farther on, patches of lonely pine-trees, two and threetogether, and then a straggling clump of yellow aspens, and up beyondthe fringed border of forest, growing nearer all the while, the blacksweeping benches rising to the noble dome of the dominant mountain ofthe range. 

No birds or animals were seen in that long ride up toward the timber, which fact seemed strange to Helen. The air lost something of its cold, cutting edge as the sun rose higher, and it gained sweeter tang offorest-land. The first faint suggestion of that fragrance was utterlynew to Helen, yet it brought a vague sensation of familiarity andwith it an emotion as strange. It was as if she had smelled that keen, pungent tang long ago, and her physical sense caught it before hermemory. 

The yellow plain had only appeared to be level. Roy led down into ashallow ravine, where a tiny stream meandered, and he followed thisaround to the left, coming at length to a point where cedars anddwarf pines formed a little grove. Here, as the others rode up, he satcross-legged in his saddle, and waited. 

"We'll hang up awhile, " he said. "Reckon you're tired?"

"I'm hungry, but not tired yet, " replied Bo. 

Helen dismounted, to find that walking was something she had apparentlylost the power to do. Bo laughed at her, but she, too, was awkward whenonce more upon the ground. 

Then Roy got down. Helen was surprised to find him lame. He caught herquick glance. 

"A hoss threw me once an' rolled on me. Only broke my collar-bone, fiveribs, one arm, an' my bow-legs in two places!"

Notwithstanding this evidence that he was a cripple, as he stood theretall and lithe in his homespun, ragged garments, he looked singularlypowerful and capable. 

"Reckon walkin' around would be good for you girls, " advised Dale. "Ifyou ain't stiff yet, you'll be soon. An' walkin' will help. Don't gofar. I'll call when breakfast's ready. "

A little while later the girls were whistled in from their walk andfound camp-fire and meal awaiting them. Roy was sitting cross-legged, like an Indian, in front of a tarpaulin, upon which was spread a homelybut substantial fare. Helen's quick eye detected a cleanliness andthoroughness she had scarcely expected to find in the camp cooking ofmen of the wilds. Moreover, the fare was good. She ate heartily, andas for Bo's appetite, she was inclined to be as much ashamed of that asamused at it. The young men were all eyes, assiduous in their serviceto the girls, but speaking seldom. It was not lost upon Helen howDale's gray gaze went often down across the open country. She divinedapprehension from it rather than saw much expression in it. 

"I--declare, " burst out Bo, when she could not eat any more, "thisisn't believable. I'm dreaming. .. . Nell, the black horse you rode is theprettiest I ever saw. "

Ranger, with the other animals, was grazing along the little brook. Packs and saddles had been removed. The men ate leisurely. Therewas little evidence of hurried flight. Yet Helen could not cast offuneasiness. Roy might have been deep, and careless, with a motive tospare the girls' anxiety, but Dale seemed incapable of anything he didnot absolutely mean. 

"Rest or walk, " he advised the girls. "We've got forty miles to ridebefore dark. "

Helen preferred to rest, but Bo walked about, petting the horses andprying into the packs. She was curious and eager. 

Dale and Roy talked in low tones while they cleaned up the utensils andpacked them away in a heavy canvas bag. 

"You really expect Anson 'll strike my trail this mornin'?" Dale wasasking. 

"I shore do, " replied Roy. 

"An' how do you figure that so soon?"

"How'd you figure it--if you was Snake Anson?" queried Roy, in reply. 

"Depends on that rider from Magdalena, " Said Dale, soberly. "Althoughit's likely I'd seen them wheel tracks an' hoss tracks made where weturned off. But supposin' he does. "

"Milt, listen. I told you Snake met us boys face to face day beforeyesterday in Show Down. An' he was plumb curious. "

"But he missed seein' or hearin' about me, " replied Dale. 

"Mebbe he did an' mebbe he didn't. Anyway, what's the difference whetherhe finds out this mornin' or this evenin'?"

"Then you ain't expectin' a fight if Anson holds up the stage?"

"Wal, he'd have to shoot first, which ain't likely. John an' Hal, sincethet shootin'-scrape a year ago, have been sort of gun-shy. Joe mightget riled. But I reckon the best we can be shore of is a delay. An' it'dbe sense not to count on thet. "

"Then you hang up here an' keep watch for Anson's gang--say long enoughso's to be sure they'd be in sight if they find our tracks this mornin'. Makin' sure one way or another, you ride 'cross-country to Big Spring, where I'll camp to-night. "

Roy nodded approval of that suggestion. Then without more words both menpicked up ropes and went after the horses. Helen was watching Dale, sothat when Bo cried out in great excitement Helen turned to see a savageyellow little mustang standing straight up on his hind legs and pawingthe air. Roy had roped him and was now dragging him into camp. 

"Nell, look at that for a wild pony!" exclaimed Bo. 

Helen busied herself getting well out of the way of the infuriatedmustang. Roy dragged him to a cedar near by. 

"Come now, Buckskin, " said Roy, soothingly, and he slowly approached thequivering animal. He went closer, hand over hand, on the lasso. Buckskinshowed the whites of his eyes and also his white teeth. But he stoodwhile Roy loosened the loop and, slipping it down over his head, fastened it in a complicated knot round his nose. 

"Thet's a hackamore, " he said, indicating the knot. "He's never had abridle, an' never will have one, I reckon. "

"You don't ride him?" queried Helen. 

"Sometimes I do, " replied Roy, with a smile. "Would you girls like totry him?"

"Excuse me, " answered Helen. 

"Gee!" ejaculated Bo. "He looks like a devil. But I'd tackle him--if youthink I could. "

The wild leaven of the West had found quick root in Bo Rayner. 

"Wal, I'm sorry, but I reckon I'll not let you--for a spell, " repliedRoy, dryly. 

"He pitches somethin' powerful bad. "

"Pitches. You mean bucks?"

"I reckon. "

In the next half-hour Helen saw more and learned more about how horsesof the open range were handled than she had ever heard of. ExceptingRanger, and Roy's bay, and the white pony Bo rode, the rest of thehorses had actually to be roped and hauled into camp to be saddled andpacked. It was a job for fearless, strong men, and one that called forpatience as well as arms of iron. So that for Helen Rayner the thingsucceeding the confidence she had placed in these men was respect. To anobserving woman that half-hour told much. 

When all was in readiness for a start Dale mounted, and said, significantly: "Roy, I'll look for you about sundown. I hope no sooner. "

"Wal, it'd be bad if I had to rustle along soon with bad news. Let'shope for the best. We've been shore lucky so far. Now you take to thepine-mats in the woods an' hide your trail. "

Dale turned away. Then the girls bade Roy good-by, and followed. SoonRoy and his buckskin-colored mustang were lost to sight round a clump oftrees. 

The unhampered horses led the way; the pack-animals trotted after them;the riders were close behind. All traveled at a jog-trot. And this gaitmade the packs bob up and down and from side to side. The sun feltwarm at Helen's back and the wind lost its frosty coldness, that almostappeared damp, for a dry, sweet fragrance. Dale drove up the shallowvalley that showed timber on the levels above and a black border oftimber some few miles ahead. It did not take long to reach the edge ofthe forest. 

Helen wondered why the big pines grew so far on that plain and nofarther. Probably the growth had to do with snow, but, as the groundwas level, she could not see why the edge of the woods should come justthere. 

They rode into the forest. 

To Helen it seemed a strange, critical entrance into another world, which she was destined to know and to love. The pines were big, brown-barked, seamed, and knotted, with no typical conformation excepta majesty and beauty. They grew far apart. Few small pines and littleunderbrush flourished beneath them. The floor of this forest appearedremarkable in that it consisted of patches of high silvery grass andwide brown areas of pine-needles. These manifestly were what Royhad meant by pine-mats. Here and there a fallen monarch lay riven orrotting. Helen was presently struck with the silence of the forest andthe strange fact that the horses seldom made any sound at all, and whenthey did it was a cracking of dead twig or thud of hoof on log. Likewiseshe became aware of a springy nature of the ground. And then she sawthat the pine-mats gave like rubber cushions under the hoofs of thehorses, and after they had passed sprang back to place again, leaving notrack. Helen could not see a sign of a trail they left behind. Indeed, it would take a sharp eye to follow Dale through that forest. Thisknowledge was infinitely comforting to Helen, and for the first timesince the flight had begun she felt a lessening of the weight upon mindand heart. It left her free for some of the appreciation she might havehad in this wonderful ride under happier circumstances. 

Bo, however, seemed too young, too wild, too intense to mind what thecircumstances were. She responded to reality. Helen began to suspectthat the girl would welcome any adventure, and Helen knew surely nowthat Bo was a true Auchincloss. For three long days Helen had felt aconstraint with which heretofore she had been unfamiliar; for the lasthours it had been submerged under dread. But it must be, she concluded, blood like her sister's, pounding at her veins to be set free to raceand to burn. 

Bo loved action. She had an eye for beauty, but she was notcontemplative. She was now helping Dale drive the horses and hold themin rather close formation. She rode well, and as yet showed no symptomsof fatigue or pain. Helen began to be aware of both, but not enough yetto limit her interest. 

A wonderful forest without birds did not seem real to her. Of all livingcreatures in nature Helen liked birds best, and she knew many and couldimitate the songs of a few. But here under the stately pines there wereno birds. Squirrels, however, began to be seen here and there, and inthe course of an hour's travel became abundant. The only one with whichshe was familiar was the chipmunk. All the others, from the slim brightblacks to the striped russets and the white-tailed grays, were totallynew to her. They appeared tame and curious. The reds barked and scoldedat the passing cavalcade; the blacks glided to some safe branch, thereto watch; the grays paid no especial heed to this invasion of theirdomain. 

Once Dale, halting his horse, pointed with long arm, and Helen, following the direction, descried several gray deer standing in a glade, motionless, with long ears up. They made a wild and beautiful picture. Suddenly they bounded away with remarkable springy strides. 

The forest on the whole held to the level, open character, but therewere swales and stream-beds breaking up its regular conformity. Towardnoon, however, it gradually changed, a fact that Helen believed shemight have observed sooner had she been more keen. The general lay ofthe land began to ascend, and the trees to grow denser. 

She made another discovery. Ever since she had entered the forest shehad become aware of a fullness in her head and a something affectingher nostrils. She imagined, with regret, that she had taken cold. Butpresently her head cleared somewhat and she realized that the thick pineodor of the forest had clogged her nostrils as if with a sweet pitch. The smell was overpowering and disagreeable because of its strength. Also her throat and lungs seemed to burn. 

When she began to lose interest in the forest and her surroundingsit was because of aches and pains which would no longer be deniedrecognition. Thereafter she was not permitted to forget them and theygrew worse. One, especially, was a pain beyond all her experience. It lay in the muscles of her side, above her hip, and it grew to be atreacherous thing, for it was not persistent. It came and went. After itdid come, with a terrible flash, it could be borne by shifting or easingthe body. But it gave no warning. When she expected it she was mistaken;when she dared to breathe again, then, with piercing swiftness, it returned like a blade in her side. This, then, was one of theriding-pains that made a victim of a tenderfoot on a long ride. Itwas almost too much to be borne. The beauty of the forest, the livingcreatures to be seen scurrying away, the time, distance--everythingfaded before that stablike pain. To her infinite relief she found thatit was the trot that caused this torture. When Ranger walked she did nothave to suffer it. Therefore she held him to a walk as long as she daredor until Dale and Bo were almost out of sight; then she loped him aheaduntil he had caught up. 

So the hours passed, the sun got around low, sending golden shaftsunder the trees, and the forest gradually changed to a brighter, but athicker, color. This slowly darkened. Sunset was not far away. 

She heard the horses splashing in water, and soon she rode up to see thetiny streams of crystal water running swiftly over beds of green moss. She crossed a number of these and followed along the last one into amore open place in the forest where the pines were huge, towering, and far apart. A low, gray bluff of stone rose to the right, perhapsone-third as high as the trees. From somewhere came the rushing sound ofrunning water. 

"Big Spring, " announced Dale. "We camp here. You girls have done well. "

Another glance proved to Helen that all those little streams poured fromunder this gray bluff. 

"I'm dying for a drink, " cried Bo with her customary hyperbole. 

"I reckon you'll never forget your first drink here, " remarked Dale. 

Bo essayed to dismount, and finally fell off, and when she did get tothe ground her legs appeared to refuse their natural function, and shefell flat. Dale helped her up. 

"What's wrong with me, anyhow?" she demanded, in great amaze. 

"Just stiff, I reckon, " replied Dale, as he led her a few awkward steps. 

"Bo, have you any hurts?" queried Helen, who still sat her horse, loathto try dismounting, yet wanting to beyond all words. 

Bo gave her an eloquent glance. 

"Nell, did you have one in your side, like a wicked, longdarning-needle, punching deep when you weren't ready?"

"That one I'll never get over!" exclaimed Helen, softly. Then, profitingby Bo's experience, she dismounted cautiously, and managed to keepupright. Her legs felt like wooden things. 

Presently the girls went toward the spring. 

"Drink slow, " called out Dale. 

Big Spring had its source somewhere deep under the gray, weatheredbluff, from which came a hollow subterranean gurgle and roar of water. Its fountainhead must have been a great well rushing up through the coldstone. 

Helen and Bo lay flat on a mossy bank, seeing their faces as they bentover, and they sipped a mouthful, by Dale's advice, and because theywere so hot and parched and burning they wanted to tarry a moment with aprecious opportunity. 

The water was so cold that it sent a shock over Helen, made her teethache, and a singular, revivifying current steal all through her, wonderful in its cool absorption of that dry heat of flesh, irresistiblein its appeal to thirst. Helen raised her head to look at this water. Itwas colorless as she had found it tasteless. 

"Nell--drink!" panted Bo. "Think of our--old spring--in theorchard--full of pollywogs!"

And then Helen drank thirstily, with closed eyes, while a memory of homestirred from Bo's gift of poignant speech. 

CHAPTER VII

The first camp duty Dale performed was to throw a pack off one of thehorses, and, opening it, he took out tarpaulin and blankets, which hearranged on the ground under a pine-tree. 

"You girls rest, " he said, briefly. 

"Can't we help?" asked Helen, though she could scarcely stand. 

"You'll be welcome to do all you like after you're broke in. "

"Broke in!" ejaculated Bo, with a little laugh. "I'm all broke UP now. "

"Bo, it looks as if Mr. Dale expects us to have quite a stay with him inthe woods. "

"It does, " replied Bo, as slowly she sat down upon the blankets, stretched out with a long sigh, and laid her head on a saddle. "Nell, didn't he say not to call him Mister?"

Dale was throwing the packs off the other horses. 

Helen lay down beside Bo, and then for once in her life she experiencedthe sweetness of rest. 

"Well, sister, what do you intend to call him?" queried Helen, curiously. 

"Milt, of course, " replied Bo. 

Helen had to laugh despite her weariness and aches. 

"I suppose, then, when your Las Vegas cowboy comes along you will callhim what he called you. "

Bo blushed, which was a rather unusual thing for her. 

"I will if I like, " she retorted. "Nell, ever since I could rememberyou've raved about the West. Now you're OUT West, right in it good anddeep. So wake up!"

That was Bo's blunt and characteristic way of advising the eliminationof Helen's superficialities. It sank deep. Helen had no retort. Herambition, as far as the West was concerned, had most assuredly not beenfor such a wild, unheard-of jaunt as this. But possibly the West--aliving from day to day--was one succession of adventures, trials, tests, troubles, and achievements. To make a place for others to livecomfortably some day! That might be Bo's meaning, embodied in herforceful hint. But Helen was too tired to think it out then. She foundit interesting and vaguely pleasant to watch Dale. 

He hobbled the horses and turned them loose. Then with ax in hand heapproached a short, dead tree, standing among a few white-barkedaspens. Dale appeared to advantage swinging the ax. With his coat off, displaying his wide shoulders, straight back, and long, powerful arms, he looked a young giant. He was lithe and supple, brawny but not bulky. The ax rang on the hard wood, reverberating through the forest. A fewstrokes sufficed to bring down the stub. Then he split it up. Helen wascurious to see how he kindled a fire. First he ripped splinters out ofthe heart of the log, and laid them with coarser pieces on the ground. Then from a saddlebag which hung on a near-by branch he took flint andsteel and a piece of what Helen supposed was rag or buckskin, uponwhich powder had been rubbed. At any rate, the first strike of the steelbrought sparks, a blaze, and burning splinters. Instantly the flameleaped a foot high. He put on larger pieces of wood crosswise, and thefire roared. 

That done, he stood erect, and, facing the north, he listened. Helenremembered now that she had seen him do the same thing twice beforesince the arrival at Big Spring. It was Roy for whom he was listeningand watching. The sun had set and across the open space the tips of thepines were losing their brightness. 

The camp utensils, which the hunter emptied out of a sack, gave forth ajangle of iron and tin. Next he unrolled a large pack, the contentsof which appeared to be numerous sacks of all sizes. These evidentlycontained food supplies. The bucket looked as if a horse had rolled overit, pack and all. Dale filled it at the spring. Upon returning to thecamp-fire he poured water into a washbasin, and, getting down to hisknees, proceeded to wash his hands thoroughly. The act seemed a habit, for Helen saw that while he was doing it he gazed off into the woodsand listened. Then he dried his hands over the fire, and, turning to thespread-out pack, he began preparations for the meal. 

Suddenly Helen thought of the man and all that his actions implied. At Magdalena, on the stage-ride, and last night, she had trustedthis stranger, a hunter of the White Mountains, who appeared ready tobefriend her. And she had felt an exceeding gratitude. Still, she hadlooked at him impersonally. But it began to dawn upon her that chancehad thrown her in the company of a remarkable man. That impressionbaffled her. It did not spring from the fact that he was brave and kindto help a young woman in peril, or that he appeared deft and quick atcamp-fire chores. Most Western men were brave, her uncle had told her, and many were roughly kind, and all of them could cook. This hunter wasphysically a wonderful specimen of manhood, with something leonine abouthis stature. But that did not give rise to her impression. Helenhad been a school-teacher and used to boys, and she sensed a boyishsimplicity or vigor or freshness in this hunter. She believed, however, that it was a mental and spiritual force in Dale which had drawn her tothink of it. 

"Nell, I've spoken to you three times, " protested Bo, petulantly. "What're you mooning over?"

"I'm pretty tired--and far away, Bo, " replied Helen. "What did you say?"

"I said I had an e-normous appetite. "

"Really. That's not remarkable for you. I'm too tired to eat. And afraidto shut my eyes. They'd never come open. When did we sleep last, Bo?"

"Second night before we left home, " declared Bo. 

"Four nights! Oh, we've slept some. "

"I'll bet I make mine up in this woods. Do you suppose we'll sleep righthere--under this tree--with no covering?"

"It looks so, " replied Helen, dubiously. 

"How perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Bo, in delight. "We'll see the starsthrough the pines. "

"Seems to be clouding over. Wouldn't it be awful if we had a storm?"

"Why, I don't know, " answered Bo, thoughtfully. "It must storm outWest. "

Again Helen felt a quality of inevitableness in Bo. It was somethingthat had appeared only practical in the humdrum home life in St. Joseph. All of a sudden Helen received a flash of wondering thought--a thrillingconsciousness that she and Bo had begun to develop in a new and wildenvironment. How strange, and fearful, perhaps, to watch that growth!Bo, being younger, more impressionable, with elemental rather thanintellectual instincts, would grow stronger more swiftly. Helen wonderedif she could yield to her own leaning to the primitive. But how couldanyone with a thoughtful and grasping mind yield that way? It was thesavage who did not think. 

Helen saw Dale stand erect once more and gaze into the forest. 

"Reckon Roy ain't comin', " he soliloquized. "An' that's good. " Then heturned to the girls. "Supper's ready. "

The girls responded with a spirit greater than their activity. Andthey ate like famished children that had been lost in the woods. Daleattended them with a pleasant light upon his still face. 

"To-morrow night we'll have meat, " he said. 

"What kind?" asked Bo. 

"Wild turkey or deer. Maybe both, if you like. But it's well to takewild meat slow. An' turkey--that 'll melt in your mouth. "

"Uummm!" murmured Bo, greedily. "I've heard of wild turkey. "

When they had finished Dale ate his meal, listening to the talk of thegirls, and occasionally replying briefly to some query of Bo's. It wastwilight when he began to wash the pots and pans, and almost dark by thetime his duties appeared ended. Then he replenished the campfire andsat down on a log to gaze into the fire. The girls leaned comfortablypropped against the saddles. 

"Nell, I'll keel over in a minute, " said Bo. "And I oughtn't--right onsuch a big supper. "

"I don't see how I can sleep, and I know I can't stay awake, " rejoinedHelen. 

Dale lifted his head alertly. 

"Listen. "

The girls grew tense and still. Helen could not hear a sound, unless itwas a low thud of hoof out in the gloom. The forest seemed sleeping. Sheknew from Bo's eyes, wide and shining in the camp-fire light, that she, too, had failed to catch whatever it was Dale meant. 

"Bunch of coyotes comin', " he explained. 

Suddenly the quietness split to a chorus of snappy, high-strung, strangebarks. They sounded wild, yet they held something of a friendly orinquisitive note. Presently gray forms could be descried just at theedge of the circle of light. Soft rustlings of stealthy feet surroundedthe camp, and then barks and yelps broke out all around. It was arestless and sneaking pack of animals, thought Helen; she was glad afterthe chorus ended and with a few desultory, spiteful yelps the coyoteswent away. 

Silence again settled down. If it had not been for the anxiety alwayspresent in Helen's mind she would have thought this silence sweet andunfamiliarly beautiful. 

"Ah! Listen to that fellow, " spoke up Dale. His voice was thrilling. 

Again the girls strained their ears. That was not necessary, forpresently, clear and cold out of the silence, pealed a mournful howl, long drawn, strange and full and wild. 

"Oh! What's that?" whispered Bo. 

"That's a big gray wolf--a timber-wolf, or lofer, as he's sometimescalled, " replied Dale. "He's high on some rocky ridge back there. Hescents us, an' he doesn't like it. .. . There he goes again. Listen! Ah, he's hungry. "

While Helen listened to this exceedingly wild cry--so wild that it madeher flesh creep and the most indescribable sensations of loneliness comeover her--she kept her glance upon Dale. 

"You love him?" she murmured involuntarily, quite without understandingthe motive of her query. 

Assuredly Dale had never had that question asked of him before, andit seemed to Helen, as he pondered, that he had never even asked it ofhimself. 

"I reckon so, " he replied, presently. 

"But wolves kill deer, and little fawns, and everything helpless in theforest, " expostulated Bo. 

The hunter nodded his head. 

"Why, then, can you love him?" repeated Helen. 

"Come to think of it, I reckon it's because of lots of reasons, "returned Dale. "He kills clean. He eats no carrion. He's no coward. Hefights. He dies game. .. . An' he likes to be alone. "

"Kills clean. What do you mean by that?"

"A cougar, now, he mangles a deer. An' a silvertip, when killin' acow or colt, he makes a mess of it. But a wolf kills clean, with sharpsnaps. "

"What are a cougar and a silvertip?"

"Cougar means mountain-lion or panther, an' a silvertip is a grizzlybear. "

"Oh, they're all cruel!" exclaimed Helen, shrinking. 

"I reckon. Often I've shot wolves for relayin' a deer. "

"What's that?"

"Sometimes two or more wolves will run a deer, an' while one of themrests the other will drive the deer around to his pardner, who'll, takeup the chase. That way they run the deer down. Cruel it is, but nature, an' no worse than snow an' ice that starve deer, or a fox that killsturkey-chicks breakin' out of the egg, or ravens that pick the eyes outof new-born lambs an' wait till they die. An' for that matter, men arecrueler than beasts of prey, for men add to nature, an' have more thaninstincts. "

Helen was silenced, as well as shocked. She had not only learned a newand striking viewpoint in natural history, but a clear intimation to thereason why she had vaguely imagined or divined a remarkable character inthis man. A hunter was one who killed animals for their fur, for theirmeat or horns, or for some lust for blood--that was Helen's definitionof a hunter, and she believed it was held by the majority of peopleliving in settled states. But the majority might be wrong. A huntermight be vastly different, and vastly more than a tracker and slayerof game. The mountain world of forest was a mystery to almost all men. Perhaps Dale knew its secrets, its life, its terror, its beauty, itssadness, and its joy; and if so, how full, how wonderful must be hismind! He spoke of men as no better than wolves. Could a lonely lifein the wilderness teach a man that? Bitterness, envy, jealousy, spite, greed, and hate--these had no place in this hunter's heart. It was notHelen's shrewdness, but a woman's intuition, which divined that. 

Dale rose to his feet and, turning his ear to the north, listened oncemore. 

"Are you expecting Roy still?" inquired Helen. 

"No, it ain't likely he'll turn up to-night, " replied Dale, and then hestrode over to put a hand on the pine-tree that soared above where thegirls lay. His action, and the way he looked up at the tree-top and thenat adjacent trees, held more of that significance which so interestedHelen. 

"I reckon he's stood there some five hundred years an' will standthrough to-night, " muttered Dale. 

This pine was the monarch of that wide-spread group. 

"Listen again, " said Dale. 

Bo was asleep. And Helen, listening, at once caught low, distant roar. 

"Wind. It's goin' to storm, " explained Dale. "You'll hear somethin'worth while. But don't be scared. Reckon we'll be safe. Pines blow downoften. But this fellow will stand any fall wind that ever was. .. . Betterslip under the blankets so I can pull the tarp up. "

Helen slid down, just as she was, fully dressed except for boots, whichshe and Bo had removed; and she laid her head close to Bo's. Dale pulledthe tarpaulin up and folded it back just below their heads. 

"When it rains you'll wake, an' then just pull the tarp up over you, " hesaid. 

"Will it rain?" Helen asked. But she was thinking that this momentwas the strangest that had ever happened to her. By the light of thecamp-fire she saw Dale's face, just as usual, still, darkly serene, expressing no thought. He was kind, but he was not thinking of thesesisters as girls, alone with him in a pitch-black forest, helpless anddefenseless. He did not seem to be thinking at all. But Helen had neverbefore in her life been so keenly susceptible to experience. 

"I'll be close by an' keep the fire goin' all night, " he said. 

She heard him stride off into the darkness. Presently there came adragging, bumping sound, then a crash of a log dropped upon the fire. A cloud of sparks shot up, and many pattered down to hiss upon the dampground. Smoke again curled upward along the great, seamed tree-trunk, and flames sputtered and crackled. 

Helen listened again for the roar of wind. It seemed to come on a breathof air that fanned her cheek and softly blew Bo's curls, and it wasstronger. But it died out presently, only to come again, and stillstronger. Helen realized then that the sound was that of an approachingstorm. Her heavy eyelids almost refused to stay open, and she knew ifshe let them close she would instantly drop to sleep. And she wanted tohear the storm-wind in the pines. 

A few drops of cold rain fell upon her face, thrilling her with theproof that no roof stood between her and the elements. Then a breezebore the smell of burnt wood into her face, and somehow her quick mindflew to girlhood days when she burned brush and leaves with her littlebrothers. The memory faded. The roar that had seemed distant was nowback in the forest, coming swiftly, increasing in volume. Like astream in flood it bore down. Helen grew amazed, startled. How rushing, oncoming, and heavy this storm-wind! She likened its approach to thetread of an army. Then the roar filled the forest, yet it was back therebehind her. Not a pine-needle quivered in the light of the camp-fire. But the air seemed to be oppressed with a terrible charge. The roaraugmented till it was no longer a roar, but an on-sweeping crash, likean ocean torrent engulfing the earth. Bo awoke to cling to Helenwith fright. The deafening storm-blast was upon them. Helen felt thesaddle-pillow move under her head. The giant pine had trembled to itsvery roots. That mighty fury of wind was all aloft, in the tree-tops. And for a long moment it bowed the forest under its tremendous power. Then the deafening crash passed to roar, and that swept on and on, lessening in volume, deepening in low detonation, at last to die in thedistance. 

No sooner had it died than back to the north another low roar rose andceased and rose again. Helen lay there, whispering to Bo, and heardagain the great wave of wind come and crash and cease. That was the wayof this storm-wind of the mountain forest. 

A soft patter of rain on the tarpaulin warned Helen to remember Dale'sdirections, and, pulling up the heavy covering, she arranged it hoodlikeover the saddle. Then, with Bo close and warm beside her, she closedher eyes, and the sense of the black forest and the wind and rainfaded. Last of all sensations was the smell of smoke that blew under thetarpaulin. 

When she opened her eyes she remembered everything, as if only a momenthad elapsed. But it was daylight, though gray and cloudy. The pines weredripping mist. A fire crackled cheerily and blue smoke curled upward anda savory odor of hot coffee hung in the air. Horses were standingnear by, biting and kicking at one another. Bo was sound asleep. Daleappeared busy around the camp-fire. As Helen watched the hunter shesaw him pause in his task, turn his ear to listen, and then lookexpectantly. And at that juncture a shout pealed from the forest. Helen recognized Roy's voice. Then she heard a splashing of water, andhoof-beats coming closer. With that the buckskin mustang trotted intocamp, carrying Roy. 

"Bad mornin' for ducks, but good for us, " he called. 

"Howdy, Roy!" greeted Dale, and his gladness was unmistakable. "I waslookin' for you. "

Roy appeared to slide off the mustang without effort, and his swifthands slapped the straps as he unsaddled. Buckskin was wet with sweatand foam mixed with rain. He heaved. And steam rose from him. 

"Must have rode hard, " observed Dale. 

"I shore did, " replied Roy. Then he espied Helen, who had sat up, withhands to her hair, and eyes staring at him. 

"Mornin', miss. It's good news. "

"Thank Heaven!" murmured Helen, and then she shook Bo. That young ladyawoke, but was loath to give up slumber. "Bo! Bo! Wake up! Mr. Roy isback. "

Whereupon Bo sat up, disheveled and sleepy-eyed. 

"Oh-h, but I ache!" she moaned. But her eyes took in the camp scene tothe effect that she added, "Is breakfast ready?"

"Almost. An' flapjacks this mornin', " replied Dale. 

Bo manifested active symptoms of health in the manner with which shelaced her boots. Helen got their traveling-bag, and with this theyrepaired to a flat stone beside the spring, not, however, out of earshotof the men. 

"How long are you goin' to hang around camp before tellin' me?" inquiredDale. 

"Jest as I figgered, Milt, " replied Roy. "Thet rider who passed you wasa messenger to Anson. He an' his gang got on our trail quick. About teno'clock I seen them comin'. Then I lit out for the woods. I stayed offin the woods close enough to see where they come in. An' shore theylost your trail. Then they spread through the woods, workin' off to thesouth, thinkin', of course, thet you would circle round to Pine on thesouth side of Old Baldy. There ain't a hoss-tracker in Snake Anson'sgang, thet's shore. Wal, I follered them for an hour till they'd rustledsome miles off our trail. Then I went back to where you struck intothe woods. An' I waited there all afternoon till dark, expectin' mebbethey'd back-trail. But they didn't. I rode on a ways an' camped in thewoods till jest before daylight. "

"So far so good, " declared Dale. 

"Shore. There's rough country south of Baldy an' along the two or threetrails Anson an' his outfit will camp, you bet. "

"It ain't to be thought of, " muttered Dale, at some idea that had struckhim. 

"What ain't?"

"Goin' round the north side of Baldy. "

"It shore ain't, " rejoined Roy, bluntly. 

"Then I've got to hide tracks certain--rustle to my camp an' stay theretill you say it's safe to risk takin' the girls to Pine. "

"Milt, you're talkin' the wisdom of the prophets. "

"I ain't so sure we can hide tracks altogether. If Anson had any eyesfor the woods he'd not have lost me so soon. 

"No. But, you see, he's figgerin' to cross your trail. "

"If I could get fifteen or twenty mile farther on an' hide trackscertain, I'd feel safe from pursuit, anyway, " said the hunter, reflectively. 

"Shore an' easy, " responded Roy, quickly. "I jest met up with somegreaser sheep-herders drivin' a big flock. They've come up from thesouth an' are goin' to fatten up at Turkey Senacas. Then they'll driveback south an' go on to Phenix. Wal, it's muddy weather. Now you breakcamp quick an' make a plain trail out to thet sheep trail, as if youwas travelin' south. But, instead, you ride round ahead of thet flock ofsheep. They'll keep to the open parks an' the trails through them necksof woods out here. An', passin' over your tracks, they'll hide 'em. "

"But supposin' Anson circles an' hits this camp? He'll track me easy outto that sheep trail. What then?"

"Jest what you want. Goin' south thet sheep trail is downhill an' muddy. It's goin' to rain hard. Your tracks would get washed out even if youdid go south. An' Anson would keep on thet way till he was clear off thescent. Leave it to me, Milt. You're a hunter. But I'm a hoss-tracker. "

"All right. We'll rustle. "

Then he called the girls to hurry. 

CHAPTER VIII

Once astride the horse again, Helen had to congratulate herself upon notbeing so crippled as she had imagined. Indeed, Bo made all the audiblecomplaints. 

Both girls had long water-proof coats, brand-new, and of which they wereconsiderably proud. New clothes had not been a common event in theirlives. 

"Reckon I'll have to slit these, " Dale had said, whipping out a hugeknife. 

"What for?" had been Bo's feeble protest. 

"They wasn't made for ridin'. An' you'll get wet enough even if I do cutthem. An' if I don't, you'll get soaked. "

"Go ahead, " had been Helen's reluctant permission. 

So their long new coats were slit half-way up the back. The exigency ofthe case was manifest to Helen, when she saw how they came down over thecantles of the saddles and to their boot-tops. 

The morning was gray and cold. A fine, misty rain fell and the treesdripped steadily. Helen was surprised to see the open country again andthat apparently they were to leave the forest behind for a while. Thecountry was wide and flat on the right, and to the left it rolled andheaved along a black, scalloped timber-line. Above this bordering ofthe forest low, drifting clouds obscured the mountains. The wind was atHelen's back and seemed to be growing stronger. Dale and Roy were ahead, traveling at a good trot, with the pack-animals bunched before them. Helen and Bo had enough to do to keep up. 

The first hour's ride brought little change in weather or scenery, butit gave Helen an inkling of what she must endure if they kept that upall day. She began to welcome the places where the horses walked, butshe disliked the levels. As for the descents, she hated those. Rangerwould not go down slowly and the shake-up she received was unpleasant. Moreover, the spirited black horse insisted on jumping the ditches andwashes. He sailed over them like a bird. Helen could not acquire theknack of sitting the saddle properly, and so, not only was her personbruised on these occasions, but her feelings were hurt. Helen hadnever before been conscious of vanity. Still, she had never rejoicedin looking at a disadvantage, and her exhibitions here must have beenfrightful. Bo always would forge to the front, and she seldom lookedback, for which Helen was grateful. 

Before long they struck into a broad, muddy belt, full of innumerablesmall hoof tracks. This, then, was the sheep trail Roy had advisedfollowing. They rode on it for three or four miles, and at length, coming to a gray-green valley, they saw a huge flock of sheep. Soon theair was full of bleats and baas as well as the odor of sheep, and alow, soft roar of pattering hoofs. The flock held a compact formation, covering several acres, and grazed along rapidly. There were threeherders on horses and several pack-burros. Dale engaged one of theMexicans in conversation, and passed something to him, then pointednorthward and down along the trail. The Mexican grinned from ear to ear, and Helen caught the quick "SI, SENOR! GRACIAS, SENOR!" It was a prettysight, that flock of sheep, as it rolled along like a rounded woollystream of grays and browns and here and there a black. They were keepingto a trail over the flats. Dale headed into this trail and, if anything, trotted a little faster. 

Presently the clouds lifted and broke, showing blue sky and one streakof sunshine. But the augury was without warrant. The wind increased. Ahuge black pall bore down from the mountains and it brought rain thatcould be seen falling in sheets from above and approaching like aswiftly moving wall. Soon it enveloped the fugitives. 

With head bowed, Helen rode along for what seemed ages in a cold, grayrain that blew almost on a level. Finally the heavy downpour passed, leaving a fine mist. The clouds scurried low and dark, hiding themountains altogether and making the gray, wet plain a dreary sight. Helen's feet and knees were as wet as if she had waded in water. Andthey were cold. Her gloves, too, had not been intended for rain, andthey were wet through. The cold bit at her fingers so that she had tobeat her hands together. Ranger misunderstood this to mean that he wasto trot faster, which event was worse for Helen than freezing. 

She saw another black, scudding mass of clouds bearing down with itstrailing sheets of rain, and this one appeared streaked with white. Snow! The wind was now piercingly cold. Helen's body kept warm, buther extremities and ears began to suffer exceedingly. She gazed aheadgrimly. There was no help; she had to go on. Dale and Roy were huncheddown in their saddles, probably wet through, for they wore no rain-proofcoats. Bo kept close behind them, and plain it was that she felt thecold. 

This second storm was not so bad as the first, because there was lessrain. Still, the icy keenness of the wind bit into the marrow. It lastedfor an hour, during which the horses trotted on, trotted on. Again thegray torrent roared away, the fine mist blew, the clouds lifted andseparated, and, closing again, darkened for another onslaught. This onebrought sleet. The driving pellets stung Helen's neck and cheeks, andfor a while they fell so thick and so hard upon her back that she wasafraid she could not hold up under them. The bare places on the groundshowed a sparkling coverlet of marbles of ice. 

Thus, storm after storm rolled over Helen's head. Her feet grew numband ceased to hurt. But her fingers, because of her ceaseless effortsto keep up the circulation, retained the stinging pain. And now the windpierced right through her. She marveled at her endurance, and there weremany times that she believed she could not ride farther. Yet she kepton. All the winters she had ever lived had not brought such a day asthis. Hard and cold, wet and windy, at an increasing elevation--that wasthe explanation. The air did not have sufficient oxygen for her blood. 

Still, during all those interminable hours, Helen watched where she wastraveling, and if she ever returned over that trail she would recognizeit. The afternoon appeared far advanced when Dale and Roy led down intoan immense basin where a reedy lake spread over the flats. They rodealong its margin, splashing up to the knees of the horses. Cranes andherons flew on with lumbering motion; flocks of ducks winged swiftflight from one side to the other. Beyond this depression the landsloped rather abruptly; outcroppings of rock circled along the edge ofthe highest ground, and again a dark fringe of trees appeared. 

How many miles! wondered Helen. They seemed as many and as long asthe hours. But at last, just as another hard rain came, the pineswere reached. They proved to be widely scattered and afforded littleprotection from the storm. 

Helen sat her saddle, a dead weight. Whenever Ranger quickened his gaitor crossed a ditch she held on to the pommel to keep from fallingoff. Her mind harbored only sensations of misery, and a persistentthought--why did she ever leave home for the West? Her solicitude for Bohad been forgotten. Nevertheless, any marked change in the topographyof the country was registered, perhaps photographed on her memory by thetorturing vividness of her experience. 

The forest grew more level and denser. Shadows of twilight or gloom layunder the trees. Presently Dale and Roy, disappeared, going downhill, and likewise Bo. Then Helen's ears suddenly filled with a roar of rapidwater. Ranger trotted faster. Soon Helen came to the edge of a greatvalley, black and gray, so full of obscurity that she could not seeacross or down into it. But she knew there was a rushing river atthe bottom. The sound was deep, continuous, a heavy, murmuring roar, singularly musical. The trail was steep. Helen had not lost all feeling, as she had believed and hoped. Her poor, mistreated body still respondedexcruciatingly to concussions, jars, wrenches, and all the otherhorrible movements making up a horse-trot. 

For long Helen did not look up. When she did so there lay a green, willow-bordered, treeless space at the bottom of the valley, throughwhich a brown-white stream rushed with steady, ear-filling roar. 

Dale and Roy drove the pack-animals across the stream, and followed, going deep to the flanks of their horses. Bo rode into the foaming wateras if she had been used to it all her days. A slip, a fall, would havemeant that Bo must drown in that mountain torrent. 

Ranger trotted straight to the edge, and there, obedient to Helen'sclutch on the bridle, he halted. The stream was fifty feet wide, shallowon the near side, deep on the opposite, with fast current and big waves. Helen was simply too frightened to follow. 

"Let him come!" yelled Dale. "Stick on now!. .. Ranger!"

The big black plunged in, making the water fly. That stream was nothingfor him, though it seemed impassable to Helen. She had not the strengthleft to lift her stirrups and the water surged over them. Ranger, in twomore plunges, surmounted the bank, and then, trotting across the greento where the other horses stood steaming under some pines, he gave agreat heave and halted. 

Roy reached up to help her off. 

"Thirty miles, Miss Helen, " he said, and the way he spoke was acompliment. 

He had to lift her off and help her to the tree where Bo leaned. Dalehad ripped off a saddle and was spreading saddle-blankets on the groundunder the pine. 

"Nell--you swore--you loved me!" was Bo's mournful greeting. The girlwas pale, drawn, blue-lipped, and she could not stand up. 

"Bo, I never did--or I'd never have brought you to this--wretch that Iam!" cried Helen. "Oh, what a horrible ride!"

Rain was falling, the trees were dripping, the sky was lowering. All theground was soaking wet, with pools and puddles everywhere. Helen couldimagine nothing but a heartless, dreary, cold prospect. Just then homewas vivid and poignant in her thoughts. Indeed, so utterly miserablewas she that the exquisite relief of sitting down, of a cessation ofmovement, of a release from that infernal perpetual-trotting horse, seemed only a mockery. It could not be true that the time had come forrest. 

Evidently this place had been a camp site for hunters or sheep-herders, for there were remains of a fire. Dale lifted the burnt end of a logand brought it down hard upon the ground, splitting off pieces. Severaltimes he did this. It was amazing to see his strength, his facility, ashe split off handfuls of splinters. He collected a bundle of them, and, laying them down, he bent over them. Roy wielded the ax on another log, and each stroke split off a long strip. Then a tiny column of smokedrifted up over Dale's shoulder as he leaned, bareheaded, sheltering thesplinters with his hat. A blaze leaped up. Roy came with an armful ofstrips all white and dry, out of the inside of a log. Crosswise thesewere laid over the blaze, and it began to roar. Then piece by piece themen built up a frame upon which they added heavier woods, branchesand stumps and logs, erecting a pyramid through which flames and smokeroared upward. It had not taken two minutes. Already Helen felt thewarmth on her icy face. She held up her bare, numb hands. 

Both Dale and Roy were wet through to the skin, yet they did not tarrybeside the fire. They relieved the horses. A lasso went up between twopines, and a tarpaulin over it, V-shaped and pegged down at the fourends. The packs containing the baggage of the girls and the supplies andbedding were placed under this shelter. 

Helen thought this might have taken five minutes more. In this shortspace of time the fire had leaped and flamed until it was huge and hot. Rain was falling steadily all around, but over and near that roaringblaze, ten feet high, no water fell. It evaporated. The ground began tosteam and to dry. Helen suffered at first while the heat was driving outthe cold. But presently the pain ceased. 

"Nell, I never knew before how good a fire could feel, " declared Bo. 

And therein lay more food for Helen's reflection. 

In ten minutes Helen was dry and hot. Darkness came down upon thedreary, sodden forest, but that great camp-fire made it a differentworld from the one Helen had anticipated. It blazed and roared, crackedlike a pistol, hissed and sputtered, shot sparks everywhere, and sentaloft a dense, yellow, whirling column of smoke. It began to have aheart of gold. 

Dale took a long pole and raked out a pile of red embers upon which thecoffee-pot and oven soon began to steam. 

"Roy, I promised the girls turkey to-night, " said the hunter. 

"Mebbe to-morrow, if the wind shifts. This 's turkey country. "

"Roy, a potato will do me!" exclaimed Bo. "Never again will I ask forcake and pie! I never appreciated good things to eat. And I've been alittle pig, always. I never--never knew what it was to be hungry--untilnow. "

Dale glanced up quickly. 

"Lass, it's worth learnin', " he said. 

Helen's thought was too deep for words. In such brief space had she beentransformed from misery to comfort!

The rain kept on falling, though it appeared to grow softer as nightsettled down black. The wind died away and the forest was still, exceptfor the steady roar of the stream. A folded tarpaulin was laid betweenthe pine and the fire, well in the light and warmth, and upon it themen set steaming pots and plates and cups, the fragrance from which wasstrong and inviting. 

"Fetch the saddle-blanket an' set with your backs to the fire, " saidRoy. 

Later, when the girls were tucked away snugly in their blankets andsheltered from the rain, Helen remained awake after Bo had fallenasleep. The big blaze made the improvised tent as bright as day. Shecould see the smoke, the trunk of the big pine towering aloft, anda blank space of sky. The stream hummed a song, seemingly musical attimes, and then discordant and dull, now low, now roaring, and alwaysrushing, gurgling, babbling, flowing, chafing in its hurry. 

Presently the hunter and his friend returned from hobbling the horses, and beside the fire they conversed in low tones. 

"Wal, thet trail we made to-day will be hid, I reckon, " said Roy, withsatisfaction. 

"What wasn't sheeped over would be washed out. We've had luck. An' now Iain't worryin', " returned Dale. 

"Worryin'? Then it's the first I ever knowed you to do. "

"Man, I never had a job like this, " protested the hunter. 

"Wal, thet's so. "

"Now, Roy, when old Al Auchincloss finds out about this deal, as he'sbound to when you or the boys get back to Pine, he's goin' to roar. "

"Do you reckon folks will side with him against Beasley?"

"Some of them. But Al, like as not, will tell folks to go where it'shot. He'll bunch his men an' strike for the mountains to find hisnieces. "

"Wal, all you've got to do is to keep the girls hid till I can guide himup to your camp. Or, failin' thet, till you can slip the girls down toPine. "

"No one but you an' your brothers ever seen my senaca. But it could befound easy enough. "

"Anson might blunder on it. But thet ain't likely. "

"Why ain't it?"

"Because I'll stick to thet sheep-thief's tracks like a wolf after ableedin' deer. An' if he ever gets near your camp I'll ride in ahead ofhim. "

"Good!" declared Dale. "I was calculatin' you'd go down to Pine, sooneror later. "

"Not unless Anson goes. I told John thet in case there was no fight onthe stage to make a bee-line back to Pine. He was to tell Al an' offerhis services along with Joe an' Hal. "

"One way or another, then, there's bound to be blood spilled over this. "

"Shore! An' high time. I jest hope I get a look down my old 'forty-four'at thet Beasley. "

"In that case I hope you hold straighter than times I've seen you. "

"Milt Dale, I'm a good shot, " declared Roy, stoutly. 

"You're no good on movin' targets. "

"Wal, mebbe so. But I'm not lookin' for a movin' target when I meet upwith Beasley. I'm a hossman, not a hunter. You're used to shootin' fliesoff deer's horns, jest for practice. "

"Roy, can we make my camp by to-morrow night?" queried Dale, moreseriously. 

"We will, if each of us has to carry one of the girls. But they'll do itor die. Dale, did you ever see a gamer girl than thet kid Bo?"

"Me! Where'd I ever see any girls?" ejaculated Dale. "I remember somewhen I was a boy, but I was only fourteen then. Never had much use forgirls. "

"I'd like to have a wife like that Bo, " declared Roy, fervidly. 

There ensued a moment's silence. 

"Roy, you're a Mormon an' you already got a wife, " was Dale's reply. 

"Now, Milt, have you lived so long in the woods thet you never heard ofa Mormon with two wives?" returned Roy, and then he laughed heartily. 

"I never could stomach what I did hear pertainin' to more than one wifefor a man. "

"Wal, my friend, you go an' get yourself ONE. An' see then if youwouldn't like to have TWO. "

"I reckon one 'd be more than enough for Milt Dale. "

"Milt, old man, let me tell you thet I always envied you your freedom, "said Roy, earnestly. "But it ain't life. "

"You mean life is love of a woman?"

"No. Thet's only part. I mean a son--a boy thet's like you--thet youfeel will go on with your life after you're gone. "

"I've thought of that--thought it all out, watchin' the birds an'animals mate in the woods. .. . If I have no son I'll never livehereafter. "

"Wal, " replied Roy, hesitatingly, "I don't go in so deep as thet. I meana son goes on with your blood an' your work. "

"Exactly. .. An', Roy, I envy you what you ve got, because it's out ofall bounds for Milt Dale. "

Those words, sad and deep, ended the conversation. Again the rumbling, rushing stream dominated the forest. An owl hooted dismally. A horsetrod thuddingly near by and from that direction came a cutting tear ofteeth on grass. 

A voice pierced Helen's deep dreams and, awaking, she found Bo shakingand calling her. 

"Are you dead?" came the gay voice. 

"Almost. Oh, my back's broken, " replied Helen. The desire to move seemedclamped in a vise, and even if that came she believed the effort wouldbe impossible. 

"Roy called us, " said Bo. "He said hurry. I thought I'd die just sittingup, and I'd give you a million dollars to lace my boots. Wait, sister, till you try to pull on one of those stiff boots!"

With heroic and violent spirit Helen sat up to find that in the acther aches and pains appeared beyond number. Reaching for her boots, she found them cold and stiff. Helen unlaced one and, opening it wide, essayed to get her sore foot down into it. But her foot appeared swollenand the boot appeared shrunken. She could not get it half on, thoughshe expended what little strength seemed left in her aching arms. Shegroaned. 

Bo laughed wickedly. Her hair was tousled, her eyes dancing, her cheeksred. 

"Be game!" she said. "Stand up like a real Western girl and PULL yourboot on. "

Whether Bo's scorn or advice made the task easier did not occur toHelen, but the fact was that she got into her boots. Walking andmoving a little appeared to loosen the stiff joints and ease that tiredfeeling. The water of the stream where the girls washed was colder thanany ice Helen had ever felt. It almost paralyzed her hands. Bo mumbled, and blew like a porpoise. They had to run to the fire before being ableto comb their hair. The air was wonderfully keen. The dawn was clear, bright, with a red glow in the east where the sun was about to rise. 

"All ready, girls, " called Roy. "Reckon you can help yourselves. Miltain't comin' in very fast with the hosses. I'll rustle off to help him. We've got a hard day before us. Yesterday wasn't nowhere to what to-day'll be. "

"But the sun's going to shine?" implored Bo. 

"Wal, you bet, " rejoined Roy, as he strode off. 

Helen and Bo ate breakfast and had the camp to themselves for perhapshalf an hour; then the horses came thudding down, with Dale and Royriding bareback. 

By the time all was in readiness to start the sun was up, melting thefrost and ice, so that a dazzling, bright mist, full of rainbows, shoneunder the trees. 

Dale looked Ranger over, and tried the cinches of Bo's horse. 

"What's your choice--a long ride behind the packs with me--or a shortcut over the hills with Roy?" he asked. 

"I choose the lesser of two rides, " replied Helen, smiling. 

"Reckon that 'll be easier, but you'll know you've had a ride, " saidDale, significantly. 

"What was that we had yesterday?" asked Bo, archly. 

"Only thirty miles, but cold an' wet. To-day will be fine for ridin'. "

"Milt, I'll take a blanket an' some grub in case you don't meet usto-night, " said Roy. "An' I reckon we'll split up here where I'll haveto strike out on thet short cut. "

Bo mounted without a helping hand, but Helen's limbs were so stiff thatshe could not get astride the high Ranger without assistance. The hunterheaded up the slope of the canyon, which on that side was not steep. It was brown pine forest, with here and there a clump of dark, silver-pointed evergreens that Roy called spruce. By the time this slopewas surmounted Helen's aches were not so bad. The saddle appeared tofit her better, and the gait of the horse was not so unfamiliar. Shereflected, however, that she always had done pretty well uphill. Here itwas beautiful forest-land, uneven and wilder. They rode for a time alongthe rim, with the white rushing stream in plain sight far below, withits melodious roar ever thrumming in the ear. 

Dale reined in and peered down at the pine-mat. 

"Fresh deer sign all along here, " he said, pointing. 

"Wal, I seen thet long ago, " rejoined Roy. 

Helen's scrutiny was rewarded by descrying several tiny depressions inthe pine-needles, dark in color and sharply defined. 

"We may never get a better chance, " said Dale. "Those deer are workin'up our way. Get your rifle out. "

Travel was resumed then, with Roy a little in advance of the pack-train. Presently he dismounted, threw his bridle, and cautiously peered ahead. Then, turning, he waved his sombrero. The pack-animals halted in abunch. Dale beckoned for the girls to follow and rode up to Roy's horse. This point, Helen saw, was at the top of an intersecting canuon. Daledismounted, without drawing his rifle from its saddle-sheath, andapproached Roy. 

"Buck an' two does, " he said, low-voiced. "An' they've winded us, butdon't see us yet. .. . Girls, ride up closer. "

Following the directions indicated by Dale's long arm, Helen looked downthe slope. It was open, with tall pines here and there, and clumps ofsilver spruce, and aspens shining like gold in the morning sunlight. Presently Bo exclaimed: "Oh, look! I see! I see!" Then Helen's rovingglance passed something different from green and gold and brown. Shifting back to it she saw a magnificent stag, with noble spreadingantlers, standing like a statue, his head up in alert and wild posture. His color was gray. Beside him grazed two deer of slighter and moregraceful build, without horns. 

"It's downhill, " whispered Dale. "An' you're goin' to overshoot. "

Then Helen saw that Roy had his rifle leveled. 

"Oh, don't!" she cried. 

Dale's remark evidently nettled Roy. He lowered the rifle. 

"Milt, it's me lookin' over this gun. How can you stand there an' tellme I'm goin' to shoot high? I had a dead bead on him. "

"Roy, you didn't allow for downhill. .. Hurry. He sees us now. "

Roy leveled the rifle and, taking aim as before, he fired. The buckstood perfectly motionless, as if he had indeed been stone. The does, however, jumped with a start, and gazed in fright in every direction. 

"Told you! I seen where your bullet hit thet pine--half a foot over hisshoulder. Try again an' aim at his legs. "

Roy now took a quicker aim and pulled trigger. A puff of dust right atthe feet of the buck showed where Roy's lead had struck this time. Witha single bound, wonderful to see, the big deer was out of sight behindtrees and brush. The does leaped after him. 

"Doggone the luck!" ejaculated Roy, red in the face, as he worked thelever of his rifle. "Never could shoot downhill, nohow!"

His rueful apology to the girls for missing brought a merry laugh fromBo. 

"Not for worlds would I have had you kill that beautiful deer!" sheexclaimed. 

"We won't have venison steak off him, that's certain, " remarked Dale, dryly. "An' maybe none off any deer, if Roy does the shootin'. "

They resumed travel, sheering off to the right and keeping to the edgeof the intersecting canuon. At length they rode down to the bottom, where a tiny brook babbled through willows, and they followed this fora mile or so down to where it flowed into the larger stream. A dim trailovergrown with grass showed at this point. 

"Here's where we part, " said Dale. "You'll beat me into my camp, butI'll get there sometime after dark. "

"Hey, Milt, I forgot about thet darned pet cougar of yours an' the restof your menagerie. Reckon they won't scare the girls? Especially oldTom?"

"You won't see Tom till I get home, " replied Dale. 

"Ain't he corralled or tied up?"

"No. He has the run of the place. "

"Wal, good-by, then, an' rustle along. "

Dale nodded to the girls, and, turning his horse, he drove thepack-train before him up the open space between the stream and thewooded slope. 

Roy stepped off his horse with that single action which appeared such afeat to Helen. 

"Guess I'd better cinch up, " he said, as he threw a stirrup up over thepommel of his saddle. "You girls are goin' to see wild country. "

"Who's old Tom?" queried Bo, curiously. 

"Why, he's Milt's pet cougar. "

"Cougar? That's a panther--a mountain-lion, didn't he say?"

"Shore is. Tom is a beauty. An' if he takes a likin' to you he'll loveyou, play with you, maul you half to death. "

Bo was all eyes. 

"Dale has other pets, too?" she questioned, eagerly. 

"I never was up to his camp but what it was overrun with birds an'squirrels an' vermin of all kinds, as tame as tame as cows. Too darntame, Milt says. But I can't figger thet. You girls will never want toleave thet senaca of his. "

"What's a senaca?" asked Helen, as she shifted her foot to let himtighten the cinches on her saddle. 

"Thet's Mexican for park, I guess, " he replied. "These mountains arefull of parks; an', say, I don't ever want to see no prettier place tillI get to heaven. .. . There, Ranger, old boy, thet's tight. "

He slapped the horse affectionately, and, turning to his own, he steppedand swung his long length up. 

"It ain't deep crossin' here. Come on, " he called, and spurred his bay. 

The stream here was wide and it looked deep, but turned out to bedeceptive. 

"Wal, girls, here beginneth the second lesson, " he drawled, cheerily. "Ride one behind the other--stick close to me--do what I do--an' hollerwhen you want to rest or if somethin' goes bad. "

With that he spurred into the thicket. Bo went next and Helen followed. The willows dragged at her so hard that she was unable to watch Roy, andthe result was that a low-sweeping branch of a tree knocked her hardon the head. It hurt and startled her, and roused her mettle. Roy waskeeping to the easy trot that covered ground so well, and he led upa slope to the open pine forest. Here the ride for several miles wasstraight, level, and open. Helen liked the forest to-day. It was brownand green, with patches of gold where the sun struck. She saw her firstbird--big blue grouse that whirred up from under her horse, and littlecheckered gray quail that appeared awkward on the wing. Several timesRoy pointed out deer flashing gray across some forest aisle, and oftenwhen he pointed Helen was not quick enough to see. 

Helen realized that this ride would make up for the hideous one ofyesterday. So far she had been only barely conscious of sore placesand aching bones. These she would bear with. She loved the wild and thebeautiful, both of which increased manifestly with every mile. The sunwas warm, the air fragrant and cool, the sky blue as azure and so deepthat she imagined that she could look far up into it. 

Suddenly Roy reined in so sharply that he pulled the bay up short. 

"Look!" he called, sharply. 

Bo screamed. 

"Not thet way! Here! Aw, he's gone!"

"Nell! It was a bear! I saw it! Oh! not like circus bears at all!" criedBo. 

Helen had missed her opportunity. 

"Reckon he was a grizzly, an' I'm jest as well pleased thet he lopedoff, " said Roy. Altering his course somewhat, he led to an old rottenlog that the bear had been digging in. "After grubs. There, see histrack. He was a whopper shore enough. "

They rode on, out to a high point that overlooked canuon and range, gorge and ridge, green and black as far as Helen could see. The rangeswere bold and long, climbing to the central uplift, where a number offringed peaks raised their heads to the vast bare dome of Old Baldy. Far as vision could see, to the right lay one rolling forest of pine, beautiful and serene. Somewhere down beyond must have lain the desert, but it was not in sight. 

"I see turkeys 'way down there, " said Roy, backing away. "We'll go downand around an' mebbe I'll get a shot. "

Descent beyond a rocky point was made through thick brush. This slopeconsisted of wide benches covered with copses and scattered pines andmany oaks. Helen was delighted to see the familiar trees, although thesewere different from Missouri oaks. Rugged and gnarled, but not tall, these trees spread wide branches, the leaves of which were yellowing. Roy led into a grassy glade, and, leaping off his horse, rifle in hand, he prepared to shoot at something. Again Bo cried out, but this time itwas in delight. Then Helen saw an immense flock of turkeys, apparentlylike the turkeys she knew at home, but these had bronze and checksof white, and they looked wild. There must have been a hundred in theflock, most of them hens. A few gobblers on the far side began theflight, running swiftly off. Helen plainly heard the thud of theirfeet. Roy shot once--twice--three times. Then rose a great commotion andthumping, and a loud roar of many wings. Dust and leaves whirling in theair were left where the turkeys had been. 

"Wal, I got two, " said Roy, and he strode forward to pick up his game. Returning, he tied two shiny, plump gobblers back of his saddle andremounted his horse. "We'll have turkey to-night, if Milt gets to campin time. "

The ride was resumed. Helen never would have tired riding through thoseoak groves, brown and sear and yellow, with leaves and acorns falling. 

"Bears have been workin' in here already, " said Roy. "I see tracks allover. They eat acorns in the fall. An' mebbe we'll run into one yet. "

The farther down he led the wilder and thicker grew the trees, so thatdodging branches was no light task. Ranger did not seem to care howclose he passed a tree or under a limb, so that he missed them himself;but Helen thereby got some additional bruises. Particularly hard was it, when passing a tree, to get her knee out of the way in time. 

Roy halted next at what appeared a large green pond full of vegetationand in places covered with a thick scum. But it had a current and anoutlet, proving it to be a huge, spring. Roy pointed down at a muddyplace. 

"Bear-wallow. He heard us comin'. Look at thet little track. Cub track. An' look at these scratches on this tree, higher 'n my head. An oldshe-bear stood up, an' scratched them. "

Roy sat his saddle and reached up to touch fresh marks on the tree. 

"Woods's full of big bears, " he said, grinning. "An' I take itparticular kind of this old she rustlin' off with her cub. She-bearswith cubs are dangerous. "

The next place to stir Helen to enthusiasm was the glen at the bottomof this canuon. Beech-trees, maples, aspens, overtopped by loftypines, made dense shade over a brook where trout splashed on the brown, swirling current, and leaves drifted down, and stray flecks of goldensunlight lightened the gloom. Here was hard riding to and fro across thebrook, between huge mossy boulders, and between aspens so close togetherthat Helen could scarce squeeze her knees through. 

Once more Roy climbed out of that canuon, over a ridge into another, down long wooded slopes and through scrub-oak thickets, on and ontill the sun stood straight overhead. Then he halted for a short rest, unsaddled the horses to let them roll, and gave the girls some coldlunch that he had packed. He strolled off with his gun, and, uponreturning, resaddled and gave the word to start. 

That was the last of rest and easy traveling for the girls. The forestthat he struck into seemed ribbed like a washboard with deep ravinesso steep of slope as to make precarious travel. Mostly he kept to thebottom where dry washes afforded a kind of trail. But it was necessaryto cross these ravines when they were too long to be headed, and thiscrossing was work. 

The locust thickets characteristic of these slopes were thorny and closeknit. They tore and scratched and stung both horses and riders. Rangerappeared to be the most intelligent of the horses and suffered less. Bo's white mustang dragged her through more than one brambly place. Onthe other hand, some of these steep slopes, were comparatively free ofunderbrush. Great firs and pines loomed up on all sides. The earth wassoft and the hoofs sank deep. Toward the bottom of a descent Rangerwould brace his front feet and then slide down on his haunches. Thismode facilitated travel, but it frightened Helen. The climb out then onthe other side had to be done on foot. 

After half a dozen slopes surmounted in this way Helen's strength wasspent and her breath was gone. She felt light-headed. She could not getenough air. Her feet felt like lead, and her riding-coat was a burden. A hundred times, hot and wet and throbbing, she was compelled to stop. Always she had been a splendid walker and climber. And here, to break upthe long ride, she was glad to be on her feet. But she could only dragone foot up after the other. Then, when her nose began to bleed, sherealized that it was the elevation which was causing all the trouble. Her heart, however, did not hurt her, though she was conscious of anoppression on her breast. 

At last Roy led into a ravine so deep and wide and full of forestverdure that it appeared impossible to cross. Nevertheless, he starteddown, dismounting after a little way. Helen found that leading Rangerdown was worse than riding him. He came fast and he would step rightin her tracks. She was not quick enough to get away from him. Twicehe stepped on her foot, and again his broad chest hit her shoulder andthrew her flat. When he began to slide, near the bottom, Helen had torun for her life. 

"Oh, Nell! Isn't--this--great?" panted Bo, from somewhere ahead. 

"Bo--your--mind's--gone, " panted Helen, in reply. 

Roy tried several places to climb out, and failed in each. Leading downthe ravine for a hundred yards or more, he essayed another attempt. Here there had been a slide, and in part the earth was bare. When he hadworked up this, he halted above, and called:

"Bad place! Keep on the up side of the hosses!"

This appeared easier said than done. Helen could not watch Bo, becauseRanger would not wait. He pulled at the bridle and snorted. 

"Faster you come the better, " called Roy. 

Helen could not see the sense of that, but she tried. Roy and Bo had duga deep trail zigzag up that treacherous slide. Helen made the mistakeof starting to follow in their tracks, and when she realized this Rangerwas climbing fast, almost dragging her, and it was too late to getabove. Helen began to labor. She slid down right in front of Ranger. Theintelligent animal, with a snort, plunged out of the trail to keep fromstepping on her. Then he was above her. 

"Lookout down there, " yelled Roy, in warning. "Get on the up side!"

But that did not appear possible. The earth began to slide under Ranger, and that impeded Helen's progress. He got in advance of her, strainingon the bridle. 

"Let go!" yelled Roy. 

Helen dropped the bridle just as a heavy slide began to move withRanger. He snorted fiercely, and, rearing high, in a mighty plunge hegained solid ground. Helen was buried to her knees, but, extricatingherself, she crawled to a safe point and rested before climbing farther. 

"Bad cave-in, thet, " was Roy's comment, when at last she joined him andBo at the top. 

Roy appeared at a loss as to which way to go. He rode to high ground andlooked in all directions. To Helen, one way appeared as wild and roughas another, and all was yellow, green, and black under the westeringsun. Roy rode a short distance in one direction, then changed foranother. 

Presently he stopped. 

"Wal, I'm shore turned round, " he said. 

"You're not lost?" cried Bo. 

"Reckon I've been thet for a couple of hours, " he replied, cheerfully. "Never did ride across here I had the direction, but I'm blamed now if Ican tell which way thet was. "

Helen gazed at him in consternation. 

"Lost!" she echoed. 

CHAPTER IX

A silence ensued, fraught with poignant fear for Helen, as she gazedinto Bo's whitening face. She read her sister's mind. Bo was rememberingtales of lost people who never were found. 

"Me an' Milt get lost every day, " said Roy. "You don't suppose any mancan know all this big country. It's nothin' for us to be lost. "

"Oh!. .. I was lost when I was little, " said Bo. 

"Wal, I reckon it'd been better not to tell you so offhand like, "replied Roy, contritely. "Don't feel bad, now. All I need is a peek atOld Baldy. Then I'll have my bearin'. Come on. "

Helen's confidence returned as Roy led off at a fast trot. He rodetoward the westering sun, keeping to the ridge they had ascended, untilonce more he came out upon a promontory. Old Baldy loomed there, blackerand higher and closer. The dark forest showed round, yellow, bare spotslike parks. 

"Not so far off the track, " said Roy, as he wheeled his horse. "We'llmake camp in Milt's senaca to-night. "

He led down off the ridge into a valley and then up to higher altitude, where the character of the forest changed. The trees were no longerpines, but firs and spruce, growing thin and exceedingly tall, withfew branches below the topmost foliage. So dense was this forest thattwilight seemed to have come. 

Travel was arduous. Everywhere were windfalls that had to be avoided, and not a rod was there without a fallen tree. The horses, laboringslowly, sometimes sank knee-deep into the brown duff. Gray mossfestooned the tree-trunks and an amber-green moss grew thick on therotting logs. 

Helen loved this forest primeval. It was so still, so dark, so gloomy, so full of shadows and shade, and a dank smell of rotting wood, andsweet fragrance of spruce. The great windfalls, where trees were jammedtogether in dozens, showed the savagery of the storms. Wherever a singlemonarch lay uprooted there had sprung up a number of ambitious sons, jealous of one another, fighting for place. Even the trees fought oneanother! The forest was a place of mystery, but its strife could be readby any eye. The lightnings had split firs clear to the roots, and othersit had circled with ripping tear from top to trunk. 

Time came, however, when the exceeding wildness of the forest, indensity and fallen timber, made it imperative for Helen to put all herattention on the ground and trees in her immediate vicinity. So thepleasure of gazing ahead at the beautiful wilderness was denied her. Thereafter travel became toil and the hours endless. 

Roy led on, and Ranger followed, while the shadows darkened under thetrees. She was reeling in her saddle, half blind and sick, when Roycalled out cheerily that they were almost there. 

Whatever his idea was, to Helen it seemed many miles that she followedhim farther, out of the heavy-timbered forest down upon slopes of lowspruce, like evergreen, which descended sharply to another level, wheredark, shallow streams flowed gently and the solemn stillness held a lowmurmur of falling water, and at last the wood ended upon a wonderfulpark full of a thick, rich, golden light of fast-fading sunset. 

"Smell the smoke, " said Roy. "By Solomon! if Milt ain't here ahead ofme!"

He rode on. Helen's weary gaze took in the round senaca, the circlingblack slopes, leading up to craggy rims all gold and red in thelast flare of the sun; then all the spirit left in her flashed up inthrilling wonder at this exquisite, wild, and colorful spot. 

Horses were grazing out in the long grass and there were deer grazingwith them. Roy led round a corner of the fringed, bordering woodland, and there, under lofty trees, shone a camp-fire. Huge gray rocks loomedbeyond, and then cliffs rose step by step to a notch in the mountainwall, over which poured a thin, lacy waterfall. As Helen gazed inrapture the sunset gold faded to white and all the western slope of theamphitheater darkened. 

Dale's tall form appeared. 

"Reckon you're late, " he said, as with a comprehensive flash of eye hetook in the three. 

"Milt, I got lost, " replied Roy. 

"I feared as much. .. . You girls look like you'd done better to ride withme, " went on Dale, as he offered a hand to help Bo off. She took it, tried to get her foot out of the stirrups, and then she slid from thesaddle into Dale's arms. He placed her on her feet and, supporting her, said, solicitously: "A hundred-mile ride in three days for a tenderfootis somethin' your uncle Al won't believe. .. . Come, walk if it killsyou!"

Whereupon he led Bo, very much as if he were teaching a child to walk. The fact that the voluble Bo had nothing to say was significant toHelen, who was following, with the assistance of Roy. 

One of the huge rocks resembled a sea-shell in that it contained ahollow over which the wide-spreading shelf flared out. It reached towardbranches of great pines. A spring burst from a crack in the solid rock. The campfire blazed under a pine, and the blue column of smoke rose justin front of the shelving rock. Packs were lying on the grass and someof them were open. There were no signs here of a permanent habitation ofthe hunter. But farther on were other huge rocks, leaning, cracked, andforming caverns, some of which perhaps he utilized. 

"My camp is just back, " said Dale, as if he had read Helen's mind. "To-morrow we'll fix up comfortable-like round here for you girls. "

Helen and Bo were made as easy as blankets and saddles could make them, and the men went about their tasks. 

"Nell--isn't this--a dream?" murmured Bo. 

"No, child. It's real--terribly real, " replied Helen. "Now that we'rehere--with that awful ride over--we can think. "

"It's so pretty--here, " yawned Bo. "I'd just as lief Uncle Al didn'tfind us very soon. "

"Bo! He's a sick man. Think what the worry will be to him. "

"I'll bet if he knows Dale he won't be so worried. "

"Dale told us Uncle Al disliked him. "

"Pooh! What difference does that make?. .. Oh, I don't know which Iam--hungrier or tireder!"

"I couldn't eat to-night, " said Helen, wearily. 

When she stretched out she had a vague, delicious sensation that thatwas the end of Helen Rayner, and she was glad. Above her, through thelacy, fernlike pine-needles, she saw blue sky and a pale star justshowing. Twilight was stealing down swiftly. The silence was beautiful, seemingly undisturbed by the soft, silky, dreamy fall of water. Helenclosed her eyes, ready for sleep, with the physical commotion within herbody gradually yielding. In some places her bones felt as if they hadcome out through her flesh; in others throbbed deep-seated aches; hermuscles appeared slowly to subside, to relax, with the quivering twingesceasing one by one; through muscle and bone, through all her body, pulsed a burning current. 

Bo's head dropped on Helen's shoulder. Sense became vague to Helen. Shelost the low murmur of the waterfall, and then the sound or feeling ofsome one at the campfire. And her last conscious thought was that shetried to open her eyes and could not. 

When she awoke all was bright. The sun shone almost directly overhead. Helen was astounded. Bo lay wrapped in deep sleep, her face flushed, with beads of perspiration on her brow and the chestnut curls damp. Helen threw down the blankets, and then, gathering courage--for she feltas if her back was broken--she endeavored to sit up. In vain! Her spiritwas willing, but her muscles refused to act. It must take a violentspasmodic effort. She tried it with shut eyes, and, succeeding, satthere trembling. The commotion she had made in the blankets awoke Bo, and she blinked her surprised blue eyes in the sunlight. 

"Hello--Nell! do I have to--get up?" she asked, sleepily. 

"Can you?" queried Helen. 

"Can I what?" Bo was now thoroughly awake and lay there staring at hersister. 

"Why--get up. "

"I'd like to know why not, " retorted Bo, as she made the effort. She gotone arm and shoulder up, only to flop back like a crippled thing. Andshe uttered the most piteous little moan. "I'm dead! I know--I am!"

"Well, if you're going to be a Western girl you'd better have spunkenough to move. "

"A-huh!" ejaculated Bo. Then she rolled over, not without groans, and, once upon her face, she raised herself on her hands and turned to asitting posture. "Where's everybody?. .. Oh, Nell, it's perfectly lovelyhere. Paradise!"

Helen looked around. A fire was smoldering. No one was in sight. Wonderful distant colors seemed to strike her glance as she tried to fixit upon near-by objects. A beautiful little green tent or shack had beenerected out of spruce boughs. It had a slanting roof that sloped all theway from a ridge-pole to the ground; half of the opening in front wasclosed, as were the sides. The spruce boughs appeared all to be laid inthe same direction, giving it a smooth, compact appearance, actually asif it had grown there. 

"That lean-to wasn't there last night?" inquired Bo. 

"I didn't see it. Lean-to? Where'd you get that name?"

"It's Western, my dear. I'll bet they put it up for us. .. . Sure, I seeour bags inside. Let's get up. It must be late. "

The girls had considerable fun as well as pain in getting up and keepingeach other erect until their limbs would hold them firmly. They weredelighted with the spruce lean-to. It faced the open and stood justunder the wide-spreading shelf of rock. The tiny outlet from the springflowed beside it and spilled its clear water over a stone, to fall intoa little pool. The floor of this woodland habitation consisted of tipsof spruce boughs to about a foot in depth, all laid one way, smooth andspringy, and so sweetly odorous that the air seemed intoxicating. Helenand Bo opened their baggage, and what with use of the cold water, brushand comb, and clean blouses, they made themselves feel as comfortable aspossible, considering the excruciating aches. Then they went out to thecampfire. 

Helen's eye was attracted by moving objects near at hand. Thensimultaneously with Bo's cry of delight Helen saw a beautiful doeapproaching under the trees. Dale walked beside it. 

"You sure had a long sleep, " was the hunter's greeting. "I reckon youboth look better. "

"Good morning. Or is it afternoon? We're just able to move about, " saidHelen. 

"I could ride, " declared Bo, stoutly. "Oh, Nell, look at the deer! It'scoming to me. "

The doe had hung back a little as Dale reached the camp-fire. It was agray, slender creature, smooth as silk, with great dark eyes. It stood amoment, long ears erect, and then with a graceful little trot came upto Bo and reached a slim nose for her outstretched hand. All about it, except the beautiful soft eyes, seemed wild, and yet it was as tame asa kitten. Then, suddenly, as Bo fondled the long ears, it gave a startand, breaking away, ran back out of sight under the pines. 

"What frightened it?" asked Bo. 

Dale pointed up at the wall under the shelving roof of rock. There, twenty feet from the ground, curled up on a ledge, lay a huge tawnyanimal with a face like that of a cat. 

"She's afraid of Tom, " replied Dale. "Recognizes him as a hereditaryfoe, I guess. I can't make friends of them. "

"Oh! So that's Tom--the pet lion!" exclaimed Bo. "Ugh! No wonder thatdeer ran off!"

"How long has he been up there?" queried Helen, gazing fascinated atDale's famous pet. 

"I couldn't say. Tom comes an' goes, " replied Dale. "But I sent him upthere last night. "

"And he was there--perfectly free--right over us--while we slept!" burstout Bo. 

"Yes. An' I reckon you slept the safer for that. "

"Of all things! Nell, isn't he a monster? But he doesn't look like alion--an African lion. He's a panther. I saw his like at the circusonce. "

"He's a cougar, " said Dale. "The panther is long and slim. Tom is notonly long, but thick an' round. I've had him four years. An' he was akitten no bigger 'n my fist when I got him. "

"Is he perfectly tame--safe?" asked Helen, anxiously. 

"I've never told anybody that Tom was safe, but he is, " replied Dale. "You can absolutely believe it. A wild cougar wouldn't attack a manunless cornered or starved. An' Tom is like a big kitten. "

The beast raised his great catlike face, with its sleepy, half-shuteyes, and looked down upon them. 

"Shall I call him down?" inquired Dale. 

For once Bo did not find her voice. 

"Let us--get a little more used to him--at a distance, " replied Helen, with a little laugh. 

"If he comes to you, just rub his head an' you'll see how tame he is, "said Dale. "Reckon you're both hungry?"

"Not so very, " returned Helen, aware of his penetrating gray gaze uponher. 

"Well, I am, " vouchsafed Bo. 

"Soon as the turkey's done we'll eat. My camp is round between therocks. I'll call you. "

Not until his broad back was turned did Helen notice that the hunterlooked different. Then she saw he wore a lighter, cleaner suit ofbuckskin, with no coat, and instead of the high-heeled horseman's bootshe wore moccasins and leggings. The change made him appear more lithe. 

"Nell, I don't know what you think, but _I_ call him handsome, " declaredBo. 

Helen had no idea what she thought. 

"Let's try to walk some, " she suggested. 

So they essayed that painful task and got as far as a pine log some fewrods from their camp. This point was close to the edge of the park, fromwhich there was an unobstructed view. 

"My! What a place!" exclaimed Bo, with eyes wide and round. 

"Oh, beautiful!" breathed Helen. 

An unexpected blaze of color drew her gaze first. Out of the blackspruce slopes shone patches of aspens, gloriously red and gold, and lowdown along the edge of timber troops of aspens ran out into the park, not yet so blazing as those above, but purple and yellow and white inthe sunshine. Masses of silver spruce, like trees in moonlight, borderedthe park, sending out here and there an isolated tree, sharp as aspear, with under-branches close to the ground. Long golden-green grass, resembling half-ripe wheat, covered the entire floor of the park, gentlywaving to the wind. Above sheered the black, gold-patched slopes, steepand unscalable, rising to buttresses of dark, iron-hued rock. And tothe east circled the rows of cliff-bench, gray and old and fringed, splitting at the top in the notch where the lacy, slumberous waterfall, like white smoke, fell and vanished, to reappear in wider sheet of lace, only to fall and vanish again in the green depths. 

It was a verdant valley, deep-set in the mountain walls, wild and sadand lonesome. The waterfall dominated the spirit of the place, dreamyand sleepy and tranquil; it murmured sweetly on one breath of wind, andlulled with another, and sometimes died out altogether, only to comeagain in soft, strange roar. 

"Paradise Park!" whispered Bo to herself. 

A call from Dale disturbed their raptures. Turning, they hobbled witheager but painful steps in the direction of a larger camp-fire, situatedto the right of the great rock that sheltered their lean-to. No hut orhouse showed there and none was needed. Hiding-places and homes for ahundred hunters were there in the sections of caverned cliffs, split offin bygone ages from the mountain wall above. A few stately pines stoodout from the rocks, and a clump of silver spruce ran down to a brownbrook. This camp was only a step from the lean-to, round the corner ofa huge rock, yet it had been out of sight. Here indeed was evidence ofa hunter's home--pelts and skins and antlers, a neat pile of splitfire-wood, a long ledge of rock, well sheltered, and loaded withbags like a huge pantry-shelf, packs and ropes and saddles, tools andweapons, and a platform of dry brush as shelter for a fire around whichhung on poles a various assortment of utensils for camp. 

"Hyar--you git!" shouted Dale, and he threw a stick at something. A bearcub scampered away in haste. He was small and woolly and brown, and hegrunted as he ran. Soon he halted. 

"That's Bud, " said Dale, as the girls came up. "Guess he near starved inmy absence. An' now he wants everythin', especially the sugar. We don'thave sugar often up here. "

"Isn't he dear? Oh, I love him!" cried Bo. "Come back, Bud. Come, Buddie. "

The cub, however, kept his distance, watching Dale with bright littleeyes. 

"Where's Mr. Roy?" asked Helen. 

"Roy's gone. He was sorry not to say good-by. But it's important he getsdown in the pines on Anson's trail. He'll hang to Anson, an' in casethey get near Pine he'll ride in to see where your uncle is. "

"What do you expect?" questioned Helen, gravely. 

"'Most anythin', " he replied. "Al, I reckon, knows now. Maybe he'srustlin' into the mountains by this time. If he meets up with Anson, well an' good, for Roy won't be far off. An' sure if he runs across Roy, why they'll soon be here. But if I were you I wouldn't count on seein'your uncle very soon. I'm sorry. I've done my best. It sure is a baddeal. "

"Don't think me ungracious, " replied Helen, hastily. How plainly hehad intimated that it must be privation and annoyance for her to becompelled to accept his hospitality! "You are good--kind. I owe youmuch. I'll be eternally grateful. "

Dale straightened as he looked at her. His glance was intent, piercing. He seemed to be receiving a strange or unusual portent. No need for himto say he had never before been spoken to like that!

"You may have to stay here with me--for weeks--maybe months--if we'vethe bad luck to get snowed in, " he said, slowly, as if startled at thisdeduction. "You're safe here. No sheep-thief could ever find this camp. I'll take risks to get you safe into Al's hands. But I'm goin' to bepretty sure about what I'm doin'. .. . So--there's plenty to eat an' it'sa pretty place. "

"Pretty! Why, it's grand!" exclaimed Bo. "I've called it Paradise Park. "

"Paradise Park, " he repeated, weighing the words. "You've named it an'also the creek. Paradise Creek! I've been here twelve years with no fitname for my home till you said that. "

"Oh, that pleases me!" returned Bo, with shining eyes. 

"Eat now, " said Dale. "An' I reckon you'll like that turkey. "

There was a clean tarpaulin upon which were spread steaming, fragrantpans--roast turkey, hot biscuits and gravy, mashed potatoes as white asif prepared at home, stewed dried apples, and butter and coffee. Thisbounteous repast surprised and delighted the girls; when they had oncetasted the roast wild turkey, then Milt Dale had occasion to blush attheir encomiums. 

"I hope--Uncle Al--doesn't come for a month, " declared Bo, as she triedto get her breath. There was a brown spot on her nose and one on eachcheek, suspiciously close to her mouth. 

Dale laughed. It was pleasant to hear him, for his laugh seemed unusedand deep, as if it came from tranquil depths. 

"Won't you eat with us?" asked Helen. 

"Reckon I will, " he said, "it'll save time, an' hot grub tastes better. "

Quite an interval of silence ensued, which presently was broken by Dale. 

"Here comes Tom. "

Helen observed with a thrill that the cougar was magnificent, seen erecton all-fours, approaching with slow, sinuous grace. His color was tawny, with spots of whitish gray. He had bow-legs, big and round and furry, and a huge head with great tawny eyes. No matter how tame he was saidto be, he looked wild. Like a dog he walked right up, and it so happenedthat he was directly behind Bo, within reach of her when she turned. 

"Oh, Lord!" cried Bo, and up went both of her hands, in one of whichwas a huge piece of turkey. Tom took it, not viciously, but neverthelesswith a snap that made Helen jump. As if by magic the turkey vanished. And Tom took a closer step toward Bo. Her expression of fright changedto consternation. 

"He stole my turkey!"

"Tom, come here, " ordered Dale, sharply. The cougar glided round rathersheepishly. "Now lie down an' behave. "

Tom crouched on all-fours, his head resting on his paws, with hisbeautiful tawny eyes, light and piercing, fixed upon the hunter. 

"Don't grab, " said Dale, holding out a piece of turkey. Whereupon Tomtook it less voraciously. 

As it happened, the little bear cub saw this transaction, and he plainlyindicated his opinion of the preference shown to Tom. 

"Oh, the dear!" exclaimed Bo. "He means it's not fair. .. . Come, Bud--come on. "

But Bud would not approach the group until called by Dale. Then hescrambled to them with every manifestation of delight. Bo almost forgother own needs in feeding him and getting acquainted with him. Tomplainly showed his jealousy of Bud, and Bud likewise showed his fear ofthe great cat. 

Helen could not believe the evidence of her eyes--that she was in thewoods calmly and hungrily partaking of sweet, wild-flavored meat--thata full-grown mountain lion lay on one side of her and a baby brown bearsat on the other--that a strange hunter, a man of the forest, there inhis lonely and isolated fastness, appealed to the romance in her andinterested her as no one else she had ever met. 

When the wonderful meal was at last finished Bo enticed the bear cubaround to the camp of the girls, and there soon became great comradeswith him. Helen, watching Bo play, was inclined to envy her. No matterwhere Bo was placed, she always got something out of it. She adaptedherself. She, who could have a good time with almost any one oranything, would find the hours sweet and fleeting in this beautiful parkof wild wonders. 

But merely objective actions--merely physical movements, had never yetcontented Helen. She could run and climb and ride and play with heartyand healthy abandon, but those things would not suffice long for her, and her mind needed food. Helen was a thinker. One reason she haddesired to make her home in the West was that by taking up a life of theopen, of action, she might think and dream and brood less. And here shewas in the wild West, after the three most strenuously active days ofher career, and still the same old giant revolved her mind and turned itupon herself and upon all she saw. 

"What can I do?" she asked Bo, almost helplessly. 

"Why, rest, you silly!" retorted Bo. "You walk like an old, crippledwoman with only one leg. "

Helen hoped the comparison was undeserved, but the advice was sound. The blankets spread out on the grass looked inviting and they feltcomfortably warm in the sunshine. The breeze was slow, languorous, fragrant, and it brought the low hum of the murmuring waterfall, likea melody of bees. Helen made a pillow and lay down to rest. The greenpine-needles, so thin and fine in their crisscross network, showedclearly against the blue sky. She looked in vain for birds. Thenher gaze went wonderingly to the lofty fringed rim of the greatamphitheater, and as she studied it she began to grasp its remoteness, how far away it was in the rarefied atmosphere. A black eagle, sweepingalong, looked of tiny size, and yet he was far under the heights above. How pleasant she fancied it to be up there! And drowsy fancy lulled herto sleep. 

Helen slept all afternoon, and upon awakening, toward sunset, found Bocurled beside her. Dale had thoughtfully covered them with a blanket;also he had built a camp-fire. The air was growing keen and cold. 

Later, when they had put their coats on and made comfortable seatsbeside the fire, Dale came over, apparently to visit them. 

"I reckon you can't sleep all the time, " he said. "An' bein' city girls, you'll get lonesome. "

"Lonesome!" echoed Helen. The idea of her being lonesome here had notoccurred to her. 

"I've thought that all out, " went on Dale, as he sat down, Indianfashion, before the blaze. "It's natural you'd find time drag up here, bein' used to lots of people an' goin's-on, an' work, an' all girlslike. "

"I'd never be lonesome here, " replied Helen, with her direct force. 

Dale did not betray surprise, but he showed that his mistake wassomething to ponder over. 

"Excuse me, " he said, presently, as his gray eyes held hers. "That'show I had it. As I remember girls--an' it doesn't seem long since I lefthome--most of them would die of lonesomeness up here. " Then he addressedhimself to Bo. "How about you? You see, I figured you'd be the one thatliked it, an' your sister the one who wouldn't. "

"I won't get lonesome very soon, " replied Bo. 

"I'm glad. It worried me some--not ever havin' girls as company before. An' in a day or so, when you're rested, I'll help you pass the time. "

Bo's eyes were full of flashing interest, and Helen asked him, "How?"

It was a sincere expression of her curiosity and not doubtful orironic challenge of an educated woman to a man of the forest. But as achallenge he took it. 

"How!" he repeated, and a strange smile flitted across his face. "Why, by givin' you rides an' climbs to beautiful places. An' then, if you'reinterested, ' to show you how little so-called civilized people know ofnature. "

Helen realized then that whatever his calling, hunter or wanderer orhermit, he was not uneducated, even if he appeared illiterate. 

"I'll be happy to learn from you, " she said. 

"Me, too!" chimed in Bo. "You can't tell too much to any one fromMissouri. "

He smiled, and that warmed Helen to him, for then he seemed less removedfrom other people. About this hunter there began to be something of thevery nature of which he spoke--a stillness, aloofness, an unbreakabletranquillity, a cold, clear spirit like that in the mountain air, aphysical something not unlike the tamed wildness of his pets or thestrength of the pines. 

"I'll bet I can tell you more 'n you'll ever remember, " he said. 

"What 'll you bet?" retorted Bo. 

"Well, more roast turkey against--say somethin' nice when you're safean' home to your uncle Al's, runnin' his ranch. "

"Agreed. Nell, you hear?"

Helen nodded her head. 

"All right. We'll leave it to Nell, " began Dale, half seriously. "NowI'll tell you, first, for the fun of passin' time we'll ride an' racemy horses out in the park. An' we'll fish in the brooks an' hunt in thewoods. There's an old silvertip around that you can see me kill. An'we'll climb to the peaks an' see wonderful sights. .. . So much forthat. Now, if you really want to learn--or if you only want me to tellyou--well, that's no matter. Only I'll win the bet!. .. You'll seehow this park lies in the crater of a volcano an' was once full ofwater--an' how the snow blows in on one side in winter, a hundred feetdeep, when there's none on the other. An' the trees--how they grow an'live an' fight one another an' depend on one another, an' protectthe forest from storm-winds. An' how they hold the water that is thefountains of the great rivers. An' how the creatures an' things thatlive in them or on them are good for them, an' neither could livewithout the other. An' then I'll show you my pets tame an' untamed, an'tell you how it's man that makes any creature wild--how easy they areto tame--an' how they learn to love you. An' there's the life of theforest, the strife of it--how the bear lives, an' the cats, an' thewolves, an' the deer. You'll see how cruel nature is how savage an'wild the wolf or cougar tears down the deer--how a wolf loves fresh, hotblood, an' how a cougar unrolls the skin of a deer back from his neck. An' you'll see that this cruelty of nature--this work of the wolf an'cougar--is what makes the deer so beautiful an' healthy an' swift an'sensitive. Without his deadly foes the deer would deteriorate an' dieout. An' you'll see how this principle works out among all creatures ofthe forest. Strife! It's the meanin' of all creation, an' the salvation. If you're quick to see, you'll learn that the nature here in the wildsis the same as that of men--only men are no longer cannibals. Treesfight to live--birds fight--animals fight--men fight. They all liveoff one another. An' it's this fightin' that brings them all closer an'closer to bein' perfect. But nothin' will ever be perfect. "

"But how about religion?" interrupted Helen, earnestly. 

"Nature has a religion, an' it's to live--to grow--to reproduce, each ofits kind. "

"But that is not God or the immortality of the soul, " declared Helen. 

"Well, it's as close to God an' immortality as nature ever gets. "

"Oh, you would rob me of my religion!"

"No, I just talk as I see life, " replied Dale, reflectively, as he pokeda stick into the red embers of the fire. "Maybe I have a religion. Idon't know. But it's not the kind you have--not the Bible kind. Thatkind doesn't keep the men in Pine an' Snowdrop an' all over--sheepmenan' ranchers an' farmers an' travelers, such as I've known--the religionthey profess doesn't keep them from lyin', cheatin', stealin', an'killin'. I reckon no man who lives as I do--which perhaps is myreligion--will lie or cheat or steal or kill, unless it's to kill inself-defense or like I'd do if Snake Anson would ride up here now. My religion, maybe, is love of life--wild life as it was in thebeginnin'--an' the wind that blows secrets from everywhere, an' thewater that sings all day an' night, an' the stars that shine constant, an' the trees that speak somehow, an' the rocks that aren't dead. I'mnever alone here or on the trails. There's somethin' unseen, but alwayswith me. An' that's It! Call it God if you like. But what stalls meis--where was that Spirit when this earth was a ball of fiery gas? Wherewill that Spirit be when all life is frozen out or burned out on thisglobe an' it hangs dead in space like the moon? That time will come. There's no waste in nature. Not the littlest atom is destroyed. Itchanges, that's all, as you see this pine wood go up in smoke an' feelsomethin' that's heat come out of it. Where does that go? It's not lost. Nothin' is lost. So, the beautiful an' savin' thought is, maybe allrock an' wood, water an' blood an' flesh, are resolved back into theelements, to come to life somewhere again sometime. "

"Oh, what you say is wonderful, but it's terrible!" exclaimed Helen. Hehad struck deep into her soul. 

"Terrible? I reckon, " he replied, sadly. 

Then ensued a little interval of silence. 

"Milt Dale, I lose the bet, " declared Bo, with earnestness behind herfrivolity. 

"I'd forgotten that. Reckon I talked a lot, " he said, apologetically. "You see, I don't get much chance to talk, except to myself or Tom. Years ago, when I found the habit of silence settlin' down on me, I tookto thinkin' out loud an' talkin' to anythin'. "

"I could listen to you all night, " returned Bo, dreamily. 

"Do you read--do you have books?" inquired Helen, suddenly. 

"Yes, I read tolerable well; a good deal better than I talk or write, "he replied. "I went to school till I was fifteen. Always hated study, but liked to read. Years ago an old friend of mine down here atPine--Widow Cass--she gave me a lot of old books. An' I packed them uphere. Winter's the time I read. "

Conversation lagged after that, except for desultory remarks, andpresently Dale bade the girls good night and left them. Helen watchedhis tall form vanish in the gloom under the pines, and after he haddisappeared she still stared. 

"Nell!" called Bo, shrilly. "I've called you three times. I want to goto bed. "

"Oh! I--I was thinking, " rejoined Helen, half embarrassed, halfwondering at herself. "I didn't hear you. "

"I should smile you didn't, " retorted Bo. "Wish you could just have seenyour eyes. Nell, do you want me to tell you something?

"Why--yes, " said Helen, rather feebly. She did not at all, when Botalked like that. 

"You're going to fall in love with that wild hunter, " declared Bo in avoice that rang like a bell. 

Helen was not only amazed, but enraged. She caught her breathpreparatory to giving this incorrigible sister a piece of her mind. Bowent calmly on. 

"I can feel it in my bones. "

"Bo, you're a little fool--a sentimental, romancing, gushy little fool!"retorted Helen. "All you seem to hold in your head is some rot aboutlove. To hear you talk one would think there's nothing else in the worldbut love. "

Bo's eyes were bright, shrewd, affectionate, and laughing as she benttheir steady gaze upon Helen. 

"Nell, that's just it. There IS nothing else!"

CHAPTER X

The night of sleep was so short that it was difficult for Helen tobelieve that hours had passed. Bo appeared livelier this morning, withless complaint of aches. 

"Nell, you've got color!" exclaimed Bo. "And your eyes are bright. Isn'tthe morning perfectly lovely?. .. Couldn't you get drunk on that air? Ismell flowers. And oh! I'm hungry!"

"Bo, our host will soon have need of his hunting abilities if yourappetite holds, " said Helen, as she tried to keep her hair out of hereyes while she laced her boots. 

"Look! there's a big dog--a hound. "

Helen looked as Bo directed, and saw a hound of unusually largeproportions, black and tan in color, with long, drooping ears. Curiouslyhe trotted nearer to the door of their hut and then stopped to gaze atthem. His head was noble, his eyes shone dark and sad. He seemed neitherfriendly nor unfriendly. 

"Hello, doggie! Come right in--we won't hurt you, " called Bo, butwithout enthusiasm. 

This made Helen laugh. "Bo, you're simply delicious, " she said. "You'reafraid of that dog. "

"Sure. Wonder if he's Dale's. Of course he must be. "

Presently the hound trotted away out of sight. When the girls presentedthemselves at the camp-fire they espied their curious canine visitorlying down. His ears were so long that half of them lay on the ground. 

"I sent Pedro over to wake you girls up, " said Dale, after greetingthem. "Did he scare you?"

"Pedro. So that's his name. No, he didn't exactly scare me. He did Nell, though. She's an awful tenderfoot, " replied Bo. 

"He's a splendid-looking dog, " said Helen, ignoring her sister's sally. "I love dogs. Will he make friends?"

"He's shy an' wild. You see, when I leave camp he won't hang around. Hean' Tom are jealous of each other. I had a pack of hounds an' lost allbut Pedro on account of Tom. I think you can make friends with Pedro. Try it. "

Whereupon Helen made overtures to Pedro, and not wholly in vain. Thedog was matured, of almost stern aloofness, and manifestly not used topeople. His deep, wine-dark eyes seemed to search Helen's soul. Theywere honest and wise, with a strange sadness. 

"He looks intelligent, " observed Helen, as she smoothed the long, darkears. 

"That hound is nigh human, " responded Dale. "Come, an' while you eatI'll tell you about Pedro. "

Dale had gotten the hound as a pup from a Mexican sheep-herder whoclaimed he was part California bloodhound. He grew up, becoming attachedto Dale. In his younger days he did not get along well with Dale's otherpets and Dale gave him to a rancher down in the valley. Pedro was backin Dale's camp next day. From that day Dale began to care more for thehound, but he did not want to keep him, for various reasons, chief ofwhich was the fact that Pedro was too fine a dog to be left alone halfthe time to shift for himself. That fall Dale had need to go to thefarthest village, Snowdrop, where he left Pedro with a friend. Then Dalerode to Show Down and Pine, and the camp of the Beemans' and with themhe trailed some wild horses for a hundred miles, over into New Mexico. The snow was flying when Dale got back to his camp in the mountains. And there was Pedro, gaunt and worn, overjoyed to welcome him home. RoyBeeman visited Dale that October and told that Dale's friend in Snowdrophad not been able to keep Pedro. He broke a chain and scaled a ten-footfence to escape. He trailed Dale to Show Down, where one of Dale'sfriends, recognizing the hound, caught him, and meant to keep him untilDale's return. But Pedro refused to eat. It happened that a freighterwas going out to the Beeman camp, and Dale's friend boxed Pedro up andput him on the wagon. Pedro broke out of the box, returned to Show Down, took up Dale's trail to Pine, and then on to the Beeman camp. That wasas far as Roy could trace the movements of the hound. But he believed, and so did Dale, that Pedro had trailed them out on the wild-horse hunt. The following spring Dale learned more from the herder of a sheepman atwhose camp he and the Beemans; had rested on the way into New Mexico. It appeared that after Dale had left this camp Pedro had arrived, andanother Mexican herder had stolen the hound. But Pedro got away. 

"An' he was here when I arrived, " concluded Dale, smiling. "I neverwanted to get rid of him after that. He's turned out to be the finestdog I ever knew. He knows what I say. He can almost talk. An' I swear hecan cry. He does whenever I start off without him. "

"How perfectly wonderful!" exclaimed Bo. "Aren't animals great?. .. But Ilove horses best. "

It seemed to Helen that Pedro understood they were talking about him, for he looked ashamed, and swallowed hard, and dropped his gaze. Sheknew something of the truth about the love of dogs for their owners. This story of Dale's, however, was stranger than any she had ever heard. 

Tom, the cougar, put in an appearance then, and there was scarcely lovein the tawny eyes he bent upon Pedro. But the hound did not deign tonotice him. Tom sidled up to Bo, who sat on the farther side of thetarpaulin table-cloth, and manifestly wanted part of her breakfast. 

"Gee! I love the look of him, " she said. "But when he's close he makesmy flesh creep. "

"Beasts are as queer as people, " observed Dale. "They take likes an'dislikes. I believe Tom has taken a shine to you an' Pedro begins to beinterested in your sister. I can tell. "

"Where's Bud?" inquired Bo. 

"He's asleep or around somewhere. Now, soon as I get the work done, whatwould you girls like to do?"

"Ride!" declared Bo, eagerly. 

"Aren't you sore an' stiff?"

"I am that. But I don't care. Besides, when I used to go out to myuncle's farm near Saint Joe I always found riding to be a cure foraches. "

"Sure is, if you can stand it. An' what will your sister like to do?"returned Dale, turning to Helen. 

"Oh, I'll rest, and watch you folks--and dream, " replied Helen. 

"But after you've rested you must be active, " said Dale, seriously. "Youmust do things. It doesn't matter what, just as long as you don't sitidle. "

"Why?" queried Helen, in surprise. "Why not be idle here in thisbeautiful, wild place? just to dream away the hours--the days! I coulddo it. "

"But you mustn't. It took me years to learn how bad that was for me. An'right now I would love nothin' more than to forget my work, my horsesan' pets--everythin', an' just lay around, seein' an' feelin'. "

"Seeing and feeling? Yes, that must be what I mean. But why--what isit? There are the beauty and color--the wild, shaggy slopes--the graycliffs--the singing wind--the lulling water--the clouds--the sky. Andthe silence, loneliness, sweetness of it all. "

"It's a driftin' back. What I love to do an' yet fear most. It's whatmakes a lone hunter of a man. An' it can grow so strong that it binds aman to the wilds. "

"How strange!" murmured Helen. "But that could never bind ME. Why, Imust live and fulfil my mission, my work in the civilized world. "

It seemed to Helen that Dale almost imperceptibly shrank at her earnestwords. 

"The ways of Nature are strange, " he said. "I look at it different. Nature's just as keen to wean you back to a savage state as you are tobe civilized. An' if Nature won, you would carry out her design all thebetter. "

This hunter's talk shocked Helen and yet stimulated her mind. 

"Me--a savage? Oh no!" she exclaimed. "But, if that were possible, whatwould Nature's design be?"

"You spoke of your mission in life, " he replied. "A woman's mission isto have children. The female of any species has only one mission--toreproduce its kind. An' Nature has only one mission--toward greaterstrength, virility, efficiency--absolute perfection, which isunattainable. "

"What of mental and spiritual development of man and woman?" askedHelen. 

"Both are direct obstacles to the design of Nature. Nature is physical. To create for limitless endurance for eternal life. That must beNature's inscrutable design. An' why she must fail. "

"But the soul!" whispered Helen. 

"Ah! When you speak of the soul an' I speak of life we mean the same. You an' I will have some talks while you're here. I must brush up mythoughts. "

"So must I, it seems, " said Helen, with a slow smile. She had beenrendered grave and thoughtful. "But I guess I'll risk dreaming under thepines. "

Bo had been watching them with her keen blue eyes. 

"Nell, it'd take a thousand years to make a savage of you, " she said. "But a week will do for me. "

"Bo, you were one before you left Saint Joe, " replied Helen. "Don't youremember that school-teacher Barnes who said you were a wildcat and anIndian mixed? He spanked you with a ruler. "

"Never! He missed me, " retorted Bo, with red in her cheeks. "Nell, Iwish you'd not tell things about me when I was a kid. "

"That was only two years ago, " expostulated Helen, in mild surprise. 

"Suppose it was. I was a kid all right. I'll bet you--" Bo broke upabruptly, and, tossing her head, she gave Tom a pat and then ran awayaround the corner of cliff wall. 

Helen followed leisurely. 

"Say, Nell, " said Bo, when Helen arrived at their little greenledge-pole hut, "do you know that hunter fellow will upset some of yourtheories?"

"Maybe. I'll admit he amazes me--and affronts me, too, I'm afraid, "replied Helen. "What surprises me is that in spite of his evident lackof schooling he's not raw or crude. He's elemental. "

"Sister dear, wake up. The man's wonderful. You can learn more fromhim than you ever learned in your life. So can I. I always hated books, anyway. "

When, a little later, Dale approached carrying some bridles, the houndPedro trotted at his heels. 

"I reckon you'd better ride the horse you had, " he said to Bo. 

"Whatever you say. But I hope you let me ride them all, by and by. "

"Sure. I've a mustang out there you'll like. But he pitches a little, "he rejoined, and turned away toward the park. The hound looked after himand then at Helen. 

"Come, Pedro. Stay with me, " called Helen. 

Dale, hearing her, motioned the hound back. Obediently Pedro trotted toher, still shy and soberly watchful, as if not sure of her intentions, but with something of friendliness about him now. Helen found a soft, restful seat in the sun facing the park, and there composed herself forwhat she felt would be slow, sweet, idle hours. Pedro curled down besideher. The tall form of Dale stalked across the park, out toward thestraggling horses. Again she saw a deer grazing among them. How erectand motionless it stood watching Dale! Presently it bounded away towardthe edge of the forest. Some of the horses whistled and ran, kickingheels high in the air. The shrill whistles rang clear in the stillness. 

"Gee! Look at them go!" exclaimed Bo, gleefully, coming up to whereHelen sat. Bo threw herself down upon the fragrant pine-needles andstretched herself languorously, like a lazy kitten. There was somethingfeline in her lithe, graceful outline. She lay flat and looked upthrough the pines. 

"Wouldn't it be great, now, " she murmured, dreamily, half to herself, "if that Las Vegas cowboy would happen somehow to come, and then anearthquake would shut us up here in this Paradise valley so we'd neverget out?"

"Bo! What would mother say to such talk as that?" gasped Helen. 

"But, Nell, wouldn't it be great?"

"It would be terrible. "

"Oh, there never was any romance in you, Nell Rayner, " replied Bo. "Thatvery thing has actually happened out here in this wonderful countryof wild places. You need not tell me! Sure it's happened. With thecliff-dwellers and the Indians and then white people. Every place I lookmakes me feel that. Nell, you'd have to see people in the moon through atelescope before you'd believe that. "

"I'm practical and sensible, thank goodness!"

"But, for the sake of argument, " protested Bo, with flashing eyes, "suppose it MIGHT happen. Just to please me, suppose we DID get shut uphere with Dale and that cowboy we saw from the train. Shut in withoutany hope of ever climbing out. .. . What would you do? Would you give upand pine away and die? Or would you fight for life and whatever joy itmight mean?"

"Self-preservation is the first instinct, " replied Helen, surprised ata strange, deep thrill in the depths of her. "I'd fight for life, ofcourse. "

"Yes. Well, really, when I think seriously I don't want anything likethat to happen. But, just the same, if it DID happen I would glory init. "

While they were talking Dale returned with the horses. 

"Can you bridle an' saddle your own horse?" he asked. 

"No. I'm ashamed to say I can't, " replied Bo. 

"Time to learn then. Come on. Watch me first when I saddle mine. "

Bo was all eyes while Dale slipped off the bridle from his horse andthen with slow, plain action readjusted it. Next he smoothed the back ofthe horse, shook out the blanket, and, folding it half over, he threwit in place, being careful to explain to Bo just the right position. Helifted his saddle in a certain way and put that in place, and then hetightened the cinches. 

"Now you try, " he said. 

According to Helen's judgment Bo might have been a Western girl all herdays. But Dale shook his head and made her do it over. 

"That was better. Of course, the saddle is too heavy for you to slingit up. You can learn that with a light one. Now put the bridle onagain. Don't be afraid of your hands. He won't bite. Slip the bit insideways. .. . There. Now let's see you mount. "

When Bo got into the saddle Dale continued: "You went up quick an'light, but the wrong way. Watch me. "

Bo had to mount several times before Dale was satisfied. Then he toldher to ride off a little distance. When Bo had gotten out of earshotDale said to Helen: "She'll take to a horse like a duck takes to water. "Then, mounting, he rode out after her. 

Helen watched them trotting and galloping and running the horses roundthe grassy park, and rather regretted she had not gone with them. Eventually Bo rode back, to dismount and fling herself down, red-cheekedand radiant, with disheveled hair, and curls damp on her temples. Howalive she seemed! Helen's senses thrilled with the grace and charmand vitality of this surprising sister, and she was aware of a sheerphysical joy in her presence. Bo rested, but she did not rest long. Shewas soon off to play with Bud. Then she coaxed the tame doe to eatout of her hand. She dragged Helen off for wild flowers, curious andthoughtless by turns. And at length she fell asleep, quickly, in a waythat reminded Helen of the childhood now gone forever. 

Dale called them to dinner about four o'clock, as the sun was reddeningthe western rampart of the park. Helen wondered where the day had gone. The hours had flown swiftly, serenely, bringing her scarcely a thoughtof her uncle or dread of her forced detention there or possiblediscovery by those outlaws supposed to be hunting for her. Aftershe realized the passing of those hours she had an intangible andindescribable feeling of what Dale had meant about dreaming the hoursaway. The nature of Paradise Park was inimical to the kind of thoughtthat had habitually been hers. She found the new thought absorbing, yetwhen she tried to name it she found that, after all, she had only felt. At the meal hour she was more than usually quiet. She saw that Dalenoticed it and was trying to interest her or distract her attention. Hesucceeded, but she did not choose to let him see that. She strolledaway alone to her seat under the pine. Bo passed her once, and cried, tantalizingly:

"My, Nell, but you're growing romantic!"

Never before in Helen's life had the beauty of the evening star seemedso exquisite or the twilight so moving and shadowy or the darkness socharged with loneliness. It was their environment--the accompaniment ofwild wolf-mourn, of the murmuring waterfall, of this strange man of theforest and the unfamiliar elements among which he made his home. 

Next morning, her energy having returned, Helen shared Bo's lesson inbridling and saddling her horse, and in riding. Bo, however, rode sofast and so hard that for Helen to share her company was impossible. AndDale, interested and amused, yet anxious, spent most of his timewith Bo. It was thus that Helen rode all over the park alone. She wasastonished at its size, when from almost any point it looked so small. The atmosphere deceived her. How clearly she could see! And she began tojudge distance by the size of familiar things. A horse, looked at acrossthe longest length of the park, seemed very small indeed. Here andthere she rode upon dark, swift, little brooks, exquisitely clear andamber-colored and almost hidden from sight by the long grass. These allran one way, and united to form a deeper brook that apparently woundunder the cliffs at the west end, and plunged to an outlet in narrowclefts. When Dale and Bo came to her once she made inquiry, and she wassurprised to learn from Dale that this brook disappeared in a hole inthe rocks and had an outlet on the other side of the mountain. Sometimehe would take them to the lake it formed. 

"Over the mountain?" asked Helen, again remembering that she must regardherself as a fugitive. "Will it be safe to leave our hiding-place? Iforget so often why we are here. "

"We would be better hidden over there than here, " replied Dale. "Thevalley on that side is accessible only from that ridge. An' don't worryabout bein' found. I told you Roy Beeman is watchin' Anson an' his gang. Roy will keep between them an' us. "

Helen was reassured, yet there must always linger in the background ofher mind a sense of dread. In spite of this, she determined to make themost of her opportunity. Bo was a stimulus. And so Helen spent the restof that day riding and tagging after her sister. 

The next day was less hard on Helen. Activity, rest, eating, andsleeping took on a wonderful new meaning to her. She had really neverknown them as strange joys. She rode, she walked, she climbed a little, she dozed under her pine-tree, she worked helping Dale at camp-firetasks, and when night came she said she did not know herself. That facthaunted her in vague, deep dreams. Upon awakening she forgot her resolveto study herself. That day passed. And then several more went swiftlybefore she adapted herself to a situation she had reason to believemight last for weeks and even months. 

It was afternoon that Helen loved best of all the time of the day. The sunrise was fresh, beautiful; the morning was windy, fragrant; thesunset was rosy, glorious; the twilight was sad, changing; and nightseemed infinitely sweet with its stars and silence and sleep. But theafternoon, when nothing changed, when all was serene, when time seemedto halt, that was her choice, and her solace. 

One afternoon she had camp all to herself. Bo was riding. Dale hadclimbed the mountain to see if he could find any trace of tracks or seeany smoke from camp-fire. Bud was nowhere to be seen, nor any of theother pets. Tom had gone off to some sunny ledge where he could bask inthe sun, after the habit of the wilder brothers of his species. Pedrohad not been seen for a night and a day, a fact that Helen had notedwith concern. However, she had forgotten him, and therefore was the moresurprised to see him coming limping into camp on three legs. 

"Why, Pedro! You have been fighting. Come here, " she called. 

The hound did not look guilty. He limped to her and held up his rightfore paw. The action was unmistakable. Helen examined the injured memberand presently found a piece of what looked like mussel-shell embeddeddeeply between the toes. The wound was swollen, bloody, and evidentlyvery painful. Pedro whined. Helen had to exert all the strength of herfingers to pull it out. Then Pedro howled. But immediately he showed hisgratitude by licking her hand. Helen bathed his paw and bound it up. 

When Dale returned she related the incident and, showing the piece ofshell, she asked: "Where did that come from? Are there shells in themountains?"

"Once this country was under the sea, " replied Dale. "I've found thingsthat 'd make you wonder. "

"Under the sea!" ejaculated Helen. It was one thing to have read ofsuch a strange fact, but a vastly different one to realize it here amongthese lofty peaks. Dale was always showing her something or telling hersomething that astounded her. 

"Look here, " he said one day. "What do you make of that little bunch ofaspens?"

They were on the farther side of the park and were resting under apine-tree. The forest here encroached upon the park with its stragglinglines of spruce and groves of aspen. The little clump of aspens did notdiffer from hundreds Helen had seen. 

"I don't make anything particularly of it, " replied Helen, dubiously. "Just a tiny grove of aspens--some very small, some larger, but nonevery big. But it's pretty with its green and yellow leaves flutteringand quivering. "

"It doesn't make you think of a fight?"

"Fight? No, it certainly does not, " replied Helen. 

"Well, it's as good an example of fight, of strife, of selfishness, asyou will find in the forest, " he said. "Now come over, you an' Bo, an'let me show you what I mean. "

"Come on, Nell, " cried Bo, with enthusiasm. "He'll open our eyes somemore. "

Nothing loath, Helen went with them to the little clump of aspens. 

"About a hundred altogether, " said Dale. "They're pretty well shaded bythe spruces, but they get the sunlight from east an' south. These littletrees all came from the same seedlings. They're all the same age. Fourof them stand, say, ten feet or more high an' they're as large around asmy wrist. Here's one that's largest. See how full-foliaged he is--how hestands over most of the others, but not so much over these four next tohim. They all stand close together, very close, you see. Most of themare no larger than my thumb. Look how few branches they have, an' nonelow down. Look at how few leaves. Do you see how all the branches standout toward the east an' south--how the leaves, of course, face the sameway? See how one branch of one tree bends aside one from another tree. That's a fight for the sunlight. Here are one--two--three dead trees. Look, I can snap them off. An' now look down under them. Here are littletrees five feet high--four feet high--down to these only a foothigh. Look how pale, delicate, fragile, unhealthy! They get so littlesunshine. They were born with the other trees, but did not get an equalstart. Position gives the advantage, perhaps. "

Dale led the girls around the little grove, illustrating his words byaction. He seemed deeply in earnest. 

"You understand it's a fight for water an' sun. But mostly sun, because, if the leaves can absorb the sun, the tree an' roots will grow to graspthe needed moisture. Shade is death--slow death to the life of trees. These little aspens are fightin' for place in the sunlight. It is amerciless battle. They push an' bend one another's branches aside an'choke them. Only perhaps half of these aspens will survive, to make oneof the larger clumps, such as that one of full-grown trees over there. One season will give advantage to this saplin' an' next year to thatone. A few seasons' advantage to one assures its dominance over theothers. But it is never sure of holdin' that dominance. An 'if wind orstorm or a strong-growin' rival does not overthrow it, then sooner orlater old age will. For there is absolute and continual fight. What istrue of these aspens is true of all the trees in the forest an' of allplant life in the forest. What is most wonderful to me is the tenacityof life. "

And next day Dale showed them an even more striking example of thismystery of nature. 

He guided them on horseback up one of the thick, verdant-wooded slopes, calling their attention at various times to the different growths, untilthey emerged on the summit of the ridge where the timber grew scantand dwarfed. At the edge of timber-line he showed a gnarled and knottedspruce-tree, twisted out of all semblance to a beautiful spruce, bentand storm-blasted, with almost bare branches, all reaching one' way. Thetree was a specter. It stood alone. It had little green upon it. Thereseemed something tragic about its contortions. But it was alive andstrong. It had no rivals to take sun or moisture. Its enemies were thesnow and wind and cold of the heights. 

Helen felt, as the realization came to her, the knowledge Dale wishedto impart, that it was as sad as wonderful, and as mysterious as it wasinspiring. At that moment there were both the sting and sweetness oflife--the pain and the joy--in Helen's heart. These strange factswere going to teach her--to transform her. And even if they hurt, shewelcomed them. 

CHAPTER XI

"I'll ride you if it breaks--my neck!" panted Bo, passionately, shakingher gloved fist at the gray pony. 

Dale stood near with a broad smile on his face. Helen was withinearshot, watching from the edge of the park, and she felt so fascinatedand frightened that she could not call out for Bo to stop. The littlegray mustang was a beauty, clean-limbed and racy, with long black maneand tail, and a fine, spirited head. There was a blanket strapped on hisback, but no saddle. Bo held the short halter that had been fastenedin a hackamore knot round his nose. She wore no coat; her blouse wascovered with grass and seeds, and it was open at the neck; her hair hungloose and disheveled; one side of her face bore a stain of grass anddirt and a suspicion of blood; the other was red and white; her eyesblazed; beads of sweat stood out on her brow and wet places shone on hercheeks. As she began to strain on the halter, pulling herself closerto the fiery pony, the outline of her slender shape stood out lithe andstrong. 

Bo had been defeated in her cherished and determined ambition to rideDale's mustang, and she was furious. The mustang did not appear to bevicious or mean. But he was spirited, tricky, mischievous, and he hadthrown her six times. The scene of Bo's defeat was at the edge of thepark, where thick moss and grass afforded soft places for her to fall. It also afforded poor foothold for the gray mustang, obviously placinghim at a disadvantage. Dale did not bridle him, because he had not beenbroken to a bridle; and though it was harder for Bo to try to ride himbareback, there was less risk of her being hurt. Bo had begun in alleagerness and enthusiasm, loving and petting the mustang, which shenamed "Pony. " She had evidently anticipated an adventure, but hersmiling, resolute face had denoted confidence. Pony had stood fairlywell to be mounted, and then had pitched and tossed until Bo had slidoff or been upset or thrown. After each fall Bo bounced up with less ofa smile, and more of spirit, until now the Western passion to master ahorse had suddenly leaped to life within her. It was no longer fun, nomore a daring circus trick to scare Helen and rouse Dale's admiration. The issue now lay between Bo and the mustang. 

Pony reared, snorting, tossing his head, and pawing with front feet. 

"Pull him down!" yelled Dale. 

Bo did not have much weight, but she had strength, an she hauled withall her might, finally bringing him down. 

"Now hold hard an' take up rope an' get in to him, " called Dale. "Good!You're sure not afraid of him. He sees that. Now hold him, talk to him, tell him you're goin' to ride him. Pet him a little. An' when he quitsshakin', grab his mane an' jump up an' slide a leg over him. Then hookyour feet under him, hard as you can, an' stick on. "

If Helen had not been so frightened for Bo she would have been able toenjoy her other sensations. Creeping, cold thrills chased over her asBo, supple and quick, slid an arm and a leg over Pony and straightenedup on him with a defiant cry. Pony jerked his head down, brought hisfeet together in one jump, and began to bounce. Bo got the swing of himthis time and stayed on. 

"You're ridin' him, " yelled Dale. "Now squeeze hard with your knees. Crack him over the head with your rope. .. . That's the way. Hang on nowan' you'll have him beat. "

The mustang pitched all over the space adjacent to Dale and Helen, tearing up the moss and grass. Several times he tossed Bo high, but sheslid back to grip him again with her legs, and he could not throw her. Suddenly he raised his head and bolted. Dale answered Bo's triumphantcry. But Pony had not run fifty feet before he tripped and fell, throwing Bo far over his head. As luck would have it--good luck, Dale afterward said--she landed in a boggy place and the force of hermomentum was such that she slid several yards, face down, in wet mossand black ooze. 

Helen uttered a scream and ran forward. Bo was getting to her knees whenDale reached her. He helped her up and half led, half carried her outof the boggy place. Bo was not recognizable. From head to foot she wasdripping black ooze. 

"Oh, Bo! Are you hurt?" cried Helen. 

Evidently Bo's mouth was full of mud. 

"Pp--su--tt! Ough! Whew!" she sputtered. "Hurt? No! Can't you see what Ilit in? Dale, the sun-of-a-gun didn't throw me. He fell, and I went overhis head. "

"Right. You sure rode him. An' he tripped an' slung you a mile, " repliedDale. "It's lucky you lit in that bog. "

"Lucky! With eyes and nose stopped up? Oooo! I'm full of mud. And mynice--new riding-suit!"

Bo's tones indicated that she was ready to cry. Helen, realizing Bohad not been hurt, began to laugh. Her sister was the funniest-lookingobject that had ever come before her eyes. 

"Nell Rayner--are you--laughing--at me?" demanded Bo, in most righteousamaze and anger. 

"Me laugh-ing? N-never, Bo, " replied Helen. "Can't you see I'mjust--just--"

"See? You idiot! my eyes are full of mud!" flashed Bo. "But I hear you. I'll--I'll get even. "

Dale was laughing, too, but noiselessly, and Bo, being blind for themoment, could not be aware of that. By this time they had reached camp. Helen fell flat and laughed as she had never laughed before. When Helenforgot herself so far as to roll on the ground it was indeed a laughingmatter. Dale's big frame shook as he possessed himself of a towel and, wetting it at the spring, began to wipe the mud off Bo's face. But thatdid not serve. Bo asked to be led to the water, where she knelt and, with splashing, washed out her eyes, and then her face, and then thebedraggled strands of hair. 

"That mustang didn't break my neck, but he rooted my face in the mud. I'll fix him, " she muttered, as she got up. "Please let me have thetowel, now. .. . Well! Milt Dale, you're laughing!"

"Ex-cuse me, Bo. I--Haw! haw! haw!" Then Dale lurched off, holding hissides. 

Bo gazed after him and then back at Helen. 

"I suppose if I'd been kicked and smashed and killed you'd laugh, " shesaid. And then she melted. "Oh, my pretty riding-suit! What a mess! Imust be a sight. .. . Nell, I rode that wild pony--the sun-of-a-gun! Irode him! That's enough for me. YOU try it. Laugh all you want. It wasfunny. But if you want to square yourself with me, help me clean myclothes. "

Late in the night Helen heard Dale sternly calling Pedro. She felt somelittle alarm. However, nothing happened, and she soon went to sleepagain. At the morning meal Dale explained. 

"Pedro an' Tom were uneasy last night. I think there are lions workin'over the ridge somewhere. I heard one scream. "

"Scream?" inquired Bo, with interest. 

"Yes, an' if you ever hear a lion scream you will think it a woman inmortal agony. The cougar cry, as Roy calls it, is the wildest to beheard in the woods. A wolf howls. He is sad, hungry, and wild. But acougar seems human an' dyin' an' wild. We'll saddle up an' ride overthere. Maybe Pedro will tree a lion. Bo, if he does will you shoot it?"

"Sure, " replied Bo, with her mouth full of biscuit. 

That was how they came to take a long, slow, steep ride under cover ofdense spruce. Helen liked the ride after they got on the heights. Butthey did not get to any point where she could indulge in her pleasureof gazing afar over the ranges. Dale led up and down, and finally mostlydown, until they came out within sight of sparser wooded ridges withparks lying below and streams shining in the sun. 

More than once Pedro had to be harshly called by Dale. The hound scentedgame. 

"Here's an old kill, " said Dale, halting to point at some bleached bonesscattered under a spruce. Tufts of grayish-white hair lay strewn around. 

"What was it?" asked Bo. 

"Deer, of course. Killed there an' eaten by a lion. Sometime last fall. See, even the skull is split. But I could not say that the lion did it. "

Helen shuddered. She thought of the tame deer down at Dale's camp. Howbeautiful and graceful, and responsive to kindness!

They rode out of the woods into a grassy swale with rocks and clumps ofsome green bushes bordering it. Here Pedro barked, the first time Helenhad heard him. The hair on his neck bristled, and it required sterncalls from Dale to hold him in. Dale dismounted. 

"Hyar, Pede, you get back, " he ordered. "I'll let you go presently. .. . Girls, you're goin' to see somethin'. But stay on your horses. "

Dale, with the hound tense and bristling beside him, strode hereand there at the edge of the swale. Presently he halted on a slightelevation and beckoned for the girls to ride over. 

"Here, see where the grass is pressed down all nice an' round, " he said, pointing. "A lion made that. He sneaked there, watchin' for deer. Thatwas done this mornin'. Come on, now. Let's see if we can trail him. "

Dale stooped now, studying the grass, and holding Pedro. Suddenly hestraightened up with a flash in his gray eyes. 

"Here's where he jumped. "

But Helen could not see any reason why Dale should say that. The man ofthe forest took a long stride then another. 

"An' here's where that lion lit on the back of the deer. It was a bigjump. See the sharp hoof tracks of the deer. " Dale pressed aside tallgrass to show dark, rough, fresh tracks of a deer, evidently made byviolent action. 

"Come on, " called Dale, walking swiftly. "You're sure goin' to seesomethin' now. .. . Here's where the deer bounded, carryin' the lion. "

"What!" exclaimed Bo, incredulously. 

"The deer was runnin' here with the lion on his back. I'll prove it toyou. Come on, now. Pedro, you stay with me. Girls, it's a fresh trail. "Dale walked along, leading his horse, and occasionally he pointed downinto the grass. "There! See that! That's hair. "

Helen did see some tufts of grayish hair scattered on the ground, andshe believed she saw little, dark separations in the grass, where ananimal had recently passed. All at once Dale halted. When Helen reachedhim Bo was already there and they were gazing down at a wide, flattenedspace in the grass. Even Helen's inexperienced eyes could make outevidences of a struggle. Tufts of gray-white hair lay upon the crushedgrass. Helen did not need to see any more, but Dale silently pointed toa patch of blood. Then he spoke:

"The lion brought the deer down here an' killed him. Probably broke hisneck. That deer ran a hundred yards with the lion. See, here's the trailleft where the lion dragged the deer off. "

A well-defined path showed across the swale. 

"Girls, you'll see that deer pretty quick, " declared Dale, startingforward. "This work has just been done. Only a few minutes ago. "

"How can you tell?" queried Bo. 

"Look! See that grass. It has been bent down by the deer bein' draggedover it. Now it's springin' up. "

Dale's next stop was on the other side of the swale, under a spruce withlow, spreading branches. The look of Pedro quickened Helen's pulse. He was wild to give chase. Fearfully Helen looked where Dale pointed, expecting to see the lion. But she saw instead a deer lying prostratewith tongue out and sightless eyes and bloody hair. 

"Girls, that lion heard us an' left. He's not far, " said Dale, as hestooped to lift the head of the deer. "Warm! Neck broken. See the lion'steeth an' claw marks. .. . It's a doe. Look here. Don't be squeamish, girls. This is only an hourly incident of everyday life in the forest. See where the lion has rolled the skin down as neat as I could do it, an' he'd just begun to bite in there when he heard us. "

"What murderous work, The sight sickens me!" exclaimed Helen. 

"It is nature, " said Dale, simply. 

"Let's kill the lion, " added Bo. 

For answer Dale took a quick turn at their saddle-girths, and then, mounting, he called to the hound. "Hunt him up, Pedro. "

Like a shot the hound was off. 

"Ride in my tracks an' keep close to me, " called Dale, as he wheeled hishorse. 

"We're off!" squealed Bo, in wild delight, and she made her mountplunge. 

Helen urged her horse after them and they broke across a corner of theswale to the woods. Pedro was running straight, with his nose high. He let out one short bark. He headed into the woods, with Dale not farbehind. Helen was on one of Dale's best horses, but that fact scarcelymanifested itself, because the others began to increase their lead. Theyentered the woods. It was open, and fairly good going. Bo's horse ran asfast in the woods as he did in the open. That frightened Helen and sheyelled to Bo to hold him in. She yelled to deaf ears. That was Bo'sgreat risk--she did not intend to be careful. Suddenly the forest rangwith Dale's encouraging yell, meant to aid the girls in following him. Helen's horse caught the spirit of the chase. He gained somewhat onBo, hurdling logs, sometimes two at once. Helen's blood leaped with astrange excitement, utterly unfamiliar and as utterly resistless. Yether natural fear, and the intelligence that reckoned with the foolishrisk of this ride, shared alike in her sum of sensations. She tried toremember Dale's caution about dodging branches and snags, and slidingher knees back to avoid knocks from trees. She barely missed somefrightful reaching branches. She received a hard knock, then another, that unseated her, but frantically she held on and slid back, and at theend of a long run through comparatively open forest she got a stingingblow in the face from a far-spreading branch of pine. Bo missed, by whatseemed only an inch, a solid snag that would have broken her in two. Both Pedro and Dale got out of Helen's sight. Then Helen, as she beganto lose Bo, felt that she would rather run greater risks than be leftbehind to get lost in the forest, and she urged her horse. Dale's yellpealed back. Then it seemed even more thrilling to follow by sound thanby sight. Wind and brush tore at her. The air was heavily pungent withodor of pine. Helen heard a wild, full bay of the hound, ringing back, full of savage eagerness, and she believed Pedro had roused out the lionfrom some covert. It lent more stir to her blood and it surely urged herhorse on faster. 

Then the swift pace slackened. A windfall of timber delayed Helen. Shecaught a glimpse of Dale far ahead, climbing a slope. The forest seemedfull of his ringing yell. Helen strangely wished for level ground andthe former swift motion. Next she saw Bo working down to the right, andDale's yell now came from that direction. Helen followed, got out of thetimber, and made better time on a gradual slope down to another park. 

When she reached the open she saw Bo almost across this narrow openground. Here Helen did not need to urge her mount. He snorted andplunged at the level and he got to going so fast that Helen wouldhave screamed aloud in mingled fear and delight if she had not beenbreathless. 

Her horse had the bad luck to cross soft ground. He went to his kneesand Helen sailed out of the saddle over his head. Soft willows and wetgrass broke her fall. She was surprised to find herself unhurt. Up shebounded and certainly did not know this new Helen Rayner. Her horse wascoming, and he had patience with her, but he wanted to hurry. Helen madethe quickest mount of her experience and somehow felt a pride in it. She would tell Bo that. But just then Bo flashed into the woods out ofsight. Helen fairly charged into that green foliage, breaking brush andbranches. She broke through into open forest. Bo was inside, riding downan aisle between pines and spruces. At that juncture Helen heard Dale'smelodious yell near at hand. Coming into still more open forest, withrocks here and there, she saw Dale dismounted under a pine, and Pedrostanding with fore paws upon the tree-trunk, and then high up on abranch a huge tawny colored lion, just like Tom. 

Bo's horse slowed up and showed fear, but he kept on as far as Dale'shorse. But Helen's refused to go any nearer. She had difficulty inhalting him. Presently she dismounted and, throwing her bridle over astump, she ran on, panting and fearful, yet tingling all over, up to hersister and Dale. 

"Nell, you did pretty good for a tenderfoot, " was Bo's greeting. 

"It was a fine chase, " said Dale. "You both rode well. I wish you couldhave seen the lion on the ground. He bounded--great long bounds withhis tail up in the air--very funny. An' Pedro almost caught up with him. That scared me, because he would have killed the hound. Pedro was closeto him when he treed. An' there he is--the yellow deer-killer. He's amale an' full grown. "

With that Dale pulled his rifle from its saddle-sheath and lookedexpectantly at Bo. But she was gazing with great interest and admirationup at the lion. 

"Isn't he just beautiful?" she burst out. "Oh, look at him spit! Justlike a cat! Dale, he looks afraid he might fall off. "

"He sure does. Lions are never sure of their balance in a tree. But Inever saw one make a misstep. He knows he doesn't belong there. "

To Helen the lion looked splendid perched up there. He was long andround and graceful and tawny. His tongue hung out and his plump sidesheaved, showing what a quick, hard run he had been driven to. Whatstruck Helen most forcibly about him was something in his face as helooked down at the hound. He was scared. He realized his peril. It wasnot possible for Helen to watch him killed, yet she could not bringherself to beg Bo not to shoot. Helen confessed she was a tenderfoot. 

"Get down, Bo, an' let's see how good a shot you are, said Dale. Boslowly withdrew her fascinated gaze from the lion and looked with arueful smile at Dale. 

"I've changed my mind. I said I would kill him, but now I can't. Helooks so--so different from what I'd imagined. "

Dale's answer was a rare smile of understanding and approval that warmedHelen's heart toward him. All the same, he was amused. Sheathing thegun, he mounted his horse. 

"Come on, Pedro, " he called. "Come, I tell you, " he added, sharply, "Well, girls, we treed him, anyhow, an' it was fun. Now we'll ride backto the deer he killed an' pack a haunch to camp for our own use. "

"Will the lion go back to his--his kill, I think you called it?" askedBo. 

"I've chased one away from his kill half a dozen times. Lions are notplentiful here an' they don't get overfed. I reckon the balance ispretty even. "

This last remark made Helen inquisitive. And as they slowly rode on theback-trail Dale talked. 

"You girls, bein' tender-hearted an' not knowin' the life of the forest, what's good an' what's bad, think it was a pity the poor deer waskilled by a murderous lion. But you're wrong. As I told you, the lion isabsolutely necessary to the health an' joy of wild life--or deer's wildlife, so to speak. When deer were created or came into existence, then the lion must have come, too. They can't live without each other. Wolves, now, are not particularly deer-killers. They live off elk an'anythin' they can catch. So will lions, for that matter. But I meanlions follow the deer to an' fro from winter to summer feedin'-grounds. Where there's no deer you will find no lions. Well, now, if left alonedeer would multiply very fast. In a few years there would be hundredswhere now there's only one. An' in time, as the generations passed, they'd lose the fear, the alertness, the speed an' strength, theeternal vigilance that is love of life--they'd lose that an' beginto deteriorate, an' disease would carry them off. I saw one season ofblack-tongue among deer. It killed them off, an' I believe that is oneof the diseases of over-production. The lions, now, are forever on thetrail of the deer. They have learned. Wariness is an instinct born inthe fawn. It makes him keen, quick, active, fearful, an' so he grows upstrong an' healthy to become the smooth, sleek, beautiful, soft-eyed, an' wild-lookin' deer you girls love to watch. But if it wasn't forthe lions, the deer would not thrive. Only the strongest an' swiftestsurvive. That is the meanin' of nature. There is always a perfectbalance kept by nature. It may vary in different years, but on thewhole, in the long years, it averages an even balance. "

"How wonderfully you put it!" exclaimed Bo, with all her impulsiveness. "Oh, I'm glad I didn't kill the lion. "

"What you say somehow hurts me, " said Helen, wistfully, to the hunter. "I see--I feel how true--how inevitable it is. But it changes my--myfeelings. Almost I'd rather not acquire such knowledge as yours. Thisbalance of nature--how tragic--how sad!"

"But why?" asked Dale. "You love birds, an' birds are the greatestkillers in the forest. "

"Don't tell me that--don't prove it, " implored Helen. "It is not so muchthe love of life in a deer or any creature, and the terrible clinging tolife, that gives me distress. It is suffering. I can't bear to see pain. I can STAND pain myself, but I can't BEAR to see or think of it. "

"Well, " replied. Dale, thoughtfully, "There you stump me again. I'velived long in the forest an' when a man's alone he does a heap ofthinkin'. An' always I couldn't understand a reason or a meanin'for pain. Of all the bafflin' things of life, that is the hardest tounderstand an' to forgive--pain!"

That evening, as they sat in restful places round the camp-fire, withthe still twilight fading into night, Dale seriously asked the girlswhat the day's chase had meant to them. His manner of asking wasproductive of thought. Both girls were silent for a moment. 

"Glorious!" was Bo's brief and eloquent reply. 

"Why?" asked. Dale, curiously. "You are a girl. You've been used tohome, people, love, comfort, safety, quiet. "

"Maybe that is just why it was glorious, " said Bo, earnestly. "I canhardly explain. I loved the motion of the horse, the feel of wind inmy face, the smell of the pine, the sight of slope and forest glade andwindfall and rocks, and the black shade under the spruces. My bloodbeat and burned. My teeth clicked. My nerves all quivered. My heartsometimes, at dangerous moments, almost choked me, and all the time itpounded hard. Now my skin was hot and then it was cold. But I think thebest of that chase for me was that I was on a fast horse, guiding him, controlling him. He was alive. Oh, how I felt his running!"

"Well, what you say is as natural to me as if I felt it, " said Dale. "Iwondered. You're certainly full of fire, An', Helen, what do you say?"

"Bo has answered you with her feelings, " replied Helen, "I could not dothat and be honest. The fact that Bo wouldn't shoot the lion after wetreed him acquits her. Nevertheless, her answer is purely physical. Youknow, Mr. Dale, how you talk about the physical. I should say my sisterwas just a young, wild, highly sensitive, hot-blooded female of thespecies. She exulted in that chase as an Indian. Her sensations wereinherited ones--certainly not acquired by education. Bo always hatedstudy. The ride was a revelation to me. I had a good many of Bo'sfeelings--though not so strong. But over against them was the oppositionof reason, of consciousness. A new-born side of my nature confronted me, strange, surprising, violent, irresistible. It was as if another side ofmy personality suddenly said: 'Here I am. Reckon with me now!' And therewas no use for the moment to oppose that strange side. I--the thinkingHelen Rayner, was powerless. Oh yes, I had such thoughts even when thebranches were stinging my face and I was thrilling to the bay of thehound. Once my horse fell and threw me. .. . You needn't look alarmed. It was fine. I went into a soft place and was unhurt. But when I wassailing through the air a thought flashed: this is the end of me! It waslike a dream when you are falling dreadfully. Much of what I felt andthought on that chase must have been because of what I have studied andread and taught. The reality of it, the action and flash, were splendid. But fear of danger, pity for the chased lion, consciousness of foolishrisk, of a reckless disregard for the serious responsibility I havetaken--all these worked in my mind and held back what might have been asheer physical, primitive joy of the wild moment. "

Dale listened intently, and after Helen had finished he studied the fireand thoughtfully poked the red embers with his stick. His face was stilland serene, untroubled and unlined, but to Helen his eyes seemed sad, pensive, expressive of an unsatisfied yearning and wonder. She hadcarefully and earnestly spoken, because she was very curious to hearwhat he might say. 

"I understand you, " he replied, presently. "An' I'm sure surprised thatI can. I've read my books--an' reread them, but no one ever talked likethat to me. What I make of it is this. You've the same blood in youthat's in Bo. An' blood is stronger than brain. Remember that blood islife. It would be good for you to have it run an' beat an' burn, asBo's did. Your blood did that a thousand years or ten thousand beforeintellect was born in your ancestors. Instinct may not be greater thanreason, but it's a million years older. Don't fight your instincts sohard. If they were not good the God of Creation would not have giventhem to you. To-day your mind was full of self-restraint that did notaltogether restrain. You couldn't forget yourself. You couldn't FEELonly, as Bo did. You couldn't be true to your real nature. "

"I don't agree with you, " replied Helen, quickly. "I don't have to be anIndian to be true to myself. "

"Why, yes you do, " said Dale. 

"But I couldn't be an Indian, " declared Helen, spiritedly. "I couldn'tFEEL only, as you say Bo did. I couldn't go back in the scale, as youhint. What would all my education amount to--though goodness knows it'slittle enough--if I had no control over primitive feelings that happenedto be born in me?"

"You'll have little or no control over them when the right time comes, "replied Dale. "Your sheltered life an' education have led you away fromnatural instincts. But they're in you an' you'll learn the proof of thatout here. "

"No. Not if I lived a hundred years in the West, " asserted Helen. 

"But, child, do you know what you're talkin' about?"

Here Bo let out a blissful peal of laughter. 

"Mr. Dale!" exclaimed Helen, almost affronted. She was stirred. "I knowMYSELF, at least. "

"But you do not. You've no idea of yourself. You've education, yes, butnot in nature an' life. An' after all, they are the real things. Answerme, now--honestly, will you?"

"Certainly, if I can. Some of your questions are hard to answer. "

"Have you ever been starved?" he asked. 

"No, " replied Helen. 

"Have you ever been lost away from home?"

"No. "

"Have you ever faced death--real stark an' naked death, close an'terrible?"

"No, indeed. "

"Have you ever wanted to kill any one with your bare hands?"

"Oh, Mr. Dale, you--you amaze me. No!. .. No!"

"I reckon I know your answer to my last question, but I'll ask it, anyhow. .. . Have you ever been so madly in love with a man that you couldnot live without him?"

Bo fell off her seat with a high, trilling laugh. "Oh, you two aregreat!"

"Thank Heaven, I haven't been, " replied Helen, shortly. 

"Then you don't know anythin' about life, " declared Dale, with finality. 

Helen was not to be put down by that, dubious and troubled as it madeher. 

"Have you experienced all those things?" she queried, stubbornly. 

"All but the last one. Love never came my way. How could it? I livealone. I seldom go to the villages where there are girls. No girl wouldever care for me. I have nothin'. .. . But, all the same, I understandlove a little, just by comparison with strong feelin's I've lived. "

Helen watched the hunter and marveled at his simplicity. His sad andpenetrating gaze was on the fire, as if in its white heart to read thesecret denied him. He had said that no girl would ever love him. Sheimagined he might know considerably less about the nature of girls thanof the forest. 

"To come back to myself, " said Helen, wanting to continue the argument. "You declared I didn't know myself. That I would have no self-control. Iwill!"

"I meant the big things of life, " he said, patiently. 

"What things?"

"I told you. By askin' what had never happened to you I learned whatwill happen. "

"Those experiences to come to ME!" breathed Helen, incredulously. "Never!"

"Sister Nell, they sure will--particularly the last-named one--the madlove, " chimed in Bo, mischievously, yet believingly. 

Neither Dale nor Helen appeared to hear her interruption. 

"Let me put it simpler, " began Dale, evidently racking his brain foranalogy. His perplexity appeared painful to him, because he had a greatfaith, a great conviction that he could not make clear. "Here I am, the natural physical man, livin' in the wilds. An' here you come, thecomplex, intellectual woman. Remember, for my argument's sake, thatyou're here. An' suppose circumstances forced you to stay here. You'dfight the elements with me an' work with me to sustain life. Theremust be a great change in either you or me, accordin' to the other'sinfluence. An' can't you see that change must come in you, not becauseof anythin' superior in me--I'm really inferior to you--but because ofour environment? You'd lose your complexity. An' in years to come you'dbe a natural physical woman, because you'd live through an' by thephysical. "

"Oh dear, will not education be of help to the Western woman?" queriedHelen, almost in despair. 

"Sure it will, " answered Dale, promptly. "What the West needs is womenwho can raise an' teach children. But you don't understand me. You don'tget under your skin. I reckon I can't make you see my argument as I feelit. You take my word for this, though. Sooner or later you WILL wake upan' forget yourself. Remember. "

"Nell, I'll bet you do, too, " said Bo, seriously for her. "It may seemstrange to you, but I understand Dale. I feel what he means. It's a sortof shock. Nell, we're not what we seem. We're not what we fondly imaginewe are. We've lived too long with people--too far away from the earth. You know the Bible says something like this: 'Dust thou art and to dustthou shalt return. ' Where DO we come from?"

CHAPTER XII

Days passed. 

Every morning Helen awoke with a wondering question as to what thisday would bring forth, especially with regard to possible news from heruncle. It must come sometime and she was anxious for it. Something aboutthis simple, wild camp life had begun to grip her. She found herselfshirking daily attention to the clothes she had brought West. Theyneeded it, but she had begun to see how superficial they really were. On the other hand, camp-fire tasks had come to be a pleasure. She hadlearned a great deal more about them than had Bo. Worry and dreadwere always impinging upon the fringe of her thoughts--always vaguelypresent, though seldom annoying. They were like shadows in dreams. Shewanted to get to her uncle's ranch, to take up the duties of her newlife. But she was not prepared to believe she would not regret this wildexperience. She must get away from that in order to see it clearly, andshe began to have doubts of herself. 

Meanwhile the active and restful outdoor life went on. Bo leaned moreand more toward utter reconciliation to it. Her eyes had a wonderfulflash, like blue lightning; her cheeks were gold and brown; her handstanned dark as an Indian's. 

She could vault upon the gray mustang, or, for that matter, clear overhis back. She learned to shoot a rifle accurately enough to win Dale'spraise, and vowed she would like to draw a bead upon a grizzly bear orupon Snake Anson. 

"Bo, if you met that grizzly Dale said has been prowling round camplately you'd run right up a tree, " declared Helen, one morning, when Boseemed particularly boastful. 

"Don't fool yourself, " retorted Bo. 

"But I've seen you run from a mouse!"

"Sister, couldn't I be afraid of a mouse and not a bear?"

"I don't see how. "

"Well, bears, lions, outlaws, and other wild beasts are to be met withhere in the West, and my mind's made up, " said Bo, in slow-noddingdeliberation. 

They argued as they had always argued, Helen for reason and common senseand restraint, Bo on the principle that if she must fight it was betterto get in the first blow. 

The morning on which this argument took place Dale was a long time incatching the horses. When he did come in he shook his head seriously. 

"Some varmint's been chasin' the horses, " he said, as he reached for hissaddle. "Did you hear them snortin' an' runnin' last night?"

Neither of the girls had been awakened. 

"I missed one of the colts, " went on Dale, "an' I'm goin' to ride acrossthe park. "

Dale's movements were quick and stern. It was significant that he chosehis heavier rifle, and, mounting, with a sharp call to Pedro, he rodeoff without another word to the girls. 

Bo watched him for a moment and then began to saddle the mustang. 

"You won't follow him?" asked Helen, quickly. 

"I sure will, " replied Bo. "He didn't forbid it. "

"But he certainly did not want us. "

"He might not want you, but I'll bet he wouldn't object to me, whatever's up, " said Bo, shortly. 

"Oh! So you think--" exclaimed Helen, keenly hurt. She bit her tongue tokeep back a hot reply. And it was certain that a bursting gush of angerflooded over her. Was she, then, such a coward? Did Dale think thisslip of a sister, so wild and wilful, was a stronger woman than she? Amoment's silent strife convinced her that no doubt he thought so andno doubt he was right. Then the anger centered upon herself, and Helenneither understood nor trusted herself. 

The outcome proved an uncontrollable impulse. Helen began to saddle herhorse. She had the task half accomplished when Bo's call made her lookup. 

"Listen!"

Helen heard a ringing, wild bay of the hound. 

"That's Pedro, " she said, with a thrill. 

"Sure. He's running. We never heard him bay like that before. "

"Where's Dale?"

"He rode out of sight across there, " replied Bo, pointing. "And Pedro'srunning toward us along that slope. He must be a mile--two miles fromDale. "

"But Dale will follow. "

"Sure. But he'd need wings to get near that hound now. Pedro couldn'thave gone across there with him. .. Just listen. "

The wild note of the hound manifestly stirred Bo to irrepressibleaction. Snatching up Dale's lighter rifle, she shoved it into hersaddle-sheath, and, leaping on the mustang, she ran him over brush andbrook, straight down the park toward the place Pedro was climbing. Foran instant Helen stood amazed beyond speech. When Bo sailed over a biglog, like a steeple-chaser, then Helen answered to further unconsideredimpulse by frantically getting her saddle fastened. Without coat or hatshe mounted. The nervous horse bolted almost before she got into thesaddle. A strange, trenchant trembling coursed through all her veins. She wanted to scream for Bo to wait. Bo was out of sight, but the deep, muddy tracks in wet places and the path through the long grass affordedHelen an easy trail to follow. In fact, her horse needed no guiding. Heran in and out of the straggling spruces along the edge of the park, andsuddenly wheeled around a corner of trees to come upon the gray mustangstanding still. Bo was looking up and listening. 

"There he is!" cried Bo, as the hound bayed ringingly, closer to themthis time, and she spurred away. 

Helen's horse followed without urging. He was excited. His ears were up. Something was in the wind. Helen had never ridden along this broken endof the park, and Bo was not easy to keep up with. She led across bogs, brooks, swales, rocky little ridges, through stretches of timber andgroves of aspen so thick Helen could scarcely squeeze through. ThenBo came out into a large open offshoot of the park, right under themountain slope, and here she sat, her horse watching and listening. Helen rode up to her, imagining once that she had heard the hound. 

"Look! Look!" Bo's scream made her mustang stand almost straight up. 

Helen gazed up to see a big brown bear with a frosted coat go lumberingacross an opening on the slope. 

"It's a grizzly! He'll kill Pedro! Oh, where is Dale!" cried Bo, withintense excitement. 

"Bo! That bear is running down! We--we must get--out of his road, "panted Helen, in breathless alarm. 

"Dale hasn't had time to be close. .. . Oh, I wish he'd come! I don't knowwhat to do. "

"Ride back. At least wait for him. "

Just then Pedro spoke differently, in savage barks, and following thatcame a loud growl and crashings in the brush. These sounds appeared tobe not far up the slope. 

"Nell! Do you hear? Pedro's fighting the bear, " burst out Bo. Her facepaled, her eyes flashed like blue steel. "The bear 'll kill him!"

"Oh, that would be dreadful!" replied Helen, in distress. "But what onearth can we do?"

"HEL-LO, DALE!" called Bo, at the highest pitch of her piercing voice. 

No answer came. A heavy crash of brush, a rolling of stones, anothergrowl from the slope told Helen that the hound had brought the bear tobay. 

"Nell, I'm going up, " said Bo, deliberately. 

"No-no! Are you mad?" returned Helen. 

"The bear will kill Pedro. "

"He might kill you. "

"You ride that way and yell for Dale, " rejoined Bo. 

"What will--you do?" gasped Helen. 

"I'll shoot at the bear--scare him off. If he chases me he can't catchme coming downhill. Dale said that. "

"You're crazy!" cried Helen, as Bo looked up the slope, searching foropen ground. Then she pulled the rifle from its sheath. 

But Bo did not hear or did not care. She spurred the mustang, and he, wild to run, flung grass and dirt from his heels. What Helen would havedone then she never knew, but the fact was that her horse bolted afterthe mustang. In an instant, seemingly, Bo had disappeared in the goldand green of the forest slope. Helen's mount climbed on a run, snortingand heaving, through aspens, brush, and timber, to come out into anarrow, long opening extending lengthwise up the slope. 

A sudden prolonged crash ahead alarmed Helen and halted her horse. Shesaw a shaking of aspens. Then a huge brown beast leaped as a cat out ofthe woods. It was a bear of enormous size. Helen's heart stopped--hertongue clove to the roof of her mouth. The bear turned. His mouth wasopen, red and dripping. He looked shaggy, gray. He let out a terriblebawl. Helen's every muscle froze stiff. Her horse plunged high andsidewise, wheeling almost in the air, neighing his terror. Like a stoneshe dropped from the saddle. She did not see the horse break into thewoods, but she heard him. Her gaze never left the bear even while shewas falling, and it seemed she alighted in an upright position with herback against a bush. It upheld her. The bear wagged his huge head fromside to side. Then, as the hound barked close at hand, he turned to runheavily uphill and out of the opening. 

The instant of his disappearance was one of collapse for Helen. Frozenwith horror, she had been unable to move or feel or think. All at onceshe was a quivering mass of cold, helpless flesh, wet with perspiration, sick with a shuddering, retching, internal convulsion, her mindliberated from paralyzing shock. The moment was as horrible as thatin which the bear had bawled his frightful rage. A stark, icy, blackemotion seemed in possession of her. She could not lift a hand, yet allof her body appeared shaking. There was a fluttering, a strangling inher throat. The crushing weight that surrounded her heart eased beforeshe recovered use of her limbs. Then, the naked and terrible thing wasgone, like a nightmare giving way to consciousness. What blessed relief!Helen wildly gazed about her. The bear and hound were out of sight, andso was her horse. She stood up very dizzy and weak. Thought of Bo thenseemed to revive her, to shock different life and feeling throughout allher cold extremities. She listened. 

She heard a thudding of hoofs down the slope, then Dale's clear, strongcall. She answered. It appeared long before he burst out of the woods, riding hard and leading her horse. In that time she recovered fully, and when he reached her, to put a sudden halt upon the fiery Ranger, shecaught the bridle he threw and swiftly mounted her horse. The feel ofthe saddle seemed different. Dale's piercing gray glance thrilled herstrangely. 

"You're white. Are you hurt?" he said. 

"No. I was scared. "

"But he threw you?"

"Yes, he certainly threw me. "

"What happened?"

"We heard the hound and we rode along the timber. Then we saw thebear--a monster--white--coated--"

"I know. It's a grizzly. He killed the colt--your pet. Hurry now. Whatabout Bo?"

"Pedro was fighting the bear. Bo said he'd be killed. She rode right uphere. My horse followed. I couldn't have stopped him. But we lost Bo. Right there the bear came out. He roared. My horse threw me and ran off. Pedro's barking saved me--my life, I think. Oh! that was awful! Then thebear went up--there. .. . And you came. "

"Bo's followin' the hound!" ejaculated Dale. And, lifting his hands tohis mouth, he sent out a stentorian yell that rolled up the slope, rangagainst the cliffs, pealed and broke and died away. Then he waited, listening. From far up the slope came a faint, wild cry, high-pitchedand sweet, to create strange echoes, floating away to die in theravines. 

"She's after him!" declared Dale, grimly. 

"Bo's got your rifle, " said Helen. "Oh, we must hurry. "

"You go back, " ordered Dale, wheeling his horse. 

"No!" Helen felt that word leave her lips with the force of a bullet. 

Dale spurred Ranger and took to the open slope. Helen kept at his heelsuntil timber was reached. Here a steep trail led up. Dale dismounted. 

"Horse tracks--bear tracks--dog tracks, " he said, bending over. "We'llhave to walk up here. It'll save our horses an' maybe time, too. "

"Is Bo riding up there?" asked Helen, eying the steep ascent. 

"She sure is. " With that Dale started up, leading his horse. Helenfollowed. It was rough and hard work. She was lightly clad, yet soon shewas hot, laboring, and her heart began to hurt. When Dale halted torest Helen was just ready to drop. The baying of the hound, thoughinfrequent, inspirited her. But presently that sound was lost. Dale saidbear and hound had gone over the ridge and as soon as the top was gainedhe would hear them again. 

"Look there, " he said, presently, pointing to fresh tracks, larger thanthose made by Bo's mustang. "Elk tracks. We've scared a big bull an'he's right ahead of us. Look sharp an' you'll see him. "

Helen never climbed so hard and fast before, and when they reached theridge-top she was all tuckered out. It was all she could do to get onher horse. Dale led along the crest of this wooded ridge toward thewestern end, which was considerably higher. In places open rocky groundsplit the green timber. Dale pointed toward a promontory. 

Helen saw a splendid elk silhouetted against the sky. He was a lightgray over all his hindquarters, with shoulders and head black. Hisponderous, wide-spread antlers towered over him, adding to the wildnessof his magnificent poise as he stood there, looking down into thevalley, no doubt listening for the bay of the hound. When he heardDale's horse he gave one bound, gracefully and wonderfully carrying hisantlers, to disappear in the green. 

Again on a bare patch of ground Dale pointed down. Helen saw big roundtracks, toeing in a little, that gave her a chill. She knew these weregrizzly tracks. 

Hard riding was not possible on this ridge crest, a fact that gave Helentime to catch her breath. At length, coming out upon the very summitof the mountain, Dale heard the hound. Helen's eyes feasted afar upona wild scene of rugged grandeur, before she looked down on this westernslope at her feet to see bare, gradual descent, leading down to sparselywooded bench and on to deep-green canuon. 

"Ride hard now!" yelled Dale. "I see Bo, an' I'll have to ride to catchher. "

Dale spurred down the slope. Helen rode in his tracks and, though sheplunged so fast that she felt her hair stand up with fright, she saw himdraw away from her. Sometimes her horse slid on his haunches for afew yards, and at these hazardous moments she got her feet out of thestirrups so as to fall free from him if he went down. She let him choosethe way, while she gazed ahead at Dale, and then farther on, in the hopeof seeing Bo. At last she was rewarded. Far Down the wooded bench shesaw a gray flash of the little mustang and a bright glint of Bo's hair. Her heart swelled. Dale would soon overhaul Bo and come between her andperil. And on the instant, though Helen was unconscious of it then, a remarkable change came over her spirit. Fear left her. And a hot, exalting, incomprehensible something took possession of her. 

She let the horse run, and when he had plunged to the foot of that slopeof soft ground he broke out across the open bench at a pace that madethe wind bite Helen's cheeks and roar in her ears. She lost sight ofDale. It gave her a strange, grim exultance. She bent her eager gaze tofind the tracks of his horse, and she found them. Also she made out thetracks of Bo's mustang and the bear and the hound. Her horse, scentinggame, perhaps, and afraid to be left alone, settled into a fleet andpowerful stride, sailing over logs and brush. That open bench had lookedshort, but it was long, and Helen rode down the gradual descent atbreakneck speed. She would not be left behind. She had awakened to aheedlessness of risk. Something burned steadily within her. A grim, hardanger of joy! When she saw, far down another open, gradual descent, thatDale had passed Bo and that Bo was riding the little mustang as neverbefore, then Helen flamed with a madness to catch her, to beat her inthat wonderful chase, to show her and Dale what there really was in thedepths of Helen Rayner. 

Her ambition was to be short-lived, she divined from the lay of the landahead, but the ride she lived then for a flying mile was something thatwould always blanch her cheeks and prick her skin in remembrance. 

The open ground was only too short. That thundering pace soon broughtHelen's horse to the timber. Here it took all her strength to check hisheadlong flight over deadfalls and between small jack-pines. Helen lostsight of Bo, and she realized it would take all her wits to keep fromgetting lost. She had to follow the trail, and in some places it washard to see from horseback. 

Besides, her horse was mettlesome, thoroughly aroused, and he wanted afree rein and his own way. Helen tried that, only to lose the trail andto get sundry knocks from trees and branches. She could not hear thehound, nor Dale. The pines were small, close together, and tough. Theywere hard to bend. Helen hurt her hands, scratched her face, barked herknees. The horse formed a habit suddenly of deciding to go the way heliked instead of the way Helen guided him, and when he plunged betweensaplings too close to permit easy passage it was exceedingly hard onher. That did not make any difference to Helen. Once worked into afrenzy, her blood stayed at high pressure. She did not argue withherself about a need of desperate hurry. Even a blow on the head thatnearly blinded her did not in the least retard her. The horse couldhardly be held, and not at all in the few open places. 

At last Helen reached another slope. Coming out upon canuon rim, sheheard Dale's clear call, far down, and Bo's answering peal, high andpiercing, with its note of exultant wildness. Helen also heard the bearand the hound fighting at the bottom of this canuon. 

Here Helen again missed the tracks made by Dale and Bo. The descentlooked impassable. She rode back along the rim, then forward. Finallyshe found where the ground had been plowed deep by hoofs, down overlittle banks. Helen's horse balked at these jumps. When she goaded himover them she went forward on his neck. It seemed like riding straightdownhill. The mad spirit of that chase grew more stingingly keen toHelen as the obstacles grew. Then, once more the bay of the hound andthe bawl of the bear made a demon of her horse. He snorted a shrilldefiance. He plunged with fore hoofs in the air. He slid and broke a waydown the steep, soft banks, through the thick brush and thick clustersof saplings, sending loose rocks and earth into avalanches ahead of him. He fell over one bank, but a thicket of aspens upheld him so that herebounded and gained his feet. The sounds of fight ceased, but Dale'sthrilling call floated up on the pine-scented air. 

Before Helen realized it she was at the foot of the slope, in a narrowcanuon-bed, full of rocks and trees, with a soft roar of running waterfilling her ears. Tracks were everywhere, and when she came to the firstopen place she saw where the grizzly had plunged off a sandy bar intothe water. Here he had fought Pedro. Signs of that battle were easy toread. Helen saw where his huge tracks, still wet, led up the oppositesandy bank. 

Then down-stream Helen did some more reckless and splendid riding. Onlevel ground the horse was great. Once he leaped clear across the brook. Every plunge, every turn Helen expected to come upon Dale and Bo facingthe bear. The canuon narrowed, the stream-bed deepened. She had to slowdown to get through the trees and rocks. Quite unexpectedly she rodepell-mell upon Dale and Bo and the panting Pedro. Her horse plunged to ahalt, answering the shrill neighs of the other horses. 

Dale gazed in admiring amazement at Helen. 

"Say, did you meet the bear again?" he queried, blankly. 

"No. Didn't--you--kill him?" panted Helen, slowly sagging in her saddle. 

"He got away in the rocks. Rough country down here. "

Helen slid off her horse and fell with a little panting cry of relief. She saw that she was bloody, dirty, disheveled, and wringing wet withperspiration. Her riding habit was torn into tatters. Every muscleseemed to burn and sting, and all her bones seemed broken. But it wasworth all this to meet Dale's penetrating glance, to see Bo's utter, incredulous astonishment. 

"Nell--Rayner!" gasped Bo. 

"If--my horse 'd been--any good--in the woods, " panted Helen, "I'd notlost--so much time--riding down this mountain. And I'd caught you--beatyou. "

"Girl, did you RIDE down this last slope?" queried Dale. 

"I sure did, " replied Helen, smiling. 

"We walked every step of the way, and was lucky to get down at that, "responded Dale, gravely. "No horse should have been ridden down there. Why, he must have slid down. "

"We slid--yes. But I stayed on him. "

Bo's incredulity changed to wondering, speechless admiration. And Dale'srare smile changed his gravity. 

"I'm sorry. It was rash of me. I thought you'd go back. .. . But all'swell that ends well. .. . Helen, did you wake up to-day?"

She dropped her eyes, not caring to meet the questioning gaze upon her. 

"Maybe--a little, " she replied, and she covered her face with her hands. Remembrance of his questions--of his assurance that she did not knowthe real meaning of life--of her stubborn antagonism--made her somehowashamed. But it was not for long. 

"The chase was great, " she said. "I did not know myself. You wereright. "

"In how many ways did you find me right?" he asked. 

"I think all--but one, " she replied, with a laugh and a shudder. "I'mnear starved NOW--I was so furious at Bo that I could have choked her. Ifaced that horrible brute. .. . Oh, I know what it is to fear death!. .. Iwas lost twice on the ride--absolutely lost. That's all. "

Bo found her tongue. "The last thing was for you to fall wildly in love, wasn't it?"

"According to Dale, I must add that to my new experiences ofto-day--before I can know real life, " replied Helen, demurely. 

The hunter turned away. "Let us go, " he said, soberly. 

CHAPTER XIII

After more days of riding the grassy level of that wonderfully goldand purple park, and dreamily listening by day to the ever-low andever-changing murmur of the waterfall, and by night to the wild, lonelymourn of a hunting wolf, and climbing to the dizzy heights where thewind stung sweetly, Helen Rayner lost track of time and forgot herperil. 

Roy Beeman did not return. If occasionally Dale mentioned Roy and hisquest, the girls had little to say beyond a recurrent anxiety for theold uncle, and then they forgot again. Paradise Park, lived in a littlewhile at that season of the year, would have claimed any one, and everafterward haunted sleeping or waking dreams. 

Bo gave up to the wild life, to the horses and rides, to the many pets, and especially to the cougar, Tom. The big cat followed her everywhere, played with her, rolling and pawing, kitten-like, and he would layhis massive head in her lap to purr his content. Bo had little fear ofanything, and here in the wilds she soon lost that. 

Another of Dale's pets was a half-grown black bear named Muss. He wasabnormally jealous of little Bud and he had a well-developed hatredof Tom, otherwise he was a very good-tempered bear, and enjoyed Dale'simpartial regard. Tom, however, chased Muss out of camp whenever Dale'sback was turned, and sometimes Muss stayed away, shifting for himself. With the advent of Bo, who spent a good deal of time on the animals, Muss manifestly found the camp more attractive. Whereupon, Dalepredicted trouble between Tom and Muss. 

Bo liked nothing better than a rough-and-tumble frolic with the blackbear. Muss was not very big nor very heavy, and in a wrestling bout withthe strong and wiry girl he sometimes came out second best. It spokewell of him that he seemed to be careful not to hurt Bo. He never bitor scratched, though he sometimes gave her sounding slaps with his paws. Whereupon, Bo would clench her gauntleted fists and sail into him inearnest. 

One afternoon before the early supper they always had, Dale and Helenwere watching Bo teasing the bear. She was in her most vixenish mood, full of life and fight. Tom lay his long length on the grass, watchingwith narrow, gleaming eyes. 

When Bo and Muss locked in an embrace and went down to roll over andover, Dale called Helen's attention to the cougar. 

"Tom's jealous. It's strange how animals are like people. Pretty soonI'll have to corral Muss, or there'll be a fight. "

Helen could not see anything wrong with Tom except that he did not lookplayful. 

During supper-time both bear and cougar disappeared, though this was notremarked until afterward. Dale whistled and called, but the rival petsdid not return. Next morning Tom was there, curled up snugly at the footof Bo's bed, and when she arose he followed her around as usual. ButMuss did not return. 

The circumstance made Dale anxious. He left camp, taking Tom with him, and upon returning stated that he had followed Muss's track as far aspossible, and then had tried to put Tom on the trail, but the cougarwould not or could not follow it. Dale said Tom never liked a beartrail, anyway, cougars and bears being common enemies. So, whether byaccident or design, Bo lost one of her playmates. 

The hunter searched some of the slopes next day and even went up on oneof the mountains. He did not discover any sign of Muss, but he said hehad found something else. 

"Bo you girls want some more real excitement?" he asked. 

Helen smiled her acquiescence and Bo replied with one of her forcefulspeeches. 

"Don't mind bein' good an' scared?" he went on. 

"You can't scare me, " bantered Bo. But Helen looked doubtful. 

"Up in one of the parks I ran across one of my horses--a lame bay youhaven't seen. Well, he had been killed by that old silvertip. The one wechased. Hadn't been dead over an hour. Blood was still runnin' an' onlya little meat eaten. That bear heard me or saw me an' made off into thewoods. But he'll come back to-night. I'm goin' up there, lay for him, an' kill him this time. Reckon you'd better go, because I don't want toleave you here alone at night. "

"Are you going to take Tom?" asked Bo. 

"No. The bear might get his scent. An', besides, Tom ain't reliable onbears. I'll leave Pedro home, too. "

When they had hurried supper, and Dale had gotten in the horses, the sunhad set and the valley was shadowing low down, while the ramparts werestill golden. The long zigzag trail Dale followed up the slope tooknearly an hour to climb, so that when that was surmounted and he ledout of the woods twilight had fallen. A rolling park extended as far asHelen could see, bordered by forest that in places sent out stragglingstretches of trees. Here and there, like islands, were isolated patchesof timber. 

At ten thousand feet elevation the twilight of this clear and cold nightwas a rich and rare atmospheric effect. It looked as if it was seenthrough perfectly clear smoked glass. Objects were singularly visible, even at long range, and seemed magnified. In the west, where theafterglow of sunset lingered over the dark, ragged, spruce-spearedhorizon-line, there was such a transparent golden line melting intovivid star-fired blue that Helen could only gaze and gaze in wonderingadmiration. 

Dale spurred his horse into a lope and the spirited mounts of the girlskept up with him. The ground was rough, with tufts of grass growingclose together, yet the horses did not stumble. Their action andsnorting betrayed excitement. Dale led around several clumps of timber, up a long grassy swale, and then straight westward across an open flattoward where the dark-fringed forest-line raised itself wild and clearagainst the cold sky. The horses went swiftly, and the wind cut like ablade of ice. Helen could barely get her breath and she panted as if shehad just climbed a laborsome hill. The stars began to blink out of theblue, and the gold paled somewhat, and yet twilight lingered. It seemedlong across that flat, but really was short. Coming to a thin line oftrees that led down over a slope to a deeper but still isolated patchof woods, Dale dismounted and tied his horse. When the girls got off hehaltered their horses also. 

"Stick close to me an' put your feet down easy, " he whispered. How talland dark he loomed in the fading light! Helen thrilled, as she had oftenof late, at the strange, potential force of the man. Stepping softly, without the least sound, Dale entered this straggly bit of woods, whichappeared to have narrow byways and nooks. Then presently he came tothe top of a well-wooded slope, dark as pitch, apparently. But as Helenfollowed she perceived the trees, and they were thin dwarf spruce, partly dead. The slope was soft and springy, easy to step upon withoutnoise. Dale went so cautiously that Helen could not hear him, andsometimes in the gloom she could not see him. Then the chill thrills ranover her. Bo kept holding on to Helen, which fact hampered Helen aswell as worked somewhat to disprove Bo's boast. At last level ground wasreached. Helen made out a light-gray background crossed by black bars. Another glance showed this to be the dark tree-trunks against the openpark. 

Dale halted, and with a touch brought Helen to a straining pause. He waslistening. It seemed wonderful to watch him bend his head and stand assilent and motionless as one of the dark trees. 

"He's not there yet, " Dale whispered, and he stepped forward veryslowly. Helen and Bo began to come up against thin dead branches thatwere invisible and then cracked. Then Dale knelt down, seemed to meltinto the ground. 

"You'll have to crawl, " he whispered. 

How strange and thrilling that was for Helen, and hard work! The groundbore twigs and dead branches, which had to be carefully crawled over;and lying flat, as was necessary, it took prodigious effort to drag herbody inch by inch. Like a huge snake, Dale wormed his way along. 

Gradually the wood lightened. They were nearing the edge of the park. Helen now saw a strip of open with a high, black wall of spruce beyond. The afterglow flashed or changed, like a dimming northern light, andthen failed. Dale crawled on farther to halt at length between twotree-trunks at the edge of the wood. 

"Come up beside me, " he whispered. 

Helen crawled on, and presently Bo was beside her panting, with paleface and great, staring eyes, plain to be seen in the wan light. 

"Moon's comin' up. We're just in time. The old grizzly's not there yet, but I see coyotes. Look. "

Dale pointed across the open neck of park to a dim blurred patchstanding apart some little distance from the black wall. 

"That's the dead horse, " whispered Dale. "An' if you watch close you cansee the coyotes. They're gray an' they move. .. . Can't you hear them?"

Helen's excited ears, so full of throbs and imaginings, presentlyregistered low snaps and snarls. Bo gave her arm a squeeze. 

"I hear them. They're fighting. Oh, gee!" she panted, and drew a long, full breath of unutterable excitement. 

"Keep quiet now an' watch an' listen, " said the hunter. 

Slowly the black, ragged forest-line seemed to grow blacker and lift;slowly the gray neck of park lightened under some invisible influence;slowly the stars paled and the sky filled over. Somewhere the moon wasrising. And slowly that vague blurred patch grew a little clearer. 

Through the tips of the spruce, now seen to be rather close at hand, shone a slender, silver crescent moon, darkening, hiding, shining again, climbing until its exquisite sickle-point topped the trees, and then, magically, it cleared them, radiant and cold. While the eastern blackwall shaded still blacker, the park blanched and the border-lineopposite began to stand out as trees. 

"Look! Look!" cried Bo, very low and fearfully, as she pointed. 

"Not so loud, " whispered Dale. 

"But I see something!"

"Keep quiet, " he admonished. 

Helen, in the direction Bo pointed, could not see anything butmoon-blanched bare ground, rising close at hand to a little ridge. 

"Lie still, " whispered Dale. "I'm goin' to crawl around to get a lookfrom another angle. I'll be right back. "

He moved noiselessly backward and disappeared. With him gone, Helen felta palpitating of her heart and a prickling of her skin. 

"Oh, my! Nell! Look!" whispered Bo, in fright. "I know I saw something. "

On top of the little ridge a round object moved slowly, getting fartherout into the light. Helen watched with suspended breath. It moved outto be silhouetted against the sky--apparently a huge, round, bristlinganimal, frosty in color. One instant it seemed huge--the nextsmall--then close at hand--and far away. It swerved to come directlytoward them. Suddenly Helen realized that the beast was not a dozenyards distant. She was just beginning a new experience--a realand horrifying terror in which her blood curdled, her heart gave atremendous leap and then stood still, and she wanted to fly, but wasrooted to the spot--when Dale returned to her side. 

"That's a pesky porcupine, " he whispered. "Almost crawled over you. Hesure would have stuck you full of quills. "

Whereupon he threw a stick at the animal. It bounced straight up to turnround with startling quickness, and it gave forth a rattling sound; thenit crawled out of sight. 

"Por--cu--pine!" whispered Bo, pantingly. "It might--as well--havebeen--an elephant!"

Helen uttered a long, eloquent sigh. She would not have cared todescribe her emotions at sight of a harmless hedgehog. 

"Listen!" warned Dale, very low. His big hand closed over Helen'sgauntleted one. "There you have--the real cry of the wild. "

Sharp and cold on the night air split the cry of a wolf, distant, yetwonderfully distinct. How wild and mournful and hungry! How marvelouslypure! Helen shuddered through all her frame with the thrill of itsmusic, the wild and unutterable and deep emotions it aroused. Againa sound of this forest had pierced beyond her life, back into the dimremote past from which she had come. 

The cry was not repeated. The coyotes were still. And silence fell, absolutely unbroken. 

Dale nudged Helen, and then reached over to give Bo a tap. He waspeering keenly ahead and his strained intensity could be felt. Helenlooked with all her might and she saw the shadowy gray forms of thecoyotes skulk away, out of the moonlight into the gloom of the woods, where they disappeared. Not only Dale's intensity, but the very silence, the wildness of the moment and place, seemed fraught with wonderfulpotency. Bo must have felt it, too, for she was trembling all over, andholding tightly to Helen, and breathing quick and fast. 

"A-huh!" muttered Dale, under his breath. 

Helen caught the relief and certainty in his exclamation, and shedivined, then, something of what the moment must have been to a hunter. 

Then her roving, alert glance was arrested by a looming gray shadowcoming out of the forest. It moved, but surely that huge thing could notbe a bear. It passed out of gloom into silver moonlight. Helen's heartbounded. For it was a great frosty-coated bear lumbering along towardthe dead horse. Instinctively Helen's hand sought the arm of the hunter. It felt like iron under a rippling surface. The touch eased away theoppression over her lungs, the tightness of her throat. What must havebeen fear left her, and only a powerful excitement remained. A sharpexpulsion of breath from Bo and a violent jerk of her frame were signsthat she had sighted the grizzly. 

In the moonlight he looked of immense size, and that wild park withthe gloomy blackness of forest furnished a fit setting for him. Helen'squick mind, so taken up with emotion, still had a thought for the wonderand the meaning of that scene. She wanted the bear killed, yet thatseemed a pity. 

He had a wagging, rolling, slow walk which took several moments to reachhis quarry. When at length he reached it he walked around with sniffsplainly heard and then a cross growl. Evidently he had discovered thathis meal had been messed over. As a whole the big bear could be seendistinctly, but only in outline and color. The distance was perhaps twohundred yards. Then it looked as if he had begun to tug at the carcass. Indeed, he was dragging it, very slowly, but surely. 

"Look at that!" whispered Dale. "If he ain't strong!. .. Reckon I'll haveto stop him. "

The grizzly, however, stopped of his own accord, just outside of theshadow-line of the forest. Then he hunched in a big frosty heap over hisprey and began to tear and rend. 

"Jess was a mighty good horse, " muttered Dale, grimly; "too good to makea meal for a hog silvertip. "

Then the hunter silently rose to a kneeling position, swinging therifle in front of him. He glanced up into the low branches of the treeoverhead. 

"Girls, there's no tellin' what a grizzly will do. If I yell, you climbup in this tree, an' do it quick. "

With that he leveled the rifle, resting his left elbow on his knee. Thefront end of the rifle, reaching out of the shade, shone silver in themoonlight. Man and weapon became still as stone. Helen held her breath. But Dale relaxed, lowering the barrel. 

"Can't see the sights very well, " he whispered, shaking his head. "Remember, now--if I yell you climb!"

Again he aimed and slowly grew rigid. Helen could not take herfascinated eyes off him. He knelt, bareheaded, and in the shadow shecould make out the gleam of his clear-cut profile, stern and cold. 

A streak of fire and a heavy report startled her. Then she heard thebullet hit. Shifting her glance, she saw the bear lurch with convulsiveaction, rearing on his hind legs. Loud clicking snaps must have been aclashing of his jaws in rage. But there was no other sound. Then againDale's heavy gun boomed. Helen heard again that singular spatting thudof striking lead. The bear went down with a flop as if he had been dealta terrific blow. But just as quickly he was up on all-fours and beganto whirl with hoarse, savage bawls of agony and fury. His action quicklycarried him out of the moonlight into the shadow, where he disappeared. There the bawls gave place to gnashing snarls, and crashings in thebrush, and snapping of branches, as he made his way into the forest. 

"Sure he's mad, " said Dale, rising to his feet. "An' I reckon hard hit. But I won't follow him to-night. "

Both the girls got up, and Helen found she was shaky on her feet andvery cold. 

"Oh-h, wasn't--it--won-wonder-ful!" cried Bo. 

"Are you scared? Your teeth are chatterin', " queried Dale. 

"I'm--cold. "

"Well, it sure is cold, all right, " he responded. "Now the fun's over, you'll feel it. .. . Nell, you're froze, too?"

Helen nodded. She was, indeed, as cold as she had ever been before. Butthat did not prevent a strange warmness along her veins and a quickenedpulse, the cause of which she did not conjecture. 

"Let's rustle, " said Dale, and led the way out of the wood and skirtedits edge around to the slope. There they climbed to the flat, and wentthrough the straggling line of trees to where the horses were tethered. 

Up here the wind began to blow, not hard through the forest, but stillstrong and steady out in the open, and bitterly cold. Dale helped Bo tomount, and then Helen. 

"I'm--numb, " she said. "I'll fall off--sure. "

"No. You'll be warm in a jiffy, " he replied, "because we'll ride somegoin' back. Let Ranger pick the way an' you hang on. "

With Ranger's first jump Helen's blood began to run. Out he shot, hislean, dark head beside Dale's horse. The wild park lay clear and brightin the moonlight, with strange, silvery radiance on the grass. Thepatches of timber, like spired black islands in a moon-blanched lake, seemed to harbor shadows, and places for bears to hide, ready to springout. As Helen neared each little grove her pulses shook and her heartbeat. Half a mile of rapid riding burned out the cold. And all seemedglorious--the sailing moon, white in a dark-blue sky, the white, passionless stars, so solemn, so far away, the beckoning fringe offorest-land at once mysterious and friendly, and the fleet horses, running with soft, rhythmic thuds over the grass, leaping the ditchesand the hollows, making the bitter wind sting and cut. Coming upthat park the ride had been long; going back was as short as it wasthrilling. In Helen, experiences gathered realization slowly, and itwas this swift ride, the horses neck and neck, and all the wildness andbeauty, that completed the slow, insidious work of years. The tearsof excitement froze on her cheeks and her heart heaved full. All thatpertained to this night got into her blood. It was only to feel, to livenow, but it could be understood and remembered forever afterward. 

Dale's horse, a little in advance, sailed over a ditch. Ranger made asplendid leap, but he alighted among some grassy tufts and fell. Helenshot over his head. She struck lengthwise, her arms stretched, and slidhard to a shocking impact that stunned her. 

Bo's scream rang in her ears; she felt the wet grass under her face andthen the strong hands that lifted her. Dale loomed over her, bendingdown to look into her face; Bo was clutching her with frantic hands. AndHelen could only gasp. Her breast seemed caved in. The need to breathewas torture. 

"Nell!--you're not hurt. You fell light, like a feather. All grasshere. .. . You can't be hurt!" said Dale, sharply. 

His anxious voice penetrated beyond her hearing, and his strong handswent swiftly over her arms and shoulders, feeling for broken bones. 

"Just had the wind knocked out of you, " went on Dale. "It feels awful, but it's nothin'. "

Helen got a little air, that was like hot pin-points in her lungs, andthen a deeper breath, and then full, gasping respiration. 

"I guess--I'm not hurt--not a bit, " she choked out. 

"You sure had a header. Never saw a prettier spill. Ranger doesn't dothat often. I reckon we were travelin' too fast. But it was fun, don'tyou think?"

It was Bo who answered. "Oh, glorious!. .. But, gee! I was scared. "

Dale still held Helen's hands. She released them while looking up athim. The moment was realization for her of what for days had been avague, sweet uncertainty, becoming near and strange, disturbing andpresent. This accident had been a sudden, violent end to the wonderfulride. But its effect, the knowledge of what had got into her blood, would never change. And inseparable from it was this man of the forest. 

CHAPTER XIV

On the next morning Helen was awakened by what she imagined had been adream of some one shouting. With a start she sat up. The sunshine showedpink and gold on the ragged spruce line of the mountain rims. Bo was onher knees, braiding her hair with shaking hands, and at the same timetrying to peep out. 

And the echoes of a ringing cry were cracking back from the cliffs. Thathad been Dale's voice. 

"Nell! Nell! Wake up!" called Bo, wildly. "Oh, some one's come! Horsesand men!"

Helen got to her knees and peered out over Bo's shoulder. Dale, standingtall and striking beside the campfire, was waving his sombrero. Awaydown the open edge of the park came a string of pack-burros with mountedmen behind. In the foremost rider Helen recognized Roy Beeman. 

"That first one's Roy!" she exclaimed. "I'd never forget him on ahorse. .. . Bo, it must mean Uncle Al's come!"

"Sure! We're born lucky. Here we are safe and sound--and all this grandcamp trip. .. . Look at the cowboys. .. . LOOK! Oh, maybe this isn't great!"babbled Bo. 

Dale wheeled to see the girls peeping out. 

"It's time you're up!" he called. "Your uncle Al is here. "

For an instant after Helen sank back out of Dale's sight she sat thereperfectly motionless, so struck was she by the singular tone of Dale'svoice. She imagined that he regretted what this visiting cavalcade ofhorsemen meant--they had come to take her to her ranch in Pine. Helen'sheart suddenly began to beat fast, but thickly, as if muffled within herbreast. 

"Hurry now, girls, " called Dale. 

Bo was already out, kneeling on the flat stone at the little brook, splashing water in a great hurry. Helen's hands trembled so that shecould scarcely lace her boots or brush her hair, and she was long behindBo in making herself presentable. When Helen stepped out, a short, powerfully built man in coarse garb and heavy boots stood holding Bo'shands. 

"Wal, wal! You favor the Rayners, " he was saying, "I remember your dad, an' a fine feller he was. "

Beside them stood Dale and Roy, and beyond was a group of horses andriders. 

"Uncle, here comes Nell, " said Bo, softly. 

"Aw!" The old cattle-man breathed hard as he turned. 

Helen hurried. She had not expected to remember this uncle, but one lookinto the brown, beaming face, with the blue eyes flashing, yet sad, andshe recognized him, at the same instant recalling her mother. 

He held out his arms to receive her. 

"Nell Auchincloss all over again!" he exclaimed, in deep voice, as hekissed her. "I'd have knowed you anywhere!"

"Uncle Al!" murmured Helen. "I remember you--though I was only four. "

"Wal, wal, --that's fine, " he replied. "I remember you straddled my kneeonce, an' your hair was brighter--an' curly. It ain't neither now. .. . Sixteen years! An' you're twenty now? What a fine, broad-shouldered girlyou are! An', Nell, you're the handsomest Auchincloss I ever seen!"

Helen found herself blushing, and withdrew her hands from his as Roystepped forward to pay his respects. He stood bareheaded, lean and tall, with neither his clear eyes nor his still face, nor the proffered handexpressing anything of the proven quality of fidelity, of achievement, that Helen sensed in him. 

"Howdy, Miss Helen? Howdy, Bo?" he said. "You all both look fine an'brown. .. . I reckon I was shore slow rustlin' your uncle Al up here. ButI was figgerin' you'd like Milt's camp for a while. "

"We sure did, " replied Bo, archly. 

"Aw!" breathed Auchincloss, heavily. "Lemme set down. "

He drew the girls to the rustic seat Dale had built for them under thebig pine. 

"Oh, you must be tired! How--how are you?" asked Helen, anxiously. 

"Tired! Wal, if I am it's jest this here minit. When Joe Beeman rodein on me with thet news of you--wal, I jest fergot I was a worn-out oldhoss. Haven't felt so good in years. Mebbe two such young an' prettynieces will make a new man of me. "

"Uncle Al, you look strong and well to me, " said Bo. "And young, too, and--"

"Haw! Haw! Thet 'll do, " interrupted Al. "I see through you. What you'lldo to Uncle Al will be aplenty. .. . Yes, girls, I'm feelin' fine. Butstrange--strange! Mebbe thet's my joy at seein' you safe--safe when Ifeared so thet damned greaser Beasley--"

In Helen's grave gaze his face changed swiftly--and all the serriedyears of toil and battle and privation showed, with something that wasnot age, nor resignation, yet as tragic as both. 

"Wal, never mind him--now, " he added, slowly, and the warmer lightreturned to his face. "Dale--come here. "

The hunter stepped closer. 

"I reckon I owe you more 'n I can ever pay, " said Auchincloss, with anarm around each niece. 

"No, Al, you don't owe me anythin', " returned Dale, thoughtfully, as helooked away. 

"A-huh!" grunted Al. "You hear him, girls. .. . Now listen, you wildhunter. An' you girls listen. .. . Milt, I never thought you much good, 'cept for the wilds. But I reckon I'll have to swallow thet. I do. Comin' to me as you did--an' after bein' druv off--keepin' your councilan' savin' my girls from thet hold-up, wal, it's the biggest deal anyman ever did for me. .. . An' I'm ashamed of my hard feelin's, an' here'smy hand. "

"Thanks, Al, " replied Dale, with his fleeting smile, and he met theproffered hand. "Now, will you be makin' camp here?"

"Wal, no. I'll rest a little, an' you can pack the girls' outfit--thenwe'll go. Sure you're goin' with us?"

"I'll call the girls to breakfast, " replied Dale, and he moved awaywithout answering Auchincloss's query. 

Helen divined that Dale did not mean to go down to Pine with them, andthe knowledge gave her a blank feeling of surprise. Had she expected himto go?

"Come here, Jeff, " called Al, to one of his men. 

A short, bow-legged horseman with dusty garb and sun-bleached facehobbled forth from the group. He was not young, but he had a boyish grinand bright little eyes. Awkwardly he doffed his slouch sombrero. 

"Jeff, shake hands with my nieces, " said Al. "This 's Helen, an' yourboss from now on. An' this 's Bo, fer short. Her name was Nancy, butwhen she lay a baby in her cradle I called her Bo-Peep, an' the name'sstuck. .. . Girls, this here's my foreman, Jeff Mulvey, who's been with metwenty years. "

The introduction caused embarrassment to all three principals, particularly to Jeff. 

"Jeff, throw the packs an' saddles fer a rest, " was Al's order to hisforeman. 

"Nell, reckon you'll have fun bossin' thet outfit, " chuckled Al. "Noneof 'em's got a wife. Lot of scalawags they are; no women would havethem!"

"Uncle, I hope I'll never have to be their boss, " replied Helen. 

"Wal, you're goin' to be, right off, " declared Al. "They ain't a badlot, after all. An' I got a likely new man. "

With that he turned to Bo, and, after studying her pretty face, he asked, in apparently severe tone, "Did you send a cowboy namedCarmichael to ask me for a job?"

Bo looked quite startled. 

"Carmichael! Why, Uncle, I never heard that name before, " replied Bo, bewilderedly. 

"A-huh! Reckoned the young rascal was lyin', " said Auchincloss. "But Iliked the fellar's looks an' so let him stay. "

Then the rancher turned to the group of lounging riders. 

"Las Vegas, come here, " he ordered, in a loud voice. 

Helen thrilled at sight of a tall, superbly built cowboy reluctantlydetaching himself from the group. He had a red-bronze face, young like aboy's. Helen recognized it, and the flowing red scarf, and the swinginggun, and the slow, spur-clinking gait. No other than Bo's Las Vegascowboy admirer!

Then Helen flashed a look at Bo, which look gave her a delicious, almost irresistible desire to laugh. That young lady also recognized thereluctant individual approaching with flushed and downcast face. Helenrecorded her first experience of Bo's utter discomfiture. Bo turnedwhite then red as a rose. 

"Say, my niece said she never heard of the name Carmichael, " declaredAl, severely, as the cowboy halted before him. Helen knew her uncle hadthe repute of dealing hard with his men, but here she was reassured andpleased at the twinkle in his eye. 

"Shore, boss, I can't help thet, " drawled the cowboy. "It's good oldTexas stock. "

He did not appear shamefaced now, but just as cool, easy, clear-eyed, and lazy as the day Helen had liked his warm young face and intent gaze. 

"Texas! You fellars from the Pan Handle are always hollerin' Texas. I never seen thet Texans had any one else beat--say from Missouri, "returned Al, testily. 

Carmichael maintained a discreet silence, and carefully avoided lookingat the girls. 

"Wal, reckon we'll all call you Las Vegas, anyway, " continued therancher. "Didn't you say my niece sent you to me for a job?"

Whereupon Carmichael's easy manner vanished. 

"Now, boss, shore my memory's pore, " he said. "I only says--"

"Don't tell me thet. My memory's not p-o-r-e, " replied Al, mimickingthe drawl. "What you said was thet my niece would speak a good word foryou. "

Here Carmichael stole a timid glance at Bo, the result of which wasto render him utterly crestfallen. Not improbably he had taken Bo'sexpression to mean something it did not, for Helen read it as a minglingof consternation and fright. Her eyes were big and blazing; a red spotwas growing in each cheek as she gathered strength from his confusion. 

"Well, didn't you?" demanded Al. 

From the glance the old rancher shot from the cowboy to the others ofhis employ it seemed to Helen that they were having fun at Carmichael'sexpense. 

"Yes, sir, I did, " suddenly replied the cowboy. 

"A-huh! All right, here's my niece. Now see thet she speaks the goodword. "

Carmichael looked at Bo and Bo looked at him. Their glances werestrange, wondering, and they grew shy. Bo dropped hers. The cowboyapparently forgot what had been demanded of him. 

Helen put a hand on the old rancher's arm. 

"Uncle, what happened was my fault, " she said. "The train stopped at LasVegas. This young man saw us at the open window. He must have guessed wewere lonely, homesick girls, getting lost in the West. For he spoke tous--nice and friendly. He knew of you. And he asked, in what I tookfor fun, if we thought you would give him a job. And I replied, just totease Bo, that she would surely speak a good word for him. "

"Haw! Haw! So thet's it, " replied Al, and he turned to Bo with merryeyes. "Wal, I kept this here Las Vegas Carmichael on his say-so. Come onwith your good word, unless you want to see him lose his job. "

Bo did not grasp her uncle's bantering, because she was seriously gazingat the cowboy. But she had grasped something. 

"He--he was the first person--out West--to speak kindly to us, " shesaid, facing her uncle. 

"Wal, thet's a pretty good word, but it ain't enough, " responded Al. 

Subdued laughter came from the listening group. Carmichael shifted fromside to side. 

"He--he looks as if he might ride a horse well, " ventured Bo. 

"Best hossman I ever seen, " agreed Al, heartily. 

"And--and shoot?" added Bo, hopefully. 

"Bo, he packs thet gun low, like Jim Wilson an' all them Texasgun-fighters. Reckon thet ain't no good word. "

"Then--I'll vouch for him, " said Bo, with finality. 

"Thet settles it. " Auchincloss turned to the cowboy. "Las Vegas, you'rea stranger to us. But you're welcome to a place in the outfit an' I hopeyou won't never disappoint us. "

Auchincloss's tone, passing from jest to earnest, betrayed to Helen theold rancher's need of new and true men, and hinted of trying days tocome. 

Carmichael stood before Bo, sombrero in hand, rolling it round andround, manifestly bursting with words he could not speak. And the girllooked very young and sweet with her flushed face and shining eyes. Helen saw in the moment more than that little by-play of confusion. 

"Miss--Miss Rayner--I shore--am obliged, " he stammered, presently. 

"You're very welcome, " she replied, softly. "I--I got on the nexttrain, " he added. 

When he said that Bo was looking straight at him, but she seemed not tohave heard. 

"What's your name?" suddenly she asked. 

"Carmichael. "

"I heard that. But didn't uncle call you Las Vegas?"

"Shore. But it wasn't my fault. Thet cow-punchin' outfit saddled it onme, right off. They Don't know no better. Shore I jest won't answer tothet handle. .. . Now--Miss Bo--my real name is Tom. "

"I simply could not call you--any name but Las Vegas, " replied Bo, verysweetly. 

"But--beggin' your pardon--I--I don't like thet, " blustered Carmichael. 

"People often get called names--they don't like, " she said, with deepintent. 

The cowboy blushed scarlet. Helen as well as he got Bo's inference tothat last audacious epithet he had boldly called out as the train wasleaving Las Vegas. She also sensed something of the disaster in storefor Mr. Carmichael. Just then the embarrassed young man was saved byDale's call to the girls to come to breakfast. 

That meal, the last for Helen in Paradise Park, gave rise to a strangeand inexplicable restraint. She had little to say. Bo was in the highestspirits, teasing the pets, joking with her uncle and Roy, and evenpoking fun at Dale. The hunter seemed somewhat somber. Roy was his usualdry, genial self. And Auchincloss, who sat near by, was an interestedspectator. When Tom put in an appearance, lounging with his feline graceinto the camp, as if he knew he was a privileged pet, the rancher couldscarcely contain himself. 

"Dale, it's thet damn cougar!" he ejaculated. 

"Sure, that's Tom. "

"He ought to be corralled or chained. I've no use for cougars, "protested Al. 

"Tom is as tame an' safe as a kitten. "

"A-huh! Wal, you tell thet to the girls if you like. But not me! I'm anold hoss, I am. "

"Uncle Al, Tom sleeps curled up at the foot of my bed, " said Bo. 

"Aw--what?"

"Honest Injun, " she responded. "Well, isn't it so?"

Helen smilingly nodded her corroboration. Then Bo called Tom to her andmade him lie with his head on his stretched paws, right beside her, andbeg for bits to eat. 

"Wal! I'd never have believed thet!" exclaimed Al, shaking his big head. "Dale, it's one on me. I've had them big cats foller me on the trails, through the woods, moonlight an' dark. An' I've heard 'em let out thetawful cry. They ain't any wild sound on earth thet can beat a cougar's. Does this Tom ever let out one of them wails?"

"Sometimes at night, " replied Dale. 

"Wal, excuse me. Hope you don't fetch the yaller rascal down to Pine. "

"I won't. "

"What'll you do with this menagerie?"

Dale regarded the rancher attentively. "Reckon, Al, I'll take care ofthem. "

"But you're goin' down to my ranch. "

"What for?"

Al scratched his head and gazed perplexedly at the hunter. "Wal, ain'tit customary to visit friends?"

"Thanks, Al. Next time I ride down Pine way--in the spring, perhaps--I'll run over an' see how you are. "

"Spring!" ejaculated Auchincloss. Then he shook his head sadly and afar-away look filmed his eyes. "Reckon you'd call some late. "

"Al, you'll get well now. These, girls--now--they'll cure you. Reckon Inever saw you look so good. "

Auchincloss did not press his point farther at that time, but after themeal, when the other men came to see Dale's camp and pets, Helen's quickears caught the renewal of the subject. 

"I'm askin' you--will you come?" Auchincloss said, low and eagerly. 

"No. I wouldn't fit in down there, " replied Dale. 

"Milt, talk sense. You can't go on forever huntin' bear an' tamin'cats, " protested the old rancher. 

"Why not?" asked the hunter, thoughtfully. 

Auchincloss stood up and, shaking himself as if to ward off his testytemper, he put a hand on Dale's arm. 

"One reason is you're needed in Pine. "

"How? Who needs me?"

"I do. I'm playin' out fast. An' Beasley's my enemy. The ranch an' all Igot will go to Nell. Thet ranch will have to be run by a man an' HELDby a man. Do you savvy? It's a big job. An' I'm offerin' to make you myforeman right now. "

"Al, you sort of take my breath, " replied Dale. "An' I'm sure grateful. But the fact is, even if I could handle the job, I--I don't believe I'dwant to. "

"Make yourself want to, then. Thet 'd soon come. You'd get interested. This country will develop. I seen thet years ago. The government isgoin' to chase the Apaches out of here. Soon homesteaders will beflockin' in. Big future, Dale. You want to get in now. An'--"

Here Auchincloss hesitated, then spoke lower:

"An' take your chance with the girl!. .. I'll be on your side. "

A slight vibrating start ran over Dale's stalwart form. 

"Al--you're plumb dotty!" he exclaimed. 

"Dotty! Me? Dotty!" ejaculated Auchincloss. Then he swore. "In a minitI'll tell you what you are. "

"But, Al, that talk's so--so--like an old fool's. "

"Huh! An' why so?"

"Because that--wonderful girl would never look at me, " Dale replied, simply. 

"I seen her lookin' already, " declared Al, bluntly. 

Dale shook his head as if arguing with the old rancher was hopeless. 

"Never mind thet, " went on Al. "Mebbe I am a dotty old fool--'speciallyfor takin' a shine to you. But I say again--will you come down to Pineand be my foreman?"

"No, " replied Dale. 

"Milt, I've no son--an' I'm--afraid of Beasley. " This was uttered in anagitated whisper. 

"Al, you make me ashamed, " said Dale, hoarsely. "I can't come. I've nonerve. "

"You've no what?"

"Al, I don't know what's wrong with me. But I'm afraid I'd find out if Icame down there. "

"A-huh! It's the girl!"

"I don't know, but I'm afraid so. An' I won't come. "

"Aw yes, you will--"

Helen rose with beating heart and tingling ears, and moved away out ofhearing. She had listened too long to what had not been intended for herears, yet she could not be sorry. She walked a few rods along the brook, out from under the pines, and, standing in the open edge of the park, she felt the beautiful scene still her agitation. The followingmoments, then, were the happiest she had spent in Paradise Park, and theprofoundest of her whole life. 

Presently her uncle called her. 

"Nell, this here hunter wants to give you thet black hoss. An' I say youtake him. "

"Ranger deserves better care than I can give him, " said Dale. "He runsfree in the woods most of the time. I'd be obliged if she'd have him. An' the hound, Pedro, too. "

Bo swept a saucy glance from Dale to her sister. 

"Sure she'll have Ranger. Just offer him to ME!"

Dale stood there expectantly, holding a blanket in his hand, ready tosaddle the horse. Carmichael walked around Ranger with that appraisingeye so keen in cowboys. 

"Las Vegas, do you know anything about horses?" asked Bo. 

"Me! Wal, if you ever buy or trade a hoss you shore have me there, "replied Carmichael. 

"What do you think of Ranger?" went on Bo. 

"Shore I'd buy him sudden, if I could. "

"Mr. Las Vegas, you're too late, " asserted Helen, as she advanced to laya hand on the horse. 

"Ranger is mine. "

Dale smoothed out the blanket and, folding it, he threw it over thehorse; and then with one powerful swing he set the saddle in place. 

"Thank you very much for him, " said Helen, softly. 

"You're welcome, an' I'm sure glad, " responded Dale, and then, after afew deft, strong pulls at the straps, he continued. "There, he's readyfor you. "

With that he laid an arm over the saddle, and faced Helen as she stoodpatting and smoothing Ranger. Helen, strong and calm now, in femininepossession of her secret and his, as well as her composure, lookedfrankly and steadily at Dale. He seemed composed, too, yet the bronze ofhis fine face was a trifle pale. 

"But I can't thank you--I'll never be able to repay you--for yourservice to me and my sister, " said Helen. 

"I reckon you needn't try, " Dale returned. "An' my service, as you callit, has been good for me. "

"Are you going down to Pine with us?"

"No. "

"But you will come soon?"

"Not very soon, I reckon, " he replied, and averted his gaze. 

"When?"

"Hardly before spring. "

"Spring?. .. That is a long time. Won't you come to see me sooner thanthat?"

"If I can get down to Pine. "

"You're the first friend I've made in the West, " said Helen, earnestly. 

"You'll make many more--an' I reckon soon forget him you called the manof the forest. "

"I never forget any of my friends. And you've been the--the biggestfriend I ever had. "

"I'll be proud to remember. "

"But will you remember--will you promise to come to Pine?"

"I reckon. "

"Thank you. All's well, then. .. . My friend, goodby. "

"Good-by, " he said, clasping her hand. His glance was clear, warm, beautiful, yet it was sad. 

Auchincloss's hearty voice broke the spell. Then Helen saw that theothers were mounted. Bo had ridden up close; her face was earnestand happy and grieved all at once, as she bade good-by to Dale. Thepack-burros were hobbling along toward the green slope. Helen was thelast to mount, but Roy was the last to leave the hunter. Pedro camereluctantly. 

It was a merry, singing train which climbed that brown odorous trail, under the dark spruces. Helen assuredly was happy, yet a pang abided inher breast. 

She remembered that half-way up the slope there was a turn in the trailwhere it came out upon an open bluff. The time seemed long, but at lastshe got there. And she checked Ranger so as to have a moment's gaze downinto the park. 

It yawned there, a dark-green and bright-gold gulf, asleep under awestering sun, exquisite, wild, lonesome. Then she saw Dale standing inthe open space between the pines and the spruces. He waved to her. Andshe returned the salute. 

Roy caught up with her then and halted his horse. He waved his sombreroto Dale and let out a piercing yell that awoke the sleeping echoes, splitting strangely from cliff to cliff. 

"Shore Milt never knowed what it was to be lonesome, " said Roy, as ifthinking aloud. "But he'll know now. "

Ranger stepped out of his own accord and, turning off the ledge, enteredthe spruce forest. Helen lost sight of Paradise Park. For hours thenshe rode along a shady, fragrant trail, seeing the beauty of color andwildness, hearing the murmur and rush and roar of water, but all thewhile her mind revolved the sweet and momentous realization which hadthrilled her--that the hunter, this strange man of the forest, so deeplyversed in nature and so unfamiliar with emotion, aloof and simple andstrong like the elements which had developed him, had fallen in lovewith her and did not know it. 

CHAPTER XV

Dale stood with face and arm upraised, and he watched Helen ride off theledge to disappear in the forest. That vast spruce slope seemed to haveswallowed her. She was gone! Slowly Dale lowered his arm with gestureexpressive of a strange finality, an eloquent despair, of which he wasunconscious. 

He turned to the park, to his camp, and the many duties of a hunter. Thepark did not seem the same, nor his home, nor his work. 

"I reckon this feelin's natural, " he soliloquized, resignedly, "but it'ssure queer for me. That's what comes of makin' friends. Nell an' Bo, now, they made a difference, an' a difference I never knew before. "

He calculated that this difference had been simply one ofresponsibility, and then the charm and liveliness of the companionshipof girls, and finally friendship. These would pass now that the causeswere removed. 

Before he had worked an hour around camp he realized a change had come, but it was not the one anticipated. Always before he had put his mind onhis tasks, whatever they might be; now he worked while his thoughts werestrangely involved. 

The little bear cub whined at his heels; the tame deer seemed to regardhim with deep, questioning eyes, the big cougar padded softly here andthere as if searching for something. 

"You all miss them--now--I reckon, " said Dale. "Well, they're gone an'you'll have to get along with me. "

Some vague approach to irritation with his pets surprised him. Presentlyhe grew both irritated and surprised with himself--a state of mindtotally unfamiliar. Several times, as old habit brought momentaryabstraction, he found himself suddenly looking around for Helen andBo. And each time the shock grew stronger. They were gone, but theirpresence lingered. After his camp chores were completed he went over topull down the lean-to which the girls had utilized as a tent. The spruceboughs had dried out brown and sear; the wind had blown the roof awry;the sides were leaning in. As there was now no further use forthis little habitation, he might better pull it down. Dale did notacknowledge that his gaze had involuntarily wandered toward it manytimes. Therefore he strode over with the intention of destroying it. 

For the first time since Roy and he had built the lean-to he steppedinside. Nothing was more certain than the fact that he experienced astrange sensation, perfectly incomprehensible to him. The blanketslay there on the spruce boughs, disarranged and thrown back by hurriedhands, yet still holding something of round folds where the slenderforms had nestled. A black scarf often worn by Bo lay covering thepillow of pine-needles; a red ribbon that Helen had worn on her hairhung from a twig. These articles were all that had been forgotten. Dalegazed at them attentively, then at the blankets, and all around thefragrant little shelter; and he stepped outside with an uncomfortableknowledge that he could not destroy the place where Helen and Bo hadspent so many hours. 

Whereupon, in studious mood, Dale took up his rifle and strode out tohunt. His winter supply of venison had not yet been laid in. Actionsuited his mood; he climbed far and passed by many a watching buckto slay which seemed murder; at last he jumped one that was wild andbounded away. This he shot, and set himself a Herculean task in packingthe whole carcass back to camp. Burdened thus, he staggered under thetrees, sweating freely, many times laboring for breath, aching withtoil, until at last he had reached camp. There he slid the deer carcassoff his shoulders, and, standing over it, he gazed down while his breastlabored. It was one of the finest young bucks he had ever seen. Butneither in stalking it, nor making a wonderful shot, nor in packing homea weight that would have burdened two men, nor in gazing down at hisbeautiful quarry, did Dale experience any of the old joy of the hunter. 

"I'm a little off my feed, " he mused, as he wiped sweat from his heatedface. "Maybe a little dotty, as I called Al. But that'll pass. "

Whatever his state, it did not pass. As of old, after a long day's hunt, he reclined beside the camp-fire and watched the golden sunset glowschange on the ramparts; as of old he laid a hand on the soft, furry headof the pet cougar; as of old he watched the gold change to red and thento dark, and twilight fall like a blanket; as of old he listened tothe dreamy, lulling murmur of the water fall. The old familiar beauty, wildness, silence, and loneliness were there, but the old content seemedstrangely gone. 

Soberly he confessed then that he missed the happy company of the girls. He did not distinguish Helen from Bo in his slow introspection. Whenhe sought his bed he did not at once fall to sleep. Always, after afew moments of wakefulness, while the silence settled down or the windmoaned through the pines, he had fallen asleep. This night he founddifferent. Though he was tired, sleep would not soon come. Thewilderness, the mountains, the park, the camp--all seemed to have lostsomething. Even the darkness seemed empty. And when at length Dale fellasleep it was to be troubled by restless dreams. 

Up with the keen-edged, steely-bright dawn, he went at the his taskswith the springy stride of the deer-stalker. 

At the end of that strenuous day, which was singularly full of the oldexcitement and action and danger, and of new observations, he was boundto confess that no longer did the chase suffice for him. 

Many times on the heights that day, with the wind keen in his face, andthe vast green billows of spruce below him, he had found that he wasgazing without seeing, halting without object, dreaming as he had neverdreamed before. 

Once, when a magnificent elk came out upon a rocky ridge and, whistlinga challenge to invisible rivals, stood there a target to stir anyhunter's pulse, Dale did not even raise his rifle. Into his ear justthen rang Helen's voice: "Milt Dale, you are no Indian. Giving yourselfto a hunter's wildlife is selfish. It is wrong. You love this lonelylife, but it is not work. Work that does not help others is not a realman's work. "

From that moment conscience tormented him. It was not what he loved, but what he ought to do, that counted in the sum of good achieved in theworld. Old Al Auchincloss had been right. Dale was wasting strength andintelligence that should go to do his share in the development of theWest. Now that he had reached maturity, if through his knowledge ofnature's law he had come to see the meaning of the strife of men forexistence, for place, for possession, and to hold them in contempt, thatwas no reason why he should keep himself aloof from them, from some workthat was needed in an incomprehensible world. 

Dale did not hate work, but he loved freedom. To be alone, to live withnature, to feel the elements, to labor and dream and idle and climband sleep unhampered by duty, by worry, by restriction, by the pettyinterests of men--this had always been his ideal of living. Cowboys, riders, sheep-herders, farmers--these toiled on from one place andone job to another for the little money doled out to them. Nothingbeautiful, nothing significant had ever existed in that for him. He hadworked as a boy at every kind of range-work, and of all that humdrumwaste of effort he had liked sawing wood best. Once he had quit a jobof branding cattle because the smell of burning hide, the bawl of theterrified calf, had sickened him. If men were honest there would be noneed to scar cattle. He had never in the least desired to own land anddroves of stock, and make deals with ranchmen, deals advantageous tohimself. Why should a man want to make a deal or trade a horse or do apiece of work to another man's disadvantage? Self-preservation was thefirst law of life. But as the plants and trees and birds and beastsinterpreted that law, merciless and inevitable as they were, they hadneither greed nor dishonesty. They lived by the grand rule of what wasbest for the greatest number. 

But Dale's philosophy, cold and clear and inevitable, like natureitself, began to be pierced by the human appeal in Helen Rayner's words. What did she mean? Not that he should lose his love of the wilderness, but that he realize himself! Many chance words of that girl had depth. He was young, strong, intelligent, free from taint of disease or thefever of drink. He could do something for others. Who? If that mattered, there, for instance, was poor old Mrs. Cass, aged and lame now; therewas Al Auchincloss, dying in his boots, afraid of enemies, and wistfulfor his blood and his property to receive the fruit of his labors; therewere the two girls, Helen and Bo, new and strange to the West, about tobe confronted by a big problem of ranch life and rival interests. Dalethought of still more people in the little village of Pine--of otherswho had failed, whose lives were hard, who could have been made happierby kindness and assistance. 

What, then, was the duty of Milt Dale to himself? Because men preyed onone another and on the weak, should he turn his back upon a so-calledcivilization or should he grow like them? Clear as a bell came theanswer that his duty was to do neither. And then he saw how the littlevillage of Pine, as well as the whole world, needed men like him. He hadgone to nature, to the forest, to the wilderness for his development;and all the judgments and efforts of his future would be a result ofthat education. 

Thus Dale, lying in the darkness and silence of his lonely park, arrivedat a conclusion that he divined was but the beginning of a struggle. 

It took long introspection to determine the exact nature of thatstruggle, but at length it evolved into the paradox that Helen Raynerhad opened his eyes to his duty as a man, that he accepted it, yet founda strange obstacle in the perplexing, tumultuous, sweet fear of evergoing near her again. 

Suddenly, then, all his thought revolved around the girl, and, thrownoff his balance, he weltered in a wilderness of unfamiliar strangeideas. 

When he awoke next day the fight was on in earnest. In his sleep hismind had been active. The idea that greeted him, beautiful as thesunrise, flashed in memory of Auchincloss's significant words, "Takeyour chance with the girl!"

The old rancher was in his dotage. He hinted of things beyond the rangeof possibility. That idea of a chance for Dale remained before hisconsciousness only an instant. Stars were unattainable; life couldnot be fathomed; the secret of nature did not abide alone on theearth--these theories were not any more impossible of proving than thatHelen Rayner might be for him. 

Nevertheless, her strange coming into his life had played havoc, theextent of which he had only begun to realize. 

For a month he tramped through the forest. It was October, a stillgolden, fulfilling season of the year; and everywhere in the vast darkgreen a glorious blaze of oak and aspen made beautiful contrast. Hecarried his rifle, but he never used it. He would climb miles and gothis way and that with no object in view. Yet his eye and ear hadnever been keener. Hours he would spend on a promontory, watchingthe distance, where the golden patches of aspen shone bright outof dark-green mountain slopes. He loved to fling himself down in anaspen-grove at the edge of a senaca, and there lie in that radiance likea veil of gold and purple and red, with the white tree-trunks stripingthe shade. Always, whether there were breeze or not, the aspen-leavesquivered, ceaselessly, wonderfully, like his pulses, beyond his control. Often he reclined against a mossy rock beside a mountain stream tolisten, to watch, to feel all that was there, while his mind held ahaunting, dark-eyed vision of a girl. On the lonely heights, like aneagle, he sat gazing down into Paradise Park, that was more and morebeautiful, but would never again be the same, never fill him withcontent, never be all and all to him. 

Late in October the first snow fell. It melted at once on the south sideof the park, but the north slopes and the rims and domes above stayedwhite. 

Dale had worked quick and hard at curing and storing his winter supplyof food, and now he spent days chopping and splitting wood to burnduring the months he would be snowed-in. He watched for the dark-gray, fast-scudding storm-clouds, and welcomed them when they came. Once therelay ten feet of snow on the trails he would be snowed-in until spring. It would be impossible to go down to Pine. And perhaps during the longwinter he would be cured of this strange, nameless disorder of hisfeelings. 

November brought storms up on the peaks. Flurries of snow fell inthe park every day, but the sunny south side, where Dale's camp lay, retained its autumnal color and warmth. Not till late in winter did thesnow creep over this secluded nook. 

The morning came at last, piercingly keen and bright, when Dale sawthat the heights were impassable; the realization brought him a poignantregret. He had not guessed how he had wanted to see Helen Rayner againuntil it was too late. That opened his eyes. A raging frenzy of actionfollowed, in which he only tired himself physically without helpinghimself spiritually. 

It was sunset when he faced the west, looking up at the pink snow-domesand the dark-golden fringe of spruce, and in that moment he found thetruth. 

"I love that girl! I love that girl!" he spoke aloud, to the distantwhite peaks, to the winds, to the loneliness and silence of his prison, to the great pines and to the murmuring stream, and to his faithfulpets. It was his tragic confession of weakness, of amazing truth, ofhopeless position, of pitiful excuse for the transformation wrought inhim. 

Dale's struggle ended there when he faced his soul. To understandhimself was to be released from strain, worry, ceaseless importuningdoubt and wonder and fear. But the fever of unrest, of uncertainty, hadbeen nothing compared to a sudden upflashing torment of love. 

With somber deliberation he set about the tasks needful, and othersthat he might make--his camp-fires and meals, the care of his pets andhorses, the mending of saddles and pack-harness, the curing of buckskinfor moccasins and hunting-suits. So his days were not idle. But all thiswork was habit for him and needed no application of mind. 

And Dale, like some men of lonely wilderness lives who did notretrograde toward the savage, was a thinker. Love made him a sufferer. 

The surprise and shame of his unconscious surrender, the certainhopelessness of it, the long years of communion with all that was wild, lonely, and beautiful, the wonderfully developed insight into nature'ssecrets, and the sudden-dawning revelation that he was no omniscientbeing exempt from the ruthless ordinary destiny of man--all these showedhim the strength of his manhood and of his passion, and that the lifehe had chosen was of all lives the one calculated to make love sad andterrible. 

Helen Rayner haunted him. In the sunlight there was not a placearound camp which did not picture her lithe, vigorous body, her dark, thoughtful eyes, her eloquent, resolute lips, and the smile that was sosweet and strong. At night she was there like a slender specter, pacingbeside him under the moaning pines. Every camp-fire held in its heartthe glowing white radiance of her spirit. 

Nature had taught Dale to love solitude and silence, but love itselftaught him their meaning. Solitude had been created for the eagle on hiscrag, for the blasted mountain fir, lonely and gnarled on its peak, forthe elk and the wolf. But it had not been intended for man. And tolive always in the silence of wild places was to become obsessed withself--to think and dream--to be happy, which state, however pursued byman, was not good for him. Man must be given imperious longings for theunattainable. 

It needed, then, only the memory of an unattainable woman to rendersolitude passionately desired by a man, yet almost unendurable. Dale wasalone with his secret; and every pine, everything in that park saw himshaken and undone. 

In the dark, pitchy deadness of night, when there was no wind and thecold on the peaks had frozen the waterfall, then the silence seemedinsupportable. Many hours that should have been given to slumber werepaced out under the cold, white, pitiless stars, under the lonely pines. 

Dale's memory betrayed him, mocked his restraint, cheated him ofany peace; and his imagination, sharpened by love, created pictures, fancies, feelings, that drove him frantic. 

He thought of Helen Rayner's strong, shapely brown hand. In a thousanddifferent actions it haunted him. How quick and deft in camp-fire tasks!how graceful and swift as she plaited her dark hair! how tender andskilful in its ministration when one of his pets had been injured! howeloquent when pressed tight against her breast in a moment of fear onthe dangerous heights! how expressive of unutterable things when laid onhis arm!

Dale saw that beautiful hand slowly creep up his arm, across hisshoulder, and slide round his neck to clasp there. He was powerless toinhibit the picture. And what he felt then was boundless, unutterable. No woman had ever yet so much as clasped his hand, and heretofore nosuch imaginings had ever crossed his mind, yet deep in him, somewherehidden, had been this waiting, sweet, and imperious need. In the brightday he appeared to ward off such fancies, but at night he was helpless. And every fancy left him weaker, wilder. 

When, at the culmination of this phase of his passion, Dale, whohad never known the touch of a woman's lips, suddenly yielded to theillusion of Helen Rayner's kisses, he found himself quite mad, filledwith rapture and despair, loving her as he hated himself. It seemed asif he had experienced all these terrible feelings in some former lifeand had forgotten them in this life. He had no right to think of her, but he could not resist it. Imagining the sweet surrender of her lipswas a sacrilege, yet here, in spite of will and honor and shame, he waslost. 

Dale, at length, was vanquished, and he ceased to rail at himself, orrestrain his fancies. He became a dreamy, sad-eyed, camp-fire gazer, like many another lonely man, separated, by chance or error, from whatthe heart hungered most for. But this great experience, when all itssignificance had clarified in his mind, immeasurably broadened hisunderstanding of the principles of nature applied to life. 

Love had been in him stronger than in most men, because of his keen, vigorous, lonely years in the forest, where health of mind and body wereintensified and preserved. How simple, how natural, how inevitable! Hemight have loved any fine-spirited, healthy-bodied girl. Like a treeshooting its branches and leaves, its whole entity, toward the sunlight, so had he grown toward a woman's love. Why? Because the thing he reveredin nature, the spirit, the universal, the life that was God, had createdat his birth or before his birth the three tremendous instincts ofnature--to fight for life, to feed himself, to reproduce his kind. Thatwas all there was to it. But oh! the mystery, the beauty, the torment, and the terror of this third instinct--this hunger for the sweetness andthe glory of a woman's love!

CHAPTER XVI

Helen Rayner dropped her knitting into her lap and sat pensively gazingout of the window over the bare yellow ranges of her uncle's ranch. 

The winter day was bright, but steely, and the wind that whipped downfrom the white-capped mountains had a keen, frosty edge. A scant snowlay in protected places; cattle stood bunched in the lee of ridges; lowsheets of dust scurried across the flats. 

The big living-room of the ranch-house was warm and comfortable with itsred adobe walls, its huge stone fireplace where cedar logs blazed, andits many-colored blankets. Bo Rayner sat before the fire, curled up inan armchair, absorbed in a book. On the floor lay the hound Pedro, hisracy, fine head stretched toward the warmth. 

"Did uncle call?" asked Helen, with a start out of her reverie. 

"I didn't hear him, " replied Bo. 

Helen rose to tiptoe across the floor, and, softly parting somecurtains, she looked into the room where her uncle lay. He was asleep. Sometimes he called out in his slumbers. For weeks now he had beenconfined to his bed, slowly growing weaker. With a sigh Helen returnedto her window-seat and took up her work. 

"Bo, the sun is bright, " she said. "The days are growing longer. I'm soglad. "

"Nell, you're always wishing time away. For me it passes quicklyenough, " replied the sister. 

"But I love spring and summer and fall--and I guess I hate winter, "returned Helen, thoughtfully. 

The yellow ranges rolled away up to the black ridges and they in turnswept up to the cold, white mountains. Helen's gaze seemed to go beyondthat snowy barrier. And Bo's keen eyes studied her sister's earnest, sadface. 

"Nell, do you ever think of Dale?" she queried, suddenly. 

The question startled Helen. A slow blush suffused neck and cheek. 

"Of course, " she replied, as if surprised that Bo should ask such athing. 

"I--I shouldn't have asked that, " said Bo, softly, and then bent againover her book. 

Helen gazed tenderly at that bright, bowed head. In this swift-flying, eventful, busy winter, during which the management of the ranch haddevolved wholly upon Helen, the little sister had grown away from her. Bo had insisted upon her own free will and she had followed it, tothe amusement of her uncle, to the concern of Helen, to the dismay andbewilderment of the faithful Mexican housekeeper, and to the undoing ofall the young men on the ranch. 

Helen had always been hoping and waiting for a favorable hour in whichshe might find this wilful sister once more susceptible to wise andloving influence. But while she hesitated to speak, slow footsteps and ajingle of spurs sounded without, and then came a timid knock. Bo lookedup brightly and ran to open the door. 

"Oh! It's only--YOU!" she uttered, in withering scorn, to the one whoknocked. 

Helen thought she could guess who that was. 

"How are you-all?" asked a drawling voice. 

"Well, Mister Carmichael, if that interests you--I'm quite ill, " repliedBo, freezingly. 

"Ill! Aw no, now?"

"It's a fact. If I don't die right off I'll have to be taken back toMissouri, " said Bo, casually. 

"Are you goin' to ask me in?" queried Carmichael, bluntly. "It'scold--an' I've got somethin' to say to--"

"To ME? Well, you're not backward, I declare, " retorted Bo. 

"Miss Rayner, I reckon it 'll be strange to you--findin' out I didn'tcome to see you. "

"Indeed! No. But what was strange was the deluded idea I had--that youmeant to apologize to me--like a gentleman. .. . Come in, Mr. Carmichael. My sister is here. "

The door closed as Helen turned round. Carmichael stood just inside withhis sombrero in hand, and as he gazed at Bo his lean face seemed hard. In the few months since autumn he had changed--aged, it seemed, and theonce young, frank, alert, and careless cowboy traits had merged into themaking of a man. Helen knew just how much of a man he really was. He hadbeen her mainstay during all the complex working of the ranch that hadfallen upon her shoulders. 

"Wal, I reckon you was deluded, all right--if you thought I'd crawl likethem other lovers of yours, " he said, with cool deliberation. 

Bo turned pale, and her eyes fairly blazed, yet even in what must havebeen her fury Helen saw amaze and pain. 

"OTHER lovers? I think the biggest delusion here is the way you flatteryourself, " replied Bo, stingingly. 

"Me flatter myself? Nope. You don't savvy me. I'm shore hatin' myselfthese days. "

"Small wonder. I certainly hate you--with all my heart!"

At this retort the cowboy dropped his head and did not see Bo flauntherself out of the room. But he heard the door close, and then slowlycame toward Helen. 

"Cheer up, Las Vegas, " said Helen, smiling. "Bo's hot-tempered. "

"Miss Nell, I'm just like a dog. The meaner she treats me the more Ilove her, " he replied, dejectedly. 

To Helen's first instinct of liking for this cowboy there had been addedadmiration, respect, and a growing appreciation of strong, faithful, developing character. Carmichael's face and hands were red and chappedfrom winter winds; the leather of wrist-bands, belt, and boots was allworn shiny and thin; little streaks of dust fell from him as he breathedheavily. He no longer looked the dashing cowboy, ready for a dance orlark or fight. 

"How in the world did you offend her so?" asked Helen. "Bo is furious. Inever saw her so angry as that. "

"Miss Nell, it was jest this way, " began Carmichael. "Shore Bo's knowedI was in love with her. I asked her to marry me an' she wouldn't sayyes or no. .. . An', mean as it sounds--she never run away from it, thet'sshore. We've had some quarrels--two of them bad, an' this last's theworst. "

"Bo told me about one quarrel, " said Helen. "It was--because youdrank--that time. "

"Shore it was. She took one of her cold spells an' I jest got drunk. "

"But that was wrong, " protested Helen. 

"I ain't so shore. You see, I used to get drunk often--before I comehere. An' I've been drunk only once. Back at Las Vegas the outfit wouldnever believe thet. Wal, I promised Bo I wouldn't do it again, an' I'vekept my word. "

"That is fine of you. But tell me, why is she angry now?"

"Bo makes up to all the fellars, " confessed Carmichael, hanging hishead. "I took her to the dance last week--over in the town-hall. Thet'sthe first time she'd gone anywhere with me. I shore was proud. .. . Butthet dance was hell. Bo carried on somethin' turrible, an' I--"

"Tell me. What did she do?" demanded Helen, anxiously. "I'm responsiblefor her. I've got to see that she behaves. "

"Aw, I ain't sayin' she didn't behave like a lady, " replied Carmichael. "It was--she--wal, all them fellars are fools over her--an' Bo wasn'ttrue to me. "

"My dear boy, is Bo engaged to you?"

"Lord--if she only was!" he sighed. 

"Then how can you say she wasn't true to you? Be reasonable. "

"I reckon now, Miss Nell, thet no one can be in love an' actreasonable, " rejoined the cowboy. "I don't know how to explain, but thefact is I feel thet Bo has played the--the devil with me an' all theother fellars. "

"You mean she has flirted?"

"I reckon. "

"Las Vegas, I'm afraid you're right, " said Helen, with growingapprehension. "Go on. Tell me what's happened. "

"Wal, thet Turner boy, who rides for Beasley, he was hot after Bo, "returned Carmichael, and he spoke as if memory hurt him. "Reckon I'veno use for Turner. He's a fine-lookin', strappin', big cow-puncher, an'calculated to win the girls. He brags thet he can, an' I reckon he'sright. Wal, he was always hangin' round Bo. An' he stole one of mydances with Bo. I only had three, an' he comes up to say this one washis; Bo, very innocent--oh, she's a cute one!--she says, 'Why, MisterTurner--is it really yours?' An' she looked so full of joy thet when hesays to me, 'Excoose us, friend Carmichael, ' I sat there like a locoedjackass an' let them go. But I wasn't mad at thet. He was a betterdancer than me an' I wanted her to have a good time. What started thehell was I seen him put his arm round her when it wasn't just time, accordin' to the dance, an' Bo--she didn't break any records gettin'away from him. She pushed him away--after a little--after I near died. Wal, on the way home I had to tell her. I shore did. An' she said whatI'd love to forget. Then--then, Miss Nell, I grabbed her--it was outsidehere by the porch an' all bright moonlight--I grabbed her an' hugged an'kissed her good. When I let her go I says, sorta brave, but I was plumbscared--I says, 'Wal, are you goin' to marry me now?'"

He concluded with a gulp, and looked at Helen with woe in his eyes. 

"Oh! What did Bo do?" breathlessly queried Helen. 

"She slapped me, " he replied. "An' then she says, I did like you best, but NOW I hate you!' An' she slammed the door in my face. "

"I think you made a great mistake, " said Helen, gravely. 

"Wal, if I thought so I'd beg her forgiveness. But I reckon I don't. What's more, I feel better than before. I'm only a cowboy an' never wasmuch good till I met her. Then I braced. I got to havin' hopes, studyin'books, an' you know how I've been lookin' into this ranchin' game. Istopped drinkin' an' saved my money. Wal, she knows all thet. Once shesaid she was proud of me. But it didn't seem to count big with her. An' if it can't count big I don't want it to count at all. I reckon themadder Bo is at me the more chance I've got. She knows I love her--thetI'd die for her--thet I'm a changed man. An' she knows I never beforethought of darin' to touch her hand. An' she knows she flirted withTurner. "

"She's only a child, " replied Helen. "And all this change--the West--thewildness--and you boys making much of her--why, it's turned her head. But Bo will come out of it true blue. She is good, loving. Her heart isgold. "

"I reckon I know, an' my faith can't be shook, " rejoined Carmichael, simply. "But she ought to believe thet she'll make bad blood outhere. The West is the West. Any kind of girls are scarce. An' one likeBo--Lord! we cowboys never seen none to compare with her. She'll makebad blood an' some of it will be spilled. "

"Uncle Al encourages her, " said Helen, apprehensively. "It tickles himto hear how the boys are after her. Oh, she doesn't tell him. But hehears. And I, who must stand in mother's place to her, what can I do?"

"Miss Nell, are you on my side?" asked the cowboy, wistfully. He wasstrong and elemental, caught in the toils of some power beyond him. 

Yesterday Helen might have hesitated at that question. But to-dayCarmichael brought some proven quality of loyalty, some strange depth ofrugged sincerity, as if she had learned his future worth. 

"Yes, I am, " Helen replied, earnestly. And she offered her hand. 

"Wal, then it 'll shore turn out happy, " he said, squeezing her hand. His smile was grateful, but there was nothing in it of the victory hehinted at. Some of his ruddy color had gone. "An' now I want to tell youwhy I come. "

He had lowered his voice. "Is Al asleep?" he whispered. 

"Yes, " replied Helen. "He was a little while ago. "

"Reckon I'd better shut his door. "

Helen watched the cowboy glide across the room and carefully close thedoor, then return to her with intent eyes. She sensed events in hislook, and she divined suddenly that he must feel as if he were herbrother. 

"Shore I'm the one thet fetches all the bad news to you, " he said, regretfully. 

Helen caught her breath. There had indeed been many little calamitiesto mar her management of the ranch--loss of cattle, horses, sheep--thedesertion of herders to Beasley--failure of freighters to arrivewhen most needed--fights among the cowboys--and disagreements overlong-arranged deals. 

"Your uncle Al makes a heap of this here Jeff Mulvey, " assertedCarmichael. 

"Yes, indeed. Uncle absolutely relies on Jeff, " replied Helen. 

"Wal, I hate to tell you, Miss Nell, " said the cowboy, bitterly, "thetMulvey ain't the man he seems. "

"Oh, what do you mean?"

"When your uncle dies Mulvey is goin' over to Beasley an' he's goin' totake all the fellars who'll stick to him. "

"Could Jeff be so faithless--after so many years my uncle's foreman? Oh, how do you know?"

"Reckon I guessed long ago. But wasn't shore. Miss Nell, there's alot in the wind lately, as poor old Al grows weaker. Mulvey has beenparticular friendly to me an' I've nursed him along, 'cept I wouldn'tdrink. An' his pards have been particular friends with me, too, morean' more as I loosened up. You see, they was shy of me when I first gothere. To-day the whole deal showed clear to me like a hoof track in softground. Bud Lewis, who's bunked with me, come out an' tried to win meover to Beasley--soon as Auchincloss dies. I palavered with Bud an' Iwanted to know. But Bud would only say he was goin' along with Jeff an'others of the outfit. I told him I'd reckon over it an' let him know. Hethinks I'll come round. "

"Why--why will these men leave me when--when--Oh, poor uncle! Theybargain on his death. But why--tell me why?"

"Beasley has worked on them--won them over, " replied Carmichael, grimly. "After Al dies the ranch will go to you. Beasley means to have it. Hean' Al was pards once, an' now Beasley has most folks here believin' hegot the short end of thet deal. He'll have papers--shore--an' he'll havemost of the men. So he'll just put you off an' take possession. Thet'sall, Miss Nell, an' you can rely on its bein' true. "

"I--I believe you--but I can't believe such--such robbery possible, "gasped Helen. 

"It's simple as two an' two. Possession is law out here. Once Beasleygets on the ground it's settled. What could you do with no men to fightfor your property?"

"But, surely, some of the men will stay with me?"

"I reckon. But not enough. "

"Then I can hire more. The Beeman boys. And Dale would come to help me. "

"Dale would come. An' he'd help a heap. I wish he was here, " repliedCarmichael, soberly. "But there's no way to get him. He's snowed-up tillMay. "

"I dare not confide in uncle, " said Helen, with agitation. "The shockmight kill him. Then to tell him of the unfaithfulness of his oldmen--that would be cruel. .. . Oh, it can't be so bad as you think. "

"I reckon it couldn't be no worse. An'--Miss Nell, there's only one wayto get out of it--an' thet's the way of the West. "

"How?" queried Helen, eagerly. 

Carmichael lunged himself erect and stood gazing down at her. He seemedcompletely detached now from that frank, amiable cowboy of her firstimpressions. The redness was totally gone from his face. Somethingstrange and cold and sure looked out of his eyes. 

"I seen Beasley go in the saloon as I rode past. Suppose I go downthere, pick a quarrel with him--an' kill him?"

Helen sat bolt-upright with a cold shock. 

"Carmichael! you're not serious?" she exclaimed. 

"Serious? I shore am. Thet's the only way, Miss Nell. An' I reckon it'swhat Al would want. An' between you an' me--it would be easier thanropin' a calf. These fellars round Pine don't savvy guns. Now, I comefrom where guns mean somethin'. An' when I tell you I can throw a gunslick an' fast, why I shore ain't braggin'. You needn't worry none aboutme, Miss Nell. "

Helen grasped that he had taken the signs of her shocked sensibilityto mean she feared for his life. But what had sickened her was the mereidea of bloodshed in her behalf. 

"You'd--kill Beasley--just because there are rumors of his--treachery?"gasped Helen. 

"Shore. It'll have to be done, anyhow, " replied the cowboy. 

"No! No! It's too dreadful to think of. Why, that would be murder. I--Ican't understand how you speak of it--so--so calmly. "

"Reckon I ain't doin' it calmly. I'm as mad as hell, " said Carmichael, with a reckless smile. 

"Oh, if you are serious then, I say no--no--no! I forbid you. I don'tbelieve I'll be robbed of my property. "

"Wal, supposin' Beasley does put you off--an' takes possession. What 'reyou goin' to say then?" demanded the cowboy, in slow, cool deliberation. 

"I'd say the same then as now, " she replied. 

He bent his head thoughtfully while his red hands smoothed his sombrero. 

"Shore you girls haven't been West very long, " he muttered, as ifapologizing for them. "An' I reckon it takes time to learn the ways of acountry. "

"West or no West, I won't have fights deliberately picked, and men shot, even if they do threaten me, " declared Helen, positively. 

"All right, Miss Nell, shore I respect your wishes, " he returned. "ButI'll tell you this. If Beasley turns you an' Bo out of your home--wal, I'll look him up on my own account. "

Helen could only gaze at him as he backed to the door, and she thrilledand shuddered at what seemed his loyalty to her, his love for Bo, andthat which was inevitable in himself. 

"Reckon you might save us all some trouble--now if you'd--just getmad--an' let me go after thet greaser. "

"Greaser! Do you mean Beasley?"

"Shore. He's a half-breed. He was born in Magdalena, where I heard folkssay nary one of his parents was no good. "

"That doesn't matter. I'm thinking of humanity of law and order. Of whatis right. "

"Wal, Miss Nell, I'll wait till you get real mad--or till Beasley--"

"But, my friend, I'll not get mad, " interrupted Helen. "I'll keep mytemper. "

"I'll bet you don't, " he retorted. "Mebbe you think you've none of Bo inyou. But I'll bet you could get so mad--once you started--thet you'dbe turrible. What 've you got them eyes for, Miss Nell, if you ain't anAuchincloss?"

He was smiling, yet he meant every word. Helen felt the truth assomething she feared. 

"Las Vegas, I won't bet. But you--you will always come to me--first--ifthere's trouble. "

"I promise, " he replied, soberly, and then went out. 

Helen found that she was trembling, and that there was a commotion inher breast. Carmichael had frightened her. No longer did she hold doubtof the gravity of the situation. She had seen Beasley often, severaltimes close at hand, and once she had been forced to meet him. That timehad convinced her that he had evinced personal interest in her. And onthis account, coupled with the fact that Riggs appeared to have nothingelse to do but shadow her, she had been slow in developing her intentionof organizing and teaching a school for the children of Pine. Riggs hadbecome rather a doubtful celebrity in the settlements. Yet his bold, apparent badness had made its impression. From all reports he spent histime gambling, drinking, and bragging. It was no longer news in Pinewhat his intentions were toward Helen Rayner. Twice he had ridden up tothe ranch-house, upon one occasion securing an interview with Helen. Inspite of her contempt and indifference, he was actually influencing herlife there in Pine. And it began to appear that the other man, Beasley, might soon direct stronger significance upon the liberty of her actions. 

The responsibility of the ranch had turned out to be a heavy burden. Itcould not be managed, at least by her, in the way Auchincloss wantedit done. He was old, irritable, irrational, and hard. Almost all theneighbors were set against him, and naturally did not take kindly toHelen. 

She had not found the slightest evidence of unfair dealing on the partof her uncle, but he had been a hard driver. Then his shrewd, far-seeingjudgment had made all his deals fortunate for him, which fact had notbrought a profit of friendship. 

Of late, since Auchincloss had grown weaker and less dominating, Helenhad taken many decisions upon herself, with gratifying and hopefulresults. But the wonderful happiness that she had expected to find inthe West still held aloof. The memory of Paradise Park seemed only adream, sweeter and more intangible as time passed, and fuller of vagueregrets. Bo was a comfort, but also a very considerable source ofanxiety. She might have been a help to Helen if she had not assimilatedWestern ways so swiftly. Helen wished to decide things in her own way, which was as yet quite far from Western. So Helen had been thrown moreand more upon her own resources, with the cowboy Carmichael the only onewho had come forward voluntarily to her aid. 

For an hour Helen sat alone in the room, looking out of the window, andfacing stern reality with a colder, graver, keener sense of intimacythan ever before. To hold her property and to live her life in thiscommunity according to her ideas of honesty, justice, and law might wellbe beyond her powers. To-day she had been convinced that she could notdo so without fighting for them, and to fight she must have friends. That conviction warmed her toward Carmichael, and a thoughtfulconsideration of all he had done for her proved that she had not fullyappreciated him. She would make up for her oversight. 

There were no Mormons in her employ, for the good reason thatAuchincloss would not hire them. But in one of his kindlier hours, growing rare now, he had admitted that the Mormons were the best and themost sober, faithful workers on the ranges, and that his sole objectionto them was just this fact of their superiority. Helen decided to hirethe four Beemans and any of their relatives or friends who would come;and to do this, if possible, without letting her uncle know. His tempernow, as well as his judgment, was a hindrance to efficiency. Thisdecision regarding the Beemans; brought Helen back to Carmichael'sfervent wish for Dale, and then to her own. 

Soon spring would be at hand, with its multiplicity of range tasks. Dalehad promised to come to Pine then, and Helen knew that promise would bekept. Her heart beat a little faster, in spite of her business-centeredthoughts. Dale was there, over the black-sloped, snowy-tipped mountain, shut away from the world. Helen almost envied him. No wonder he lovedloneliness, solitude, the sweet, wild silence and beauty of ParadisePark! But he was selfish, and Helen meant to show him that. She neededhis help. When she recalled his physical prowess with animals, andimagined what it must be in relation to men, she actually smiled at thethought of Beasley forcing her off her property, if Dale were there. Beasley would only force disaster upon himself. Then Helen experienceda quick shock. Would Dale answer to this situation as Carmichael hadanswered? It afforded her relief to assure herself to the contrary. The cowboy was one of a blood-letting breed; the hunter was a man ofthought, gentleness, humanity. This situation was one of the kind thathad made him despise the littleness of men. Helen assured herselfthat he was different from her uncle and from the cowboy, in all therelations of life which she had observed while with him. But a doubtlingered in her mind. She remembered his calm reference to Snake Anson, and that caused a recurrence of the little shiver Carmichael had givenher. When the doubt augmented to a possibility that she might not beable to control Dale, then she tried not to think of it any more. Itconfused and perplexed her that into her mind should flash a thoughtthat, though it would be dreadful for Carmichael to kill Beasley, forDale to do it would be a calamity--a terrible thing. Helen did notanalyze that strange thought. She was as afraid of it as she was of thestir in her blood when she visualized Dale. 

Her meditation was interrupted by Bo, who entered the room, rebellious-eyed and very lofty. Her manner changed, which apparentlyowed its cause to the fact that Helen was alone. 

"Is that--cowboy gone?" she asked. 

"Yes. He left quite some time ago, " replied Helen. 

"I wondered if he made your eyes shine--your color burn so. Nell, you'rejust beautiful. "

"Is my face burning?" asked Helen, with a little laugh. "So it is. Well, Bo, you've no cause for jealousy. Las Vegas can't be blamed for myblushes. "

"Jealous! Me? Of that wild-eyed, soft-voiced, two-faced cow-puncher? Iguess not, Nell Rayner. What 'd he say about me?"

"Bo, he said a lot, " replied Helen, reflectively. "I'll tell youpresently. First I want to ask you--has Carmichael ever told you howhe's helped me?"

"No! When I see him--which hasn't been often lately--he--I--Well, wefight. Nell, has he helped you?"

Helen smiled in faint amusement. She was going to be sincere, but shemeant to keep her word to the cowboy. The fact was that reflection hadacquainted her with her indebtedness to Carmichael. 

"Bo, you've been so wild to ride half-broken mustangs--and carry on withcowboys--and read--and sew--and keep your secrets that you've had notime for your sister or her troubles. "

"Nell!" burst out Bo, in amaze and pain. She flew to Helen and seizedher hands. "What 're you saying?"

"It's all true, " replied Helen, thrilling and softening. This sweetsister, once aroused, would be hard to resist. Helen imagined she shouldhold to her tone of reproach and severity. 

"Sure it's true, " cried Bo, fiercely. "But what's my fooling got to dowith the--the rest you said? Nell, are you keeping things from me?"

"My dear, I never get any encouragement to tell you my troubles. "

"But I've--I've nursed uncle--sat up with him--just the same as you, "said Bo, with quivering lips. 

"Yes, you've been good to him. "

"We've no other troubles, have we, Nell?"

"You haven't, but I have, " responded Helen, reproachfully. 

"Why--why didn't you tell me?" cried Bo, passionately. "What are they?Tell me now. You must think me a--a selfish, hateful cat. "

"Bo, I've had much to worry me--and the worst is yet to come, " repliedHelen. Then she told Bo how complicated and bewildering was themanagement of a big ranch--when the owner was ill, testy, defective inmemory, and hard as steel--when he had hoards of gold and notes, butcould not or would not remember his obligations--when the neighborranchers had just claims--when cowboys and sheep-herders werediscontented, and wrangled among themselves--when great herds of cattleand flocks of sheep had to be fed in winter--when supplies had to becontinually freighted across a muddy desert and lastly, when an enemyrancher was slowly winning away the best hands with the end in view ofdeliberately taking over the property when the owner died. Then Helentold how she had only that day realized the extent of Carmichael'sadvice and help and labor--how, indeed, he had been a brother toher--how--

But at this juncture Bo buried her face in Helen's breast and began tocry wildly. 

"I--I--don't want--to hear--any more, " she sobbed. 

"Well, you've got to hear it, " replied Helen, inexorably "I want you toknow how he's stood by me. "

"But I hate him. "

"Bo, I suspect that's not true. "

"I do--I do. "

"Well, you act and talk very strangely then. "

"Nell Rayner--are--you--you sticking up for that--that devil?"

"I am, yes, so far as it concerns my conscience, " rejoined Helen, earnestly. "I never appreciated him as he deserved--not until now. He'sa man, Bo, every inch of him. I've seen him grow up to that in threemonths. I'd never have gotten along without him. I think he's fine, manly, big. I--"

"I'll bet--he's made love--to you, too, " replied Bo, woefully. 

"Talk sense, " said Helen, sharply. "He has been a brother to me. But, Bo Rayner, if he HAD made love to me I--I might have appreciated it morethan you. "

Bo raised her face, flushed in part and also pale, with tear-wet cheeksand the telltale blaze in the blue eyes. 

"I've been wild about that fellow. But I hate him, too, " she said, withflashing spirit. "And I want to go on hating him. So don't tell me anymore. "

Whereupon Helen briefly and graphically related how Carmichael hadoffered to kill Beasley, as the only way to save her property, and how, when she refused, that he threatened he would do it anyhow. 

Bo fell over with a gasp and clung to Helen. 

"Oh--Nell! Oh, now I love him more than--ever, " she cried, in mingledrage and despair. 

Helen clasped her closely and tried to comfort her as in the old days, not so very far back, when troubles were not so serious as now. 

"Of course you love him, " she concluded. "I guessed that long ago. AndI'm glad. But you've been wilful--foolish. You wouldn't surrender to it. You wanted your fling with the other boys. You're--Oh, Bo, I fear youhave been a sad little flirt. "

"I--I wasn't very bad till--till he got bossy. Why, Nell, heacted--right off--just as if he OWNED me. But he didn't. .. . And to showhim--I--I really did flirt with that Turner fellow. Then he--he insultedme. .. . Oh, I hate him!"

"Nonsense, Bo. You can't hate any one while you love him, " protestedHelen. 

"Much you know about that, " flashed Bo. "You just can! Look here. Didyou ever see a cowboy rope and throw and tie up a mean horse?"

"Yes, I have. "

"Do you have any idea how strong a cowboy is--how his hands and arms arelike iron?"

"Yes, I'm sure I know that, too. "

"And how savage he is?"

"Yes. "

"And how he goes at anything he wants to do?"

"I must admit cowboys are abrupt, " responded Helen, with a smile. 

"Well, Miss Rayner, did you ever--when you were standing quiet like alady--did you ever have a cowboy dive at you with a terrible lunge--grabyou and hold you so you couldn't move or breathe or scream--hug youtill all your bones cracked--and kiss you so fierce and so hard that youwanted to kill him and die?"

Helen had gradually drawn back from this blazing-eyed, eloquent sister, and when the end of that remarkable question came it was impossible toreply. 

"There! I see you never had that done to you, " resumed Bo, withsatisfaction. "So don't ever talk to me. "

"I've heard his side of the story, " said Helen, constrainedly. 

With a start Bo sat up straighter, as if better to defend herself. 

"Oh! So you have? And I suppose you'll take his part--even aboutthat--that bearish trick. "

"No. I think that rude and bold. But, Bo, I don't believe he meant tobe either rude or bold. From what he confessed to me I gather that hebelieved he'd lose you outright or win you outright by that violence. Itseems girls can't play at love out here in this wild West. He said therewould be blood shed over you. I begin to realize what he meant. He'snot sorry for what he did. Think how strange that is. For he has theinstincts of a gentleman. He's kind, gentle, chivalrous. Evidently hehad tried every way to win your favor except any familiar advance. Hedid that as a last resort. In my opinion his motives were to force youto accept or refuse him, and in case you refused him he'd always havethose forbidden stolen kisses to assuage his self-respect--when hethought of Turner or any one else daring to be familiar with you. Bo, I see through Carmichael, even if I don't make him clear to you. You'vegot to be honest with yourself. Did that act of his win or lose you? Inother words, do you love him or not?"

Bo hid her face. 

"Oh, Nell! it made me see how I loved him--and that made me so--so sickI hated him. .. . But now--the hate is all gone. "

CHAPTER XVII

When spring came at last and the willows drooped green and fresh overthe brook and the range rang with bray of burro and whistle of stallion, old Al Auchincloss had been a month in his grave. 

To Helen it seemed longer. The month had been crowded with work, events, and growing, more hopeful duties, so that it contained a worldof living. The uncle had not been forgotten, but the innumerablerestrictions to development and progress were no longer manifest. Beasley had not presented himself or any claim upon Helen; and she, gathering confidence day by day, began to believe all that purport oftrouble had been exaggerated. 

In this time she had come to love her work and all that pertained to it. The estate was large. She had no accurate knowledge of how many acresshe owned, but it was more than two thousand. The fine, old, ramblingranch-house, set like a fort on the last of the foot-hills, corrals andfields and barns and meadows, and the rolling green range beyond, andinnumerable sheep, horses, cattle--all these belonged to Helen, to herever-wondering realization and ever-growing joy. Still, she was afraidto let herself go and be perfectly happy. Always there was the fear thathad been too deep and strong to forget so soon. 

This bright, fresh morning, in March, Helen came out upon the porch torevel a little in the warmth of sunshine and the crisp, pine-scentedwind that swept down from the mountains. There was never a morning thatshe did not gaze mountainward, trying to see, with a folly she realized, if the snow had melted more perceptibly away on the bold white ridge. For all she could see it had not melted an inch, and she wouldnot confess why she sighed. The desert had become green and fresh, stretching away there far below her range, growing dark and purple inthe distance with vague buttes rising. The air was full of sound--notesof blackbirds and the baas of sheep, and blasts from the corrals, andthe clatter of light hoofs on the court below. 

Bo was riding in from the stables. Helen loved to watch her on one ofthose fiery little mustangs, but the sight was likewise given to rousingapprehensions. This morning Bo appeared particularly bent on frighteningHelen. Down the lane Carmichael appeared, waving his arms, and Helenat once connected him with Bo's manifest desire to fly away from thatparticular place. Since that day, a month back, when Bo had confessedher love for Carmichael, she and Helen had not spoken of it or of thecowboy. The boy and girl were still at odds. But this did not worryHelen. Bo had changed much for the better, especially in that shedevoted herself to Helen and to her work. Helen knew that all wouldturn out well in the end, and so she had been careful of her ratherprecarious position between these two young firebrands. 

Bo reined in the mustang at the porch steps. She wore a buckskinriding-suit which she had made herself, and its soft gray with thetouches of red beads was mightily becoming to her. Then she had grownconsiderably during the winter and now looked too flashing and pretty toresemble a boy, yet singularly healthy and strong and lithe. Red spotsshone in her cheeks and her eyes held that ever-dangerous blaze. 

"Nell, did you give me away to that cowboy?" she demanded. 

"Give you away!" exclaimed Helen, blankly. 

"Yes. You know I told you--awhile back--that I was wildly in love withhim. Did you give me away--tell on me?"

She might have been furious, but she certainly was not confused. 

"Why, Bo! How could you? No. I did not, " replied Helen. 

"Never gave him a hint?"

"Not even a hint. You have my word for that. Why? What's happened?"

"He makes me sick. "

Bo would not say any more, owing to the near approach of the cowboy. 

"Mawnin', Miss Nell, " he drawled. "I was just tellin' this here MissBo-Peep Rayner--"

"Don't call me that!" broke in Bo, with fire in her voice. 

"Wal, I was just tellin' her thet she wasn't goin' off on any more ofthem long rides. Honest now, Miss Nell, it ain't safe, an'--"

"You're not my boss, " retorted Bo. 

"Indeed, sister, I agree with him. You won't obey me. "

"Reckon some one's got to be your boss, " drawled Carmichael. "Shore Iain't hankerin' for the job. You could ride to Kingdom Come or off amongthe Apaches--or over here a ways"--at this he grinned knowingly--"oranywheres, for all I cared. But I'm workin' for Miss Nell, an' she'sboss. An' if she says you're not to take them rides--you won't. Savvythat, miss?"

It was a treat for Helen to see Bo look at the cowboy. 

"Mis-ter Carmichael, may I ask how you are going to prevent me fromriding where I like?"

"Wal, if you're goin' worse locoed this way I'll keep you off'n a hossif I have to rope you an' tie you up. By golly, I will!"

His dry humor was gone and manifestly he meant what he said. 

"Wal, " she drawled it very softly and sweetly, but venomously, "if--you--ever--touch--me again!"

At this he flushed, then made a quick, passionate gesture with his hand, expressive of heat and shame. 

"You an' me will never get along, " he said, with a dignity full ofpathos. "I seen thet a month back when you changed sudden-like to me. But nothin' I say to you has any reckonin' of mine. I'm talkin' for yoursister. It's for her sake. An' your own. .. . I never told her an' I nevertold you thet I've seen Riggs sneakin' after you twice on them desertrides. Wal, I tell you now. "

The intelligence apparently had not the slightest effect on Bo. ButHelen was astonished and alarmed. 

"Riggs! Oh, Bo, I've seen him myself--riding around. He does not meanwell. You must be careful. "

"If I ketch him again, " went on Carmichael, with his mouth lining hard, "I'm goin' after him. "

He gave her a cool, intent, piercing look, then he dropped his head andturned away, to stride back toward the corrals. 

Helen could make little of the manner in which her sister watched thecowboy pass out of sight. 

"A month back--when I changed sudden-like, " mused Bo. "I wonder what hemeant by that. .. . Nell, did I change--right after the talk you had withme--about him?"

"Indeed you did, Bo, " replied Helen. "But it was for the better. Onlyhe can't see it. How proud and sensitive he is! You wouldn't guess itat first. Bo, your reserve has wounded him more than your flirting. Hethinks it's indifference. "

"Maybe that 'll be good for him, " declared Bo. "Does he expect me tofall on his neck? He's that thick-headed! Why, he's the locoed one, notme. "

"I'd like to ask you, Bo, if you've seen how he has changed?" queriedHelen, earnestly. "He's older. He's worried. Either his heart isbreaking for you or else he fears trouble for us. I fear it's both. Howhe watches you! Bo, he knows all you do--where you go. That about Riggssickens me. "

"If Riggs follows me and tries any of his four-flush desperado gameshe'll have his hands full, " said Bo, grimly. "And that without my cowboyprotector! But I just wish Riggs would do something. Then we'll see whatLas Vegas Tom Carmichael cares. Then we'll see!"

Bo bit out the last words passionately and jealously, then she liftedher bridle to the spirited mustang. 

"Nell, don't you fear for me, " she said. "I can take care of myself. "

Helen watched her ride away, all but willing to confess that theremight be truth in what Bo said. Then Helen went about her work, whichconsisted of routine duties as well as an earnest study to familiarizeherself with continually new and complex conditions of ranch life. Everyday brought new problems. She made notes of all that she observed, andall that was told her, which habit she had found, after a few weeks oftrial, was going to be exceedingly valuable to her. She did not intendalways to be dependent upon the knowledge of hired men, however faithfulsome of them might be. 

This morning on her rounds she had expected developments of some kind, owing to the presence of Roy Beeman and two of his brothers, who hadarrived yesterday. And she was to discover that Jeff Mulvey, accompaniedby six of his co-workers and associates, had deserted her without a wordor even sending for their pay. Carmichael had predicted this. Helen hadhalf doubted. It was a relief now to be confronted with facts, howeverdisturbing. She had fortified herself to withstand a great deal moretrouble than had happened. At the gateway of the main corral, a hugeinclosure fenced high with peeled logs, she met Roy Beeman, lasso inhand, the same tall, lean, limping figure she remembered so well. Sight of him gave her an inexplicable thrill--a flashing memory of anunforgettable night ride. Roy was to have charge of the horses on theranch, of which there were several hundred, not counting many lost onrange and mountain, or the unbranded colts. 

Roy took off his sombrero and greeted her. This Mormon had a courtesyfor women that spoke well for him. Helen wished she had more employeeslike him. 

"It's jest as Las Vegas told us it 'd be, " he said, regretfully. "Mulveyan' his pards lit out this mornin'. I'm sorry, Miss Helen. Reckon thet'sall because I come over. "

"I heard the news, " replied Helen. "You needn't be sorry, Roy, for I'mnot. I'm glad. I want to know whom I can trust. "

"Las Vegas says we're shore in for it now. "

"Roy, what do you think?"

"I reckon so. Still, Las Vegas is powerful cross these days an' alwayslookin' on the dark side. With us boys, now, it's sufficient unto theday is the evil thereof. But, Miss Helen, if Beasley forces the dealthere will be serious trouble. I've seen thet happen. Four or five yearsago Beasley rode some greasers off their farms an' no one ever knowed ifhe had a just claim. "

"Beasley has no claim on my property. My uncle solemnly swore that onhis death-bed. And I find nothing in his books or papers of those yearswhen he employed Beasley. In fact, Beasley was never uncle's partner. The truth is that my uncle took Beasley up when he was a poor, homelessboy. "

"So my old dad says, " replied Roy. "But what's right don't alwaysprevail in these parts. "

"Roy, you're the keenest man I've met since I came West. Tell me whatyou think will happen. "

Beeman appeared flattered, but he hesitated to reply. Helen had longbeen aware of the reticence of these outdoor men. 

"I reckon you mean cause an' effect, as Milt Dale would say, " respondedRoy, thoughtfully. 

"Yes. If Beasley attempts to force me off my ranch what will happen?"

Roy looked up and met her gaze. Helen remembered that singularstillness, intentness of his face. 

"Wal, if Dale an' John get here in time I reckon we can bluff thetBeasley outfit. "

"You mean my friends--my men would confront Beasley--refuse hisdemands--and if necessary fight him off?"

"I shore do, " replied Roy. 

"But suppose you're not all here? Beasley would be smart enough tochoose an opportune time. Suppose he did put me off and take possession?What then?"

"Then it 'd only be a matter of how soon Dale or Carmichael--or I--gotto Beasley. "

"Roy! I feared just that. It haunts me. Carmichael asked me to let himgo pick a fight with Beasley. Asked me, just as he would ask me abouthis work! I was shocked. And now you say Dale--and you--"

Helen choked in her agitation. 

"Miss Helen, what else could you look for? Las Vegas is in love withMiss Bo. Shore he told me so. An' Dale's in love with you!. .. Why, youcouldn't stop them any more 'n you could stop the wind from blowin' downa pine, when it got ready. .. . Now, it's some different with me. I'm aMormon an' I'm married. But I'm Dale's pard, these many years. An'I care a powerful sight for you an' Miss Bo. So I reckon I'd draw onBeasley the first chance I got. "

Helen strove for utterance, but it was denied her. Roy's simplestatement of Dale's love had magnified her emotion by completelychanging its direction. She forgot what she had felt wretched about. Shecould not look at Roy. 

"Miss Helen, don't feel bad, " he said, kindly. "Shore you're not toblame. Your comin' West hasn't made any difference in Beasley's fate, except mebbe to hurry it a little. My dad is old, an' when he talksit's like history. He looks back on happenin's. Wal, it's the nature ofhappenin's that Beasley passes away before his prime. Them of his breeddon't live old in the West. .. . So I reckon you needn't feel bad orworry. You've got friends. "

Helen incoherently thanked him, and, forgetting her usual round ofcorrals and stables, she hurried back toward the house, deeply stirred, throbbing and dim-eyed, with a feeling she could not control. Roy Beemanhad made a statement that had upset her equilibrium. It seemed simpleand natural, yet momentous and staggering. To hear that Dale lovedher--to hear it spoken frankly, earnestly, by Dale's best friend, wasstrange, sweet, terrifying. But was it true? Her own consciousness hadadmitted it. Yet that was vastly different from a man's open statement. No longer was it a dear dream, a secret that seemed hers alone. How shehad lived on that secret hidden deep in her breast!

Something burned the dimness from her eyes as she looked toward themountains and her sight became clear, telescopic with its intensity. Magnificently the mountains loomed. Black inroads and patches on theslopes showed where a few days back all bad been white. The snow wasmelting fast. Dale would soon be free to ride down to Pine. And that wasan event Helen prayed for, yet feared as she had never feared anything. 

The noonday dinner-bell startled Helen from a reverie that was apleasant aftermath of her unrestraint. How the hours had flown! Thismorning at least must be credited to indolence. 

Bo was not in the dining-room, nor in her own room, nor was she insight from window or door. This absence had occurred before, but notparticularly to disturb Helen. In this instance, however, she grewworried. Her nerves presaged strain. There was an overcharge ofsensibility in her feelings or a strange pressure in the veryatmosphere. She ate dinner alone, looking her apprehension, which wasnot mitigated by the expressive fears of old Maria, the Mexican womanwho served her. 

After dinner she sent word to Roy and Carmichael that they had betterride out to look for Bo. Then Helen applied herself resolutely to herbooks until a rapid clatter of hoofs out in the court caused her to jumpup and hurry to the porch. Roy was riding in. 

"Did you find her?" queried Helen, hurriedly. 

"Wasn't no track or sign of her up the north range, " replied Roy, as hedismounted and threw his bridle. "An' I was ridin' back to take up hertracks from the corral an' trail her. But I seen Las Vegas comin' an' hewaved his sombrero. He was comin' up from the south. There he is now. "

Carmichael appeared swinging into the lane. He was mounted on Helen'sbig black Ranger, and he made the dust fly. 

"Wal, he's seen her, thet's shore, " vouchsafed Roy, with relief, asCarmichael rode up. 

"Miss Nell, she's comin', " said the cowboy, as he reined in andslid down with his graceful single motion. Then in a violent action, characteristic of him, he slammed his sombrero down on the porch andthrew up both arms. "I've a hunch it's come off!"

"Oh, what?" exclaimed Helen. 

"Now, Las Vegas, talk sense, " expostulated Roy. "Miss Helen is shorenervous to-day. Has anythin' happened?"

"I reckon, but I don't know what, " replied Carmichael, drawing a longbreath. "Folks, I must be gettin' old. For I shore felt orful queer tillI seen Bo. She was ridin' down the ridge across the valley. Ridin' somefast, too, an' she'll be here right off, if she doesn't stop in thevillage. "

"Wal, I hear her comin' now, " said Roy. "An'--if you asked me I'd sayshe WAS ridin' some fast. "

Helen heard the light, swift, rhythmic beat of hoofs, and then out onthe curve of the road that led down to Pine she saw Bo's mustang, whitewith lather, coming on a dead run. 

"Las Vegas, do you see any Apaches?" asked Roy, quizzingly. 

The cowboy made no reply, but he strode out from the porch, directlyin front of the mustang. Bo was pulling hard on the bridle, and had himslowing down, but not controlled. When he reached the house it couldeasily be seen that Bo had pulled him to the limit of her strength, which was not enough to halt him. Carmichael lunged for the bridle and, seizing it, hauled him to a standstill. 

At close sight of Bo Helen uttered a startled cry. Bo was white; hersombrero was gone and her hair undone; there were blood and dirt onher face, and her riding-suit was torn and muddy. She had evidentlysustained a fall. Roy gazed at her in admiring consternation, butCarmichael never looked at her at all. Apparently he was examining thehorse. "Well, help me off--somebody, " cried Bo, peremptorily. Her voicewas weak, but not her spirit. 

Roy sprang to help her off, and when she was down it developed that shewas lame. 

"Oh, Bo! You've had a tumble, " exclaimed Helen, anxiously, and she ranto assist Roy. They led her up the porch and to the door. There sheturned to look at Carmichael, who was still examining the spent mustang. 

"Tell him--to come in, " she whispered. 

"Hey, there, Las Vegas!" called Roy. "Rustle hyar, will you?"

When Bo had been led into the sitting-room and seated in a chairCarmichael entered. His face was a study, as slowly he walked up to Bo. 

"Girl, you--ain't hurt?" he asked, huskily. 

"It's no fault of yours that I'm not crippled--or dead or worse, "retorted Bo. "You said the south range was the only safe ride for me. And there--I--it happened. "

She panted a little and her bosom heaved. One of her gauntlets was gone, and the bare band, that was bruised and bloody, trembled as she held itout. 

"Dear, tell us--are you badly hurt?" queried Helen, with hurriedgentleness. 

"Not much. I've had a spill, " replied Bo. "But oh! I'm mad--I'mboiling!"

She looked as if she might have exaggerated her doubt of injuries, butcertainly she had not overestimated her state of mind. Any blaze Helenhad heretofore seen in those quick eyes was tame compared to this one. It actually leaped. Bo was more than pretty then. Manifestly Roy wasadmiring her looks, but Carmichael saw beyond her charm. And slowly hewas growing pale. 

"I rode out the south range--as I was told, " began Bo, breathing hardand trying to control her feelings. "That's the ride you usually take, Nell, and you bet--if you'd taken it to-day--you'd not be here now. .. . About three miles out I climbed off the range up that cedar slope. Ialways keep to high ground. When I got up I saw two horsemen ride outof some broken rocks off to the east. They rode as if to come between meand home. I didn't like that. I circled south. About a mile farther on Ispied another horseman and he showed up directly in front of me and camealong slow. That I liked still less. It might have been accident, but itlooked to me as if those riders had some intent. All I could do was headoff to the southeast and ride. You bet I did ride. But I got into roughground where I'd never been before. It was slow going. At last I madethe cedars and here I cut loose, believing I could circle ahead of thosestrange riders and come round through Pine. I had it wrong. "

Here she hesitated, perhaps for breath, for she had spoken rapidly, orperhaps to get better hold on her subject. Not improbably the effect shewas creating on her listeners began to be significant. Roy sat absorbed, perfectly motionless, eyes keen as steel, his mouth open. Carmichaelwas gazing over Bo's head, out of the window, and it seemed that hemust know the rest of her narrative. Helen knew that her own wide-eyedattention alone would have been all-compelling inspiration to Bo Rayner. 

"Sure I had it wrong, " resumed Bo. "Pretty soon heard a horse behind. Ilooked back. I saw a big bay riding down on me. Oh, but he was running!He just tore through the cedars. . .. I was scared half out of my senses. But I spurred and beat my mustang. Then began a race! Rough going--thickcedars--washes and gullies I had to make him run--to keep my saddle--topick my way. Oh-h-h! but it was glorious! To race for fun--that'sone thing; to race for your life is another! My heart was in mymouth--choking me. I couldn't have yelled. I was as cold as ice--dizzysometimes--blind others--then my stomach turned--and I couldn't get mybreath. Yet the wild thrills I had!. .. But I stuck on and held my ownfor several miles--to the edge of the cedars. There the big horse gainedon me. He came pounding closer--perhaps as close as a hundred yards--Icould hear him plain enough. Then I had my spill. Oh, my mustangtripped--threw me 'way over his head. I hit light, but slid far--andthat's what scraped me so. I know my knee is raw. .. . When I got to myfeet the big horse dashed up, throwing gravel all over me--and his riderjumped off. .. . Now who do you think he was?"

Helen knew, but she did not voice her conviction. Carmichael knewpositively, yet he kept silent. Roy was smiling, as if the narrativetold did not seem so alarming to him. 

"Wal, the fact of you bein' here, safe an' sound, sorta makes nodifference who thet son-of-a-gun was, " he said. 

"Riggs! Harve Riggs!" blazed Bo. "The instant I recognized him I gotover my scare. And so mad I burned all through like fire. I don't knowwhat I said, but it was wild--and it was a whole lot, you bet. 

"You sure can ride, ' he said. 

"I demanded why he had dared to chase me, and he said he had animportant message for Nell. This was it: 'Tell your sister that Beasleymeans to put her off an' take the ranch. If she'll marry me I'll blockhis deal. If she won't marry me, I'll go in with Beasley. ' Then he toldme to hurry home and not to breathe a word to any one except Nell. Well, here I am--and I seem to have been breathing rather fast. "

She looked from Helen to Roy and from Roy to Las Vegas. Her smile wasfor the latter, and to any one not overexcited by her story that smilewould have told volumes. 

"Wal, I'll be doggoned!" ejaculated Roy, feelingly. 

Helen laughed. 

"Indeed, the working of that man's mind is beyond me. .. . Marry him tosave my ranch? I wouldn't marry him to save my life!"

Carmichael suddenly broke his silence. 

"Bo, did you see the other men?"

"Yes. I was coming to that, " she replied. "I caught a glimpse ofthem back in the cedars. The three were together, or, at least, threehorsemen were there. They had halted behind some trees. Then on the wayhome I began to think. Even in my fury I had received impressions. Riggswas SURPRISED when I got up. I'll bet he had not expected me to be who Iwas. He thought I was NELL!. .. I look bigger in this buckskin outfit. Myhair was up till I lost my hat, and that was when I had the tumble. Hetook me for Nell. Another thing, I remember--he made some sign--somemotion while I was calling him names, and I believe that was to keepthose other men back. .. . I believe Riggs had a plan with those other mento waylay Nell and make off with her. I absolutely know it. "

"Bo, you're so--so--you jump at wild ideas so, " protested Helen, tryingto believe in her own assurance. But inwardly she was trembling. 

"Miss Helen, that ain't a wild idee, " said Roy, seriously. "I reckonyour sister is pretty close on the trail. Las Vegas, don't you savvy itthet way?"

Carmichael's answer was to stalk out of the room. 

"Call him back!" cried Helen, apprehensively. 

"Hold on, boy!" called Roy, sharply. 

Helen reached the door simultaneously with Roy. The cowboy picked up hissombrero, jammed it on his head, gave his belt a vicious hitch that madethe gun-sheath jump, and then in one giant step he was astride Ranger. 

"Carmichael! Stay!" cried Helen. 

The cowboy spurred the black, and the stones rang under iron-shod hoofs. 

"Bo! Call him back! Please call him back!" importuned Helen, indistress. 

"I won't, " declared Bo Rayner. Her face shone whiter now and her eyeswere like fiery flint. That was her answer to a loving, gentle-heartedsister; that was her answer to the call of the West. 

"No use, " said Roy, quietly. "An' I reckon I'd better trail him up. "

He, too, strode out and, mounting his horse, galloped swiftly away. 

It turned out that Bo, was more bruised and scraped and shaken than shehad imagined. One knee was rather badly cut, which injury alone wouldhave kept her from riding again very soon. Helen, who was somewhatskilled at bandaging wounds, worried a great deal over these sundryblotches on Bo's fair skin, and it took considerable time to wash anddress them. Long after this was done, and during the early supper, andafterward, Bo's excitement remained unabated. The whiteness stayed onher face and the blaze in her eyes. Helen ordered and begged her to goto bed, for the fact was Bo could not stand up and her hands shook. 

"Go to bed? Not much, " she said. "I want to know what he does to Riggs. "

It was that possibility which had Helen in dreadful suspense. IfCarmichael killed Riggs, it seemed to Helen that the bottom woulddrop out of this structure of Western life she had begun to build soearnestly and fearfully. She did not believe that he would do so. Butthe uncertainty was torturing. 

"Dear Bo, " appealed Helen, "you don't want--Oh! you do want Carmichaelto--to kill Riggs?"

"No, I don't, but I wouldn't care if he did, " replied Bo, bluntly. 

"Do you think--he will?"

"Nell, if that cowboy really loves me he read my mind right here beforehe left, " declared Bo. "And he knew what I thought he'd do. "

"And what's--that?" faltered Helen. 

"I want him to round Riggs up down in the village--somewhere in a crowd. I want Riggs shown up as the coward, braggart, four-flush that he is. And insulted, slapped, kicked--driven out of Pine!"

Her passionate speech still rang throughout the room when there camefootsteps on the porch. Helen hurried to raise the bar from the door andopen it just as a tap sounded on the door-post. Roy's face stood whiteout of the darkness. His eyes were bright. And his smile made Helen'sfearful query needless. 

"How are you-all this evenin'?" he drawled, as he came in. 

A fire blazed on the hearth and a lamp burned on the table. By theirlight Bo looked white and eager-eyed as she reclined in the bigarm-chair. 

"What 'd he do?" she asked, with all her amazing force. 

"Wal, now, ain't you goin' to tell me how you are?"

"Roy, I'm all bunged up. I ought to be in bed, but I just couldn't sleeptill I hear what Las Vegas did. I'd forgive anything except him gettingdrunk. "

"Wal, I shore can ease your mind on thet, " replied Roy. "He never dranka drop. "

Roy was distractingly slow about beginning the tale any child could haveguessed he was eager to tell. For once the hard, intent quietness, thesoul of labor, pain, and endurance so plain in his face was softened bypleasurable emotion. He poked at the burning logs with the toe of hisboot. Helen observed that he had changed his boots and now wore nospurs. Then he had gone to his quarters after whatever had happened downin Pine. 

"Where IS he?" asked Bo. 

"Who? Riggs? Wal, I don't know. But I reckon he's somewhere out in thewoods nursin' himself. "

"Not Riggs. First tell me where HE is. "

"Shore, then, you must mean Las Vegas. I just left him down at thecabin. He was gettin' ready for bed, early as it is. All tired out hewas an' thet white you wouldn't have knowed him. But he looked happy atthet, an' the last words he said, more to himself than to me, I reckon, was, 'I'm some locoed gent, but if she doesn't call me Tom now she's nogood!'"

Bo actually clapped her hands, notwithstanding that one of them wasbandaged. 

"Call him Tom? I should smile I will, " she declared, in delight. "Hurrynow--what 'd--"

"It's shore powerful strange how he hates thet handle Las Vegas, " wenton Roy, imperturbably. 

"Roy, tell me what he did--what TOM did--or I'll scream, " cried Bo. 

"Miss Helen, did you ever see the likes of thet girl?" asked Roy, appealing to Helen. 

"No, Roy, I never did, " agreed Helen. "But please--please tell us whathas happened. "

Roy grinned and rubbed his hands together in a dark delight, almostfiendish in its sudden revelation of a gulf of strange emotion deepwithin him. Whatever had happened to Riggs had not been too much forRoy Beeman. Helen remembered hearing her uncle say that a real Westernerhated nothing so hard as the swaggering desperado, the make-believegunman who pretended to sail under the true, wild, and reckoning colorsof the West. 

Roy leaned his lithe, tall form against the stone mantelpiece and facedthe girls. 

"When I rode out after Las Vegas I seen him 'way down the road, " beganRoy, rapidly. "An' I seen another man ridin' down into Pine from theother side. Thet was Riggs, only I didn't know it then. Las Vegas rodeup to the store, where some fellars was hangin' round, an' he spoke tothem. When I come up they was all headin' for Turner's saloon. I seen adozen hosses hitched to the rails. Las Vegas rode on. But I got off atTurner's an' went in with the bunch. Whatever it was Las Vegas saidto them fellars, shore they didn't give him away. Pretty soon more menstrolled into Turner's an' there got to be 'most twenty altogether, Ireckon. Jeff Mulvey was there with his pards. They had been drinkin'sorta free. An' I didn't like the way Mulvey watched me. So I wentout an' into the store, but kept a-lookin' for Las Vegas. He wasn't insight. But I seen Riggs ridin' up. Now, Turner's is where Riggs hangsout an' does his braggin'. He looked powerful deep an' thoughtful, dismounted slow without seein' the unusual number of hosses there, an'then he slouches into Turner's. No more 'n a minute after Las Vegas rodedown there like a streak. An' just as quick he was off an' through thetdoor. "

Roy paused as if to gain force or to choose his words. His tale nowappeared all directed to Bo, who gazed at him, spellbound, a fascinatedlistener. 

"Before I got to Turner's door--an' thet was only a little ways--I heardLas Vegas yell. Did you ever hear him? Wal, he's got the wildest yellof any cow-puncher I ever beard. Quicklike I opened the door an' slippedin. There was Riggs an' Las Vegas alone in the center of the big saloon, with the crowd edgin' to the walls an' slidin' back of the bar. Riggswas whiter 'n a dead man. I didn't hear an' I don't know what Las Vegasyelled at him. But Riggs knew an' so did the gang. All of a sudden everyman there shore seen in Las Vegas what Riggs had always bragged HE was. Thet time comes to every man like Riggs. 

"'What 'd you call me?' he asked, his jaw shakin'. 

"'I 'ain't called you yet, ' answered Las Vegas. 'I just whooped. '

"'What d'ye want?'

"'You scared my girl. '

"'The hell ye say! Who's she?' blustered Riggs, an' he began to takequick looks 'round. But he never moved a hand. There was somethin' tightabout the way he stood. Las Vegas had both arms half out, stretched asif he meant to leap. But he wasn't. I never seen Las Vegas do thet, butwhen I seen him then I understood it. 

"'You know. An' you threatened her an' her sister. Go for your gun, 'called Las Vegas, low an' sharp. 

"Thet put the crowd right an' nobody moved. Riggs turned green then. Ialmost felt sorry for him. He began to shake so he'd dropped a gun if hehad pulled one. 

"'Hyar, you're off--some mistake--I 'ain't seen no gurls--I--'

"'Shut up an' draw!' yelled Las Vegas. His voice just pierced holes inthe roof, an' it might have been a bullet from the way Riggs collapsed. Every man seen in a second more thet Riggs wouldn't an' couldn't draw. He was afraid for his life. He was not what he had claimed to be. Idon't know if he had any friends there. But in the West good men an' badmen, all alike, have no use for Riggs's kind. An' thet stony quiet brokewith haw--haw. It shore was as pitiful to see Riggs as it was fine tosee Las Vegas. 

"When he dropped his arms then I knowed there would be no gun-play. An'then Las Vegas got red in the face. He slapped Riggs with one hand, then with the other. An' he began to cuss him. I shore never knowedthet nice-spoken Las Vegas Carmichael could use such language. It was astream of the baddest names known out here, an' lots I never heard of. Now an' then I caught somethin' like low-down an' sneak an' four-flushan' long-haired skunk, but for the most part they was just the cussedestkind of names. An' Las Vegas spouted them till he was black in the face, an' foamin' at the mouth, an' hoarser 'n a bawlin' cow. 

"When he got out of breath from cussin' he punched Riggs all about thesaloon, threw him outdoors, knocked him down an' kicked him till he gotkickin' him down the road with the whole haw-hawed gang behind. An' hedrove him out of town!"

CHAPTER XVIII

For two days Bo was confined to her bed, suffering considerable pain, and subject to fever, during which she talked irrationally. Some of thistalk afforded Helen as vast an amusement as she was certain it wouldhave lifted Tom Carmichael to a seventh heaven. 

The third day, however, Bo was better, and, refusing to remain in bed, she hobbled to the sitting-room, where she divided her time betweenstaring out of the window toward the corrals and pestering Helen withquestions she tried to make appear casual. But Helen saw through hercase and was in a state of glee. What she hoped most for was thatCarmichael would suddenly develop a little less inclination for Bo. Itwas that kind of treatment the young lady needed. And now was the greatopportunity. Helen almost felt tempted to give the cowboy a hint. 

Neither this day, nor the next, however, did he put in an appearanceat the house, though Helen saw him twice on her rounds. He was busy, asusual, and greeted her as if nothing particular had happened. 

Roy called twice, once in the afternoon, and again during the evening. He grew more likable upon longer acquaintance. This last visit herendered Bo speechless by teasing her about another girl Carmichael wasgoing to take to a dance. Bo's face showed that her vanity could notbelieve this statement, but that her intelligence of young men creditedit with being possible. Roy evidently was as penetrating as he was kind. He made a dry, casual little remark about the snow never melting on themountains during the latter part of March; and the look with which heaccompanied this remark brought a blush to Helen's cheek. 

After Roy had departed Bo said to Helen: "Confound that fellow! He seesright through me. "

"My dear, you're rather transparent these days, " murmured Helen. 

"You needn't talk. He gave you a dig, " retorted Bo. "He just knowsyou're dying to see the snow melt. "

"Gracious! I hope I'm not so bad as that. Of course I want the snowmelted and spring to come, and flowers--"

"Hal Ha! Ha!" taunted Bo. "Nell Rayner, do you see any green in my eyes?Spring to come! Yes, the poet said in the spring a young man's fancylightly turns to thoughts of love. But that poet meant a young woman. "

Helen gazed out of the window at the white stars. 

"Nell, have you seen him--since I was hurt?" continued Bo, with aneffort. 

"Him? Who?"

"Oh, whom do you suppose? I mean Tom!" she responded, and the last wordcame with a burst. 

"Tom? Who's he? Ah, you mean Las Vegas. Yes, I've seen him. "

"Well, did he ask a-about me?"

"I believe he did ask how you were--something like that. "

"Humph! Nell, I don't always trust you. " After that she relapsed intosilence, read awhile, and dreamed awhile, looking into the fire, andthen she limped over to kiss Helen good night and left the room. 

Next day she was rather quiet, seeming upon the verge of one of thedispirited spells she got infrequently. Early in the evening, just afterthe lights had been lit and she had joined Helen in the sitting-room, afamiliar step sounded on the loose boards of the porch. 

Helen went to the door to admit Carmichael. He was clean-shaven, dressed in his dark suit, which presented such marked contrast fromhis riding-garb, and he wore a flower in his buttonhole. Nevertheless, despite all this style, he seemed more than usually the cool, easy, careless cowboy. 

"Evenin', Miss Helen, " he said, as he stalked in. "Evenin', Miss Bo. Howare you-all?"

Helen returned his greeting with a welcoming smile. 

"Good evening--TOM, " said Bo, demurely. 

That assuredly was the first time she had ever called him Tom. As shespoke she looked distractingly pretty and tantalizing. But if she hadcalculated to floor Carmichael with the initial, half-promising, whollymocking use of his name she had reckoned without cause. The cowboyreceived that greeting as if he had heard her use it a thousand timesor had not heard it at all. Helen decided if he was acting a part hewas certainly a clever actor. He puzzled her somewhat, but she liked hislook, and his easy manner, and the something about him that must havebeen his unconscious sense of pride. He had gone far enough, perhaps toofar, in his overtures to Bo. 

"How are you feelin'?" he asked. 

"I'm better to-day, " she replied, with downcast eyes. "But I'm lameyet. "

"Reckon that bronc piled you up. Miss Helen said there shore wasn't anyjoke about the cut on your knee. Now, a fellar's knee is a bad place tohurt, if he has to keep on ridin'. "

"Oh, I'll be well soon. How's Sam? I hope he wasn't crippled. "

"Thet Sam--why, he's so tough he never knowed he had a fall. "

"Tom--I--I want to thank you for giving Riggs what he deserved. "

She spoke it earnestly, eloquently, and for once she had no sly littleintonation or pert allurement, such as was her wont to use on thisinfatuated young man. 

"Aw, you heard about that, " replied Carmichael, with a wave of his handto make light of it. "Nothin' much. It had to be done. An' shore I wasafraid of Roy. He'd been bad. An' so would any of the other boys. I'msorta lookin' out for all of them, you know, actin' as Miss Helen'sforeman now. "

Helen was unutterably tickled. The effect of his speech upon Bo wasstupendous. He had disarmed her. He had, with the finesse and tactand suavity of a diplomat, removed himself from obligation, and thedetachment of self, the casual thing be apparently made out of hismagnificent championship, was bewildering and humiliating to Bo. Shesat silent for a moment or two while Helen tried to fit easily intothe conversation. It was not likely that Bo would long be at a lossfor words, and also it was immensely probable that with a flash of herwonderful spirit she would turn the tables on her perverse lover in atwinkling. Anyway, plain it was that a lesson had sunk deep. She lookedstartled, hurt, wistful, and finally sweetly defiant. 

"But--you told Riggs I was your girl!" Thus Bo unmasked her battery. AndHelen could not imagine how Carmichael would ever resist that and thesoft, arch glance which accompanied it. 

Helen did not yet know the cowboy, any more than did Bo. 

"Shore. I had to say thet. I had to make it strong before thet gang. Ireckon it was presumin' of me, an' I shore apologize. "

Bo stared at him, and then, giving a little gasp, she drooped. 

"Wal, I just run in to say howdy an' to inquire after you-all, " saidCarmichael. "I'm goin' to the dance, an' as Flo lives out of town a waysI'd shore better rustle. .. . Good night, Miss Bo; I hope you'll be ridin'Sam soon. An' good night, Miss Helen. "

Bo roused to a very friendly and laconic little speech, much overdone. Carmichael strode out, and Helen, bidding him good-by, closed the doorafter him. 

The instant he had departed Bo's transformation was tragic. 

"Flo! He meant Flo Stubbs--that ugly, cross-eyed, bold, little frump!"

"Bo!" expostulated Helen. "The young lady is not beautiful, I grant, butshe's very nice and pleasant. I liked her. "

"Nell Rayner, men are no good! And cowboys are the worst!" declared Bo, terribly. 

"Why didn't you appreciate Tom when you had him?" asked Helen. 

Bo had been growing furious, but now the allusion, in past tense, tothe conquest she had suddenly and amazingly found dear quite broke herspirit. It was a very pale, unsteady, and miserable girl who avoidedHelen's gaze and left the room. 

Next day Bo was not approachable from any direction. Helen found hera victim to a multiplicity of moods, ranging from woe to dire, darkbroodings, from them to' wistfulness, and at last to a pride thatsustained her. 

Late in the afternoon, at Helen's leisure hour, when she and Bo were inthe sitting-room, horses tramped into the court and footsteps mountedthe porch. Opening to a loud knock, Helen was surprised to see Beasley. And out in the court were several mounted horsemen. Helen's heart sank. This visit, indeed, had been foreshadowed. 

"Afternoon, Miss Rayner, " said Beasley, doffing his sombrero. "I'vecalled on a little business deal. Will you see me?"

Helen acknowledged his greeting while she thought rapidly. She mightjust as well see him and have that inevitable interview done with. 

"Come in, " she said, and when he had entered she closed the door. "Mysister, Mr. Beasley. "

"How d' you do, Miss?" said the rancher, in bluff, loud voice. 

Bo acknowledged the introduction with a frigid little bow. 

At close range Beasley seemed a forceful personality as well as a ratherhandsome man of perhaps thirty-five, heavy of build, swarthy of skin, and sloe-black of eye, like that of the Mexicans whose blood wasreported to be in him. He looked crafty, confident, and self-centered. If Helen had never heard of him before that visit she would havedistrusted him. 

"I'd called sooner, but I was waitin' for old Jose, the Mexican whoherded for me when I was pardner to your uncle, " said Beasley, and hesat down to put his huge gloved hands on his knees. 

"Yes?" queried Helen, interrogatively. 

"Jose rustled over from Magdalena, an' now I can back up my claim. .. . Miss Rayner, this hyar ranch ought to be mine an' is mine. It wasn't sobig or so well stocked when Al Auchincloss beat me out of it. I reckonI'll allow for thet. I've papers, an' old Jose for witness. An' Icalculate you'll pay me eighty thousand dollars, or else I'll take overthe ranch. "

Beasley spoke in an ordinary, matter-of-fact tone that certainly seemedsincere, and his manner was blunt, but perfectly natural. 

"Mr. Beasley, your claim is no news to me, " responded Helen, quietly. "I've heard about it. And I questioned my uncle. He swore on hisdeath-bed that he did not owe you a dollar. Indeed, he claimed theindebtedness was yours to him. I could find nothing in his papers, so Imust repudiate your claim. I will not take it seriously. "

"Miss Rayner, I can't blame you for takin' Al's word against mine, " saidBeasley. "An' your stand is natural. But you're a stranger here an' youknow nothin' of stock deals in these ranges. It ain't fair to speakbad of the dead, but the truth is thet Al Auchincloss got his start bystealin' sheep an' unbranded cattle. Thet was the start of every rancherI know. It was mine. An' we none of us ever thought of it as rustlin'. "

Helen could only stare her surprise and doubt at this statement. 

"Talk's cheap anywhere, an' in the West talk ain't much at all, "continued Beasley. "I'm no talker. I jest want to tell my case an' makea deal if you'll have it. I can prove more in black an' white, an' withwitness, than you can. Thet's my case. The deal I'd make is this. .. . Let's marry an' settle a bad deal thet way. "

The man's direct assumption, absolutely without a qualifyingconsideration for her woman's attitude, was amazing, ignorant, and base;but Helen was so well prepared for it that she hid her disgust. 

"Thank you, Mr. Beasley, but I can't accept your offer, " she replied. 

"Would you take time an' consider?" he asked, spreading wide his hugegloved hands. 

"Absolutely no. "

Beasley rose to his feet. He showed no disappointment or chagrin, butthe bold pleasantness left his face, and, slight as that change was, itstripped him of the only redeeming quality he showed. 

"Thet means I'll force you to pay me the eighty thousand or put youoff, " he said. 

"Mr. Beasley, even if I owed you that, how could I raise so enormous asum? I don't owe it. And I certainly won't be put off my property. Youcan't put me off. "

"An' why can't I?" he demanded, with lowering, dark gaze. 

"Because your claim is dishonest. And I can prove it, " declared Helen, forcibly. 

"Who 're you goin' to prove it to--thet I'm dishonest?"

"To my men--to your men--to the people of Pine--to everybody. There'snot a person who won't believe me. "

He seemed curious, discomfited, surlily annoyed, and yet fascinatedby her statement or else by the quality and appearance of her as shespiritedly defended her cause. 

"An' how 're you goin' to prove all thet?" he growled. 

"Mr. Beasley, do you remember last fall when you met Snake Anson withhis gang up in the woods--and hired him to make off with me?" askedHelen, in swift, ringing words. 

The dark olive of Beasley's bold face shaded to a dirty white. 

"Wha-at?" he jerked out, hoarsely. 

"I see you remember. Well, Milt Dale was hidden in the loft of thatcabin where you met Anson. He heard every word of your deal with theoutlaw. "

Beasley swung his arm in sudden violence, so hard that he flung hisglove to the floor. As he stooped to snatch it up he uttered a sibilanthiss. Then, stalking to the door, he jerked it open, and slammed itbehind him. His loud voice, hoarse with passion, preceded the scrape andcrack of hoofs. 

Shortly after supper that day, when Helen was just recovering hercomposure, Carmichael presented himself at the open door. Bo was notthere. In the dimming twilight Helen saw that the cowboy was pale, somber, grim. 

"Oh, what's happened?" cried Helen. 

"Roy's been shot. It come off in Turner's saloon But he ain't dead. Wepacked him over to Widow Cass's. An' he said for me to tell you he'dpull through. "

"Shot! Pull through!" repeated Helen, in slow, unrealizing exclamation. She was conscious of a deep internal tumult and a cold checking of bloodin all her external body. 

"Yes, shot, " replied Carmichael, fiercely. 

"An', whatever he says, I reckon he won't pull through. "

"O Heaven, how terrible!" burst out Helen. "He was so good--such aman! What a pity! Oh, he must have met that in my behalf. Tell me, whathappened? Who shot him?"

"Wal, I don't know. An' thet's what's made me hoppin' mad. I wasn'tthere when it come off. An' he won't tell me. "

"Why not?"

"I don't know thet, either. I reckoned first it was because he wantedto get even. But, after thinkin' it over, I guess he doesn't want melookin' up any one right now for fear I might get hurt. An' you're goin'to need your friends. Thet's all I can make of Roy. "

Then Helen hurriedly related the event of Beasley's call on her thatafternoon and all that had occurred. 

"Wal, the half-breed son-of-a-greaser!" ejaculated Carmichael, in utterconfoundment. "He wanted you to marry him!"

"He certainly did. I must say it was a--a rather abrupt proposal. "

Carmichael appeared to be laboring with speech that had to be smotheredbehind his teeth. At last he let out an explosive breath. 

"Miss Nell, I've shore felt in my bones thet I'm the boy slated to brandthet big bull. "

"Oh, he must have shot Roy. He left here in a rage. "

"I reckon you can coax it out of Roy. Fact is, all I could learn wasthet Roy come in the saloon alone. Beasley was there, an' Riggs--"

"Riggs!" interrupted Helen. 

"Shore, Riggs. He come back again. But he'd better keep out of myway. .. . An' Jeff Mulvey with his outfit. Turner told me he heard anargument an' then a shot. The gang cleared out, leavin' Roy on thefloor. I come in a little later. Roy was still layin' there. Nobody wasdoin' anythin' for him. An' nobody had. I hold that against Turner. Wal, I got help an' packed Roy over to Widow Cass's. Roy seemed all right. But he was too bright an' talky to suit me. The bullet hit his lung, thet's shore. An' he lost a sight of blood before we stopped it. Thetskunk Turner might have lent a hand. An' if Roy croaks I reckon I'll--"

"Tom, why must you always be reckoning to kill somebody?" demandedHelen, angrily. 

"'Cause somebody's got to be killed 'round here. Thet's why!" he snappedback. 

"Even so--should you risk leaving Bo and me without a friend?" askedHelen, reproachfully. 

At that Carmichael wavered and lost something of his sullen deadliness. 

"Aw, Miss Nell, I'm only mad. If you'll just be patient with me--an'mebbe coax me. .. . But I can't see no other way out. "

"Let's hope and pray, " said Helen, earnestly. "You spoke of my coaxingRoy to tell who shot him. When can I see him?"

"To-morrow, I reckon. I'll come for you. Fetch Bo along with you. We'vegot to play safe from now on. An' what do you say to me an' Hal sleepin'here at the ranch-house?"

"Indeed I'd feel safer, " she replied. "There are rooms. Please come. "

"Allright. An' now I'll be goin' to fetch Hal. Shore wish I hadn't madeyou pale an' scared like this. "

About ten o'clock next morning Carmichael drove Helen and Bo into Pine, and tied up the team before Widow Cass's cottage. 

The peach and apple-trees were mingling blossoms of pink and white; adrowsy hum of bees filled the fragrant air; rich, dark-green alfalfacovered the small orchard flat; a wood fire sent up a lazy column ofblue smoke; and birds were singing sweetly. 

Helen could scarcely believe that amid all this tranquillity a manlay perhaps fatally injured. Assuredly Carmichael had been somber andreticent enough to rouse the gravest fears. 

Widow Cass appeared on the little porch, a gray, bent, worn, butcheerful old woman whom Helen had come to know as her friend. 

"My land! I'm thet glad to see you, Miss Helen, " she said. "An' you'vefetched the little lass as I've not got acquainted with yet. "

"Good morning, Mrs. Cass. How--how is Roy?" replied Helen, anxiouslyscanning the wrinkled face. 

"Roy? Now don't you look so scared. Roy's 'most ready to git on his hossan' ride home, if I let him. He knowed you was a-comin'. An' he mademe hold a lookin'-glass for him to shave. How's thet fer a man with abullet-hole through him! You can't kill them Mormons, nohow. "

She led them into a little sitting-room, where on a couch underneath awindow Roy Beeman lay. He was wide awake and smiling, but haggard. Helay partly covered with a blanket. His gray shirt was open at the neck, disclosing bandages. 

"Mornin'--girls, " he drawled. "Shore is good of you, now, comin' down. "

Helen stood beside him, bent over him, in her earnestness, as shegreeted him. She saw a shade of pain in his eyes and his immobilitystruck her, but he did not seem badly off. Bo was pale, round-eyed, andapparently too agitated to speak. Carmichael placed chairs beside thecouch for the girls. 

"Wal, what's ailin' you this nice mornin'?" asked Roy, eyes on thecowboy. 

"Huh! Would you expect me to be wearin' the smile of a fellar goin' tobe married?" retorted Carmichael. 

"Shore you haven't made up with Bo yet, " returned Roy. 

Bo blushed rosy red, and the cowboy's face lost something of its somberhue. 

"I allow it's none of your d--darn bizness if SHE ain't made up withme, " he said. 

"Las Vegas, you're a wonder with a hoss an' a rope, an' I reckon with agun, but when it comes to girls you shore ain't there. "

"I'm no Mormon, by golly! Come, Ma Cass, let's get out of here, so theycan talk. "

"Folks, I was jest a-goin' to say thet Roy's got fever an' he oughtn'tt' talk too much, " said the old woman. Then she and Carmichael went intothe kitchen and closed the door. 

Roy looked up at Helen with his keen eyes, more kindly piercing thanever. 

"My brother John was here. He'd just left when you come. He rode hometo tell my folks I'm not so bad hurt, an' then he's goin' to ride abee-line into the mountains. "

Helen's eyes asked what her lips refused to utter. 

"He's goin' after Dale. I sent him. I reckoned we-all sorta needed sightof thet doggone hunter. "

Roy had averted his gaze quickly to Bo. 

"Don't you agree with me, lass?"

"I sure do, " replied Bo, heartily. 

All within Helen had been stilled for the moment of her realization; andthen came swell and beat of heart, and inconceivable chafing of a tideat its restraint. 

"Can John--fetch Dale out--when the snow's so deep?" she asked, unsteadily. 

"Shore. He's takin' two hosses up to the snow-line. Then, if necessary, he'll go over the pass on snow-shoes. But I bet him Dale would ride out. Snow's about gone except on the north slopes an' on the peaks. "

"Then--when may I--we expect to see Dale?"

"Three or four days, I reckon. I wish he was here now. .. . Miss Helen, there's trouble afoot. "

"I realize that. I'm ready. Did Las Vegas tell you about Beasley's visitto me?"

"No. You tell me, " replied Roy. 

Briefly Helen began to acquaint him with the circumstances of thatvisit, and before she had finished she made sure Roy was swearing tohimself. 

"He asked you to marry him! Jerusalem!. .. Thet I'd never have reckoned. The--low-down coyote of a greaser!. .. Wal, Miss Helen, when I met upwith Senor Beasley last night he was shore spoilin' from somethin'; nowI see what thet was. An' I reckon I picked out the bad time. "

"For what? Roy, what did you do?"

"Wal, I'd made up my mind awhile back to talk to Beasley the firstchance I had. An' thet was it. I was in the store when I seen him gointo Turner's. So I followed. It was 'most dark. Beasley an' Riggs an'Mulvey an' some more were drinkin' an' powwowin'. So I just braced himright then. "

"Roy! Oh, the way you boys court danger!"

"But, Miss Helen, thet's the only way. To be afraid MAKES more danger. Beasley 'peared civil enough first off. Him an' me kept edgin' off, an' his pards kept edgin' after us, till we got over in a corner of thesaloon. I don't know all I said to him. Shore I talked a heap. I toldhim what my old man thought. An' Beasley knowed as well as I thet my oldman's not only the oldest inhabitant hereabouts, but he's the wisest, too. An' he wouldn't tell a lie. Wal, I used all his sayin's in myargument to show Beasley thet if he didn't haul up short he'd end almostas short. Beasley's thick-headed, an' powerful conceited. Vain as apeacock! He couldn't see, an' he got mad. I told him he was rich enoughwithout robbin' you of your ranch, an'--wal, I shore put up a big talkfor your side. By this time he an' his gang had me crowded in a corner, an' from their looks I begun to get cold feet. But I was in it an' hadto make the best of it. The argument worked down to his pinnin' me to myword that I'd fight for you when thet fight come off. An' I shore toldhim for my own sake I wished it 'd come off quick. .. . Then--wal--thensomethin' did come off quick!"

"Roy, then he shot you!" exclaimed Helen, passionately. 

"Now, Miss Helen, I didn't say who done it, " replied Roy, with hisengaging smile. 

"Tell me, then--who did?"

"Wal, I reckon I sha'n't tell you unless you promise not to tell LasVegas. Thet cowboy is plumb off his head. He thinks he knows who shotme an' I've been lyin' somethin' scandalous. You see, if he learns--thenhe'll go gunnin'. An', Miss Helen, thet Texan is bad. He might getplugged as I did--an' there would be another man put off your side whenthe big trouble comes. "

"Roy, I promise you I will not tell Las Vegas, " replied Helen, earnestly. 

"Wal, then--it was Riggs!" Roy grew still paler as he confessed this andhis voice, almost a whisper, expressed shame and hate. "Thet four-flushdid it. Shot me from behind Beasley! I had no chance. I couldn't evensee him draw. But when I fell an' lay there an' the others dropped back, then I seen the smokin' gun in his hand. He looked powerful important. An' Beasley began to cuss him an' was cussin' him as they all run out. "

"Oh, coward! the despicable coward!" cried Helen. 

"No wonder Tom wants to find out!" exclaimed Bo, low and deep. "I'll bethe suspects Riggs. "

"Shore he does, but I wouldn't give him no satisfaction. "

"Roy, you know that Riggs can't last out here. "

"Wal, I hope he lasts till I get on my feet again. "

"There you go! Hopeless, all you boys! You must spill blood!" murmuredHelen, shudderingly. 

"Dear Miss Helen, don't take on so. I'm like Dale--no man to hunt uptrouble. But out here there's a sort of unwritten law--an eye for aneye--a tooth for a tooth. I believe in God Almighty, an' killin' isagainst my religion, but Riggs shot me--the same as shootin' me in theback. "

"Roy, I'm only a woman--I fear, faint-hearted and unequal to this West. "

"Wait till somethin' happens to you. 'Supposin' Beasley comes an' grabsyou with his own dirty big paws an', after maulin' you some, throws youout of your home! Or supposin' Riggs chases you into a corner!"

Helen felt the start of all her physical being--a violent leap of blood. But she could only judge of her looks from the grim smile of the woundedman as he watched her with his keen, intent eyes. 

"My friend, anythin' can happen, " he said. "But let's hope it won't bethe worst. "

He had begun to show signs of weakness, and Helen, rising at once, saidthat she and Bo had better leave him then, but would come to see him thenext day. At her call Carmichael entered again with Mrs. Cass, andafter a few remarks the visit was terminated. Carmichael lingered in thedoorway. 

"Wal, Cheer up, you old Mormon!" he called. 

"Cheer up yourself, you cross old bachelor!" retorted Roy, quiteunnecessarily loud. "Can't you raise enough nerve to make up with Bo?"

Carmichael evacuated the doorway as if he had been spurred. He was quitered in the face while he unhitched the team, and silent during the rideup to the ranch-house. There he got down and followed the girls into thesitting room. He appeared still somber, though not sullen, and had fullyregained his composure. 

"Did you find out who shot Roy?" he asked, abruptly, of Helen. 

"Yes. But I promised Roy I would not tell, " replied Helen, nervously. She averted her eyes from his searching gaze, intuitively fearing hisnext query. 

"Was it thet--Riggs?"

"Las Vegas, don't ask me. I will not break my promise. "

He strode to the window and looked out a moment, and presently, whenhe turned toward Bo, he seemed a stronger, loftier, more impelling man, with all his emotions under control. 

"Bo, will you listen to me--if I swear to speak the truth--as I knowit?"

"Why, certainly, " replied Bo, with the color coming swiftly to her face. 

"Roy doesn't want me to know because he wants to meet thet fellarhimself. An' I want to know because I want to stop him before he can domore dirt to us or our friends. Thet's Roy's reason an' mine. An' I'maskin' YOU to tell me. "

"But, Tom--I oughtn't, " replied Bo, haltingly. 

"Did you promise Roy not to tell?"

"No. "

"Or your sister?"

"No. I didn't promise either. "

"Wal, then you tell me. I want you to trust me in this here matter. Butnot because I love you an' once had a wild dream you might care a littlefor me--"

"Oh--Tom!" faltered Bo. 

"Listen. I want you to trust me because I'm the one who knows what'sbest. I wouldn't lie an' I wouldn't say so if I didn't know shore. Iswear Dale will back me up. But he can't be here for some days. An' thetgang has got to be bluffed. You ought to see this. I reckon you've beenquick in savvyin' Western ways. I couldn't pay you no higher compliment, Bo Rayner. .. . Now will you tell me?"

"Yes, I will, " replied Bo, with the blaze leaping to her eyes. 

"Oh, Bo--please don't--please don't. Wait!" implored Helen. 

"Bo--it's between you an' me, " said Carmichael. 

"Tom, I'll tell you, " whispered Bo. "It was a lowdown, cowardlytrick. .. . Roy was surrounded--and shot from behind Beasley--by thatfour-flush Riggs!"

CHAPTER XIX

The memory of a woman had ruined Milt Dale's peace, had confounded hisphilosophy of self-sufficient, lonely happiness in the solitude of thewilds, had forced him to come face to face with his soul and the fatalsignificance of life. 

When he realized his defeat, that things were not as they seemed, thatthere was no joy for him in the coming of spring, that he had been blindin his free, sensorial, Indian relation to existence, he fell intoan inexplicably strange state, a despondency, a gloom as deep as thesilence of his home. Dale reflected that the stronger an animal, thekeener its nerves, the higher its intelligence, the greater must be itssuffering under restraint or injury. He thought of himself as a highorder of animal whose great physical need was action, and now theincentive to action seemed dead. He grew lax. He did not want to move. He performed his diminishing duties under compulsion. 

He watched for spring as a liberation, but not that he could leave thevalley. He hated the cold, he grew weary of wind and snow; he imaginedthe warm sun, the park once more green with grass and bright withdaisies, the return of birds and squirrels and deer to heir old haunts, would be the means whereby he could break this spell upon him. Then hemight gradually return to past contentment, though it would never be thesame. 

But spring, coming early to Paradise Park, brought a fever to Dale'sblood--a fire of unutterable longing. It was good, perhaps, thatthis was so, because he seemed driven to work, climb, tramp, and keepceaselessly on the move from dawn till dark. Action strengthened his laxmuscles and kept him from those motionless, senseless hours of brooding. He at least need not be ashamed of longing for that which could neverbe his--the sweetness of a woman--a home full of light, joy, hope, themeaning and beauty of children. But those dark moods were sinkings intoa pit of hell. 

Dale had not kept track of days and weeks. He did not know when the snowmelted off three slopes of Paradise Park. All he knew was that an agehad dragged over his head and that spring had come. During his restlesswaking hours, and even when he was asleep, there seemed always in theback of his mind a growing consciousness that soon he would emerge fromthis trial, a changed man, ready to sacrifice his chosen lot, to give uphis lonely life of selfish indulgence in lazy affinity with nature, and to go wherever his strong hands might perform some real serviceto people. Nevertheless, he wanted to linger in this mountain fastnessuntil his ordeal was over--until he could meet her, and the world, knowing himself more of a man than ever before. 

One bright morning, while he was at his camp-fire, the tame cougar gavea low, growling warning. Dale was startled. Tom did not act like thatbecause of a prowling grizzly or a straying stag. Presently Dale espieda horseman riding slowly out of the straggling spruces. And with thatsight Dale's heart gave a leap, recalling to him a divination of hisfuture relation to his kind. Never had he been so glad to see a man!

This visitor resembled one of the Beemans, judging from the way he sathis horse, and presently Dale recognized him to be John. 

At this juncture the jaded horse was spurred into a trot, soon reachingthe pines and the camp. 

"Howdy, there, you ole b'ar-hunter!" called John, waving his hand. 

For all his hearty greeting his appearance checked a like response fromDale. The horse was mud to his flanks and John was mud to his knees, wet, bedraggled, worn, and white. This hue of his face meant more thanfatigue. 

"Howdy, John?" replied Dale. 

They shook hands. John wearily swung his leg over the pommel, but didnot at once dismount. His clear gray eyes were wonderingly riveted uponthe hunter. 

"Milt--what 'n hell's wrong?" he queried. 

"Why?"

"Bust me if you ain't changed so I hardly knowed you. You've beensick--all alone here!"

"Do I look sick?"

"Wal, I should smile. Thin an' pale an' down in the mouth! Milt, whatails you?"

"I've gone to seed. "

"You've gone off your head, jest as Roy said, livin' alone here. Youoverdid it, Milt. An' you look sick. "

"John, my sickness is here, " replied Dale, soberly, as he laid a hand onhis heart. 

"Lung trouble!" ejaculated John. "With thet chest, an' up in thisair?. .. Get out!"

"No--not lung trouble, " said Dale. 

"I savvy. Had a hunch from Roy, anyhow. "

"What kind of a hunch?"

"Easy now, Dale, ole man. .. . Don't you reckon I'm ridin' in on youpretty early? Look at thet hoss!" John slid off and waved a hand atthe drooping beast, then began to unsaddle him. "Wal, he done great. Webogged some comin' over. An' I climbed the pass at night on the frozensnow. "

"You're welcome as the flowers in May. John, what month is it?"

"By spades! are you as bad as thet?. .. Let's see. It's the twenty-thirdof March. "

"March! Well, I'm beat. I've lost my reckonin'--an' a lot more, maybe. "

"Thar!" declared John, slapping the mustang. "You can jest hang up heretill my next trip. Milt, how 're your hosses?"

"Wintered fine. "

"Wal, thet's good. We'll need two big, strong hosses right off. "

"What for?" queried Dale, sharply. He dropped a stick of wood andstraightened up from the camp-fire. 

"You're goin' to ride down to Pine with me--thet's what for. "

Familiarly then came back to Dale the quiet, intent suggestiveness ofthe Beemans in moments foreboding trial. 

At this certain assurance of John's, too significant to be doubted, Dale's thought of Pine gave slow birth to a strange sensation, as if hehad been dead and was vibrating back to life. 

"Tell what you got to tell!" he broke out. 

Quick as a flash the Mormon replied: "Roy's been shot. But he won't die. He sent for you. Bad deal's afoot. Beasley means to force Helen Raynerout an' steal her ranch. "

A tremor ran all through Dale. It seemed another painful yet thrillingconnection between his past and this vaguely calling future. Hisemotions had been broodings dreams, longings. This thing his friend saidhad the sting of real life. 

"Then old Al's dead?" he asked. 

"Long ago--I reckon around the middle of February. The property went toHelen. She's been doin' fine. An' many folks say it's a pity she'll loseit. "

"She won't lose it, " declared Dale. How strange his voice sounded to hisown ears! It was hoarse and unreal, as if from disuse. 

"Wal, we-all have our idees. I say she will. My father says so. Carmichael says so. "

"Who's he?"

"Reckon you remember thet cow-puncher who came up with Roy an'Auchincloss after the girls--last fall?"

"Yes. They called him Las--Las Vegas. I liked his looks. "

"Humph! You'll like him a heap when you know him. He's kept the ranchgoin' for Miss Helen all along. But the deal's comin' to a head. Beasley's got thick with thet Riggs. You remember him?"

"Yes. "

"Wal, he's been hangin' out at Pine all winter, watchin' for some chanceto get at Miss Helen or Bo. Everybody's seen thet. An' jest lately hechased Bo on hossback--gave the kid a nasty fall. Roy says Riggs wasafter Miss Helen. But I think one or t'other of the girls would do thetvarmint. Wal, thet sorta started goin's-on. Carmichael beat Riggs an'drove him out of town. But he come back. Beasley called on Miss Helenan' offered to marry her so's not to take the ranch from her, he said. "

Dale awoke with a thundering curse. 

"Shore!" exclaimed John. "I'd say the same--only I'm religious. Don'tthet beady-eyed greaser's gall make you want to spit all over yourself?My Gawd! but Roy was mad! Roy's powerful fond of Miss Helen an' Bo. .. . Wal, then, Roy, first chance he got, braced Beasley an' give him somestraight talk. Beasley was foamin' at the mouth, Roy said. It was thenRiggs shot Roy. Shot him from behind Beasley when Roy wasn't lookin'!An' Riggs brags of bein' a gun-fighter. Mebbe thet wasn't a bad shot forhim!"

"I reckon, " replied Dale, as he swallowed hard. "Now, just what wasRoy's message to me?"

"Wal, I can't remember all Roy said, " answered John, dubiously. "ButRoy shore was excited an' dead in earnest. He says: 'Tell Milt what'shappened. Tell him Helen Rayner's in more danger than she was last fall. Tell him I've seen her look away acrost the mountains toward ParadisePark with her heart in her eyes. Tell him she needs him most of all!'"

Dale shook all over as with an attack of ague. He was seized by awhirlwind of passionate, terrible sweetness of sensation, when whathe wildly wanted was to curse Roy and John for their simple-mindedconclusions. 

"Roy's--crazy!" panted Dale. 

"Wal, now, Milt--thet's downright surprisin' of you. Roy's thelevel-headest of any fellars I know. "

"Man! if he MADE me believe him--an' it turned out untrue--I'd--I'd killhim, " replied Dale. 

"Untrue! Do you think Roy Beeman would lie?"

"But, John--you fellows can't see my case. Nell Rayner wants me--needsme!. .. It can't be true!"

"Wal, my love-sick pard--it jest IS true!" exclaimed John, feelingly. "Thet's the hell of life--never knowin'. But here it's joy for you. Youcan believe Roy Beeman about women as quick as you'd trust him to trackyour lost hoss. Roy's married three girls. I reckon he'll marry somemore. Roy's only twenty-eight an' he has two big farms. He said he'dseen Nell Rayner's heart in her eyes, lookin' for you--an' you can jestbet your life thet's true. An' he said it because he means you to rustledown there an' fight for thet girl. "

"I'll--go, " said Dale, in a shaky whisper, as he sat down on a pine lognear the fire. He stared unseeingly at the bluebells in the grass by hisfeet while storm after storm possessed his breast. They were fierce andbrief because driven by his will. In those few moments of contendingstrife Dale was immeasurably removed from that dark gulf of self whichhad made his winter a nightmare. And when he stood erect again it seemedthat the old earth had a stirring, electrifying impetus for his feet. Something black, bitter, melancholy, and morbid, always unreal to him, had passed away forever. The great moment had been forced upon him. Hedid not believe Roy Beeman's preposterous hint regarding Helen; but hehad gone back or soared onward, as if by magic, to his old true self. 

Mounted on Dale's strongest horses, with only a light pack, an ax, andtheir weapons, the two men had reached the snow-line on the pass by noonthat day. Tom, the tame cougar, trotted along in the rear. 

The crust of the snow, now half thawed by the sun, would not holdthe weight of a horse, though it upheld the men on foot. They walked, leading the horses. Travel was not difficult until the snow began todeepen; then progress slackened materially. John had not been able topick out the line of the trail, so Dale did not follow his tracks. Anold blaze on the trees enabled Dale to keep fairly well to the trail;and at length the height of the pass was reached, where the snow wasdeep. Here the horses labored, plowing through foot by foot. When, finally, they sank to their flanks, they had to be dragged and goadedon, and helped by thick flat bunches of spruce boughs placed under theirhoofs. It took three hours of breaking toil to do the few hundred yardsof deep snow on the height of the pass. The cougar did not have greatdifficulty in following, though it was evident he did not like suchtraveling. 

That behind them, the horses gathered heart and worked on to the edgeof the steep descent, where they had all they could do to hold back fromsliding and rolling. Fast time was made on this slope, at the bottom ofwhich began a dense forest with snow still deep in places and windfallshard to locate. The men here performed Herculean labors, but they gotthrough to a park where the snow was gone. The ground, however, soft andboggy, in places was more treacherous than the snow; and the travelershad to skirt the edge of the park to a point opposite, and then go onthrough the forest. When they reached bare and solid ground, just beforedark that night, it was high time, for the horses were ready to drop, and the men likewise. 

Camp was made in an open wood. Darkness fell and the men were restingon bough beds, feet to the fire, with Tom curled up close by, and thehorses still drooping where they had been unsaddled. Morning, however, discovered them grazing on the long, bleached grass. John shook his headwhen he looked at them. 

"You reckoned to make Pine by nightfall. How far is it--the way you'llgo?"

"Fifty mile or thereabouts, " replied Dale. 

"Wal, we can't ride it on them critters. "

"John, we'd do more than that if we had to. "

They were saddled and on the move before sunrise, leaving snow and bogbehind. Level parks and level forests led one after another to longslopes and steep descents, all growing sunnier and greener as thealtitude diminished. Squirrels and grouse, turkeys and deer, and lesstame denizens of the forest grew more abundant as the travel advanced. In this game zone, however, Dale had trouble with Tom. The cougar had tobe watched and called often to keep him off of trails. 

"Tom doesn't like a long trip, " said Dale. "But I'm goin' to take him. Some way or other he may come in handy. "

"Sic him onto Beasley's gang, " replied John. "Some men are powerfulscared of cougars. But I never was. "

"Nor me. Though I've had cougars give me a darn uncanny feelin'. "

The men talked but little. Dale led the way, with Tom trottingnoiselessly beside his horse. John followed close behind. They loped thehorses across parks, trotted through the forests, walked slow upwhat few inclines they met, and slid down the soft, wet, pine-matteddescents. So they averaged from six to eight miles an hour. The horsesheld up well under that steady travel, and this without any rest atnoon. 

Dale seemed to feel himself in an emotional trance. Yet, despite this, the same old sensorial perceptions crowded thick and fast upon him, strangely sweet and vivid after the past dead months when neither sunnor wind nor cloud nor scent of pine nor anything in nature could stirhim. His mind, his heart, his soul seemed steeped in an intoxicatingwine of expectation, while his eyes and ears and nose had never beenkeener to register the facts of the forest-land. He saw the black thingfar ahead that resembled a burned stump, but he knew was a bear beforeit vanished; he saw gray flash of deer and wolf and coyote, and the redof fox, and the small, wary heads of old gobblers just sticking abovethe grass; and he saw deep tracks of game as well as the slow-risingblades of bluebells where some soft-footed beast had just trod. And heheard the melancholy notes of birds, the twitter of grouse, the sough ofthe wind, the light dropping of pine-cones, the near and distant bark ofsquirrels, the deep gobble of a turkey close at hand and the challengefrom a rival far away, the cracking of twigs in the thickets, the murmurof running water, the scream of an eagle and the shrill cry of a hawk, and always the soft, dull, steady pads of the hoofs of the horses. 

The smells, too, were the sweet, stinging ones of spring, warm andpleasant--the odor of the clean, fresh earth cutting its way throughthat thick, strong fragrance of pine, the smell of logs rotting in thesun, and of fresh new grass and flowers along a brook of snow-water. 

"I smell smoke, " said Dale, suddenly, as he reined in, and turned forcorroboration from his companion. 

John sniffed the warm air. 

"Wal, you're more of an Injun than me, " he replied, shaking his head. 

They traveled on, and presently came out upon the rim of the last slope. A long league of green slanted below them, breaking up into stragglinglines of trees and groves that joined the cedars, and these in turnstretched on and down in gray-black patches to the desert, thatglittering and bare, with streaks of somber hue, faded in the obscurityof distance. 

The village of Pine appeared to nestle in a curve of the edge of thegreat forest, and the cabins looked like tiny white dots set in green. 

"Look there, " said Dale, pointing. 

Some miles to the right a gray escarpment of rock cropped out of theslope, forming a promontory; and from it a thin, pale column of smokecurled upward to be lost from sight as soon as it had no background ofgreen. 

"Thet's your smoke, shore enough, " replied John, thoughtfully. "Now, Ijest wonder who's campin' there. No water near or grass for hosses. "

"John, that point's been used for smoke signals many a time. "

"Was jest thinkin' of thet same. Shall we ride around there an' take apeek?"

"No. But we'll remember that. If Beasley's got his deep scheme goin', he'll have Snake Anson's gang somewhere close. "

"Roy said thet same. Wal, it's some three hours till sundown. The hosseskeep up. I reckon I'm fooled, for we'll make Pine all right. But old Tomthere, he's tired or lazy. "

The big cougar was lying down, panting, and his half-shut eyes were onDale. 

"Tom's only lazy an' fat. He could travel at this gait for a week. Butlet's rest a half-hour an' watch that smoke before movin' on. We canmake Pine before sundown. "

When travel had been resumed, half-way down the slope Dale's sharp eyescaught a broad track where shod horses had passed, climbing in a longslant toward the promontory. He dismounted to examine it, and John, coming up, proceeded with alacrity to get off and do likewise. Dale madehis deductions, after which he stood in a brown study beside his horse, waiting for John. 

"Wal, what 'd you make of these here tracks?" asked that worthy. 

"Some horses an' a pony went along here yesterday, an' to-day a singlehorse made, that fresh track. "

"Wal, Milt, for a hunter you ain't so bad at hoss tracks, " observedJohn, "But how many hosses went yesterday?"

"I couldn't make out--several--maybe four or five. "

"Six hosses an' a colt or little mustang, unshod, to be strict-correct. Wal, supposin' they did. What 's it mean to us?"

"I don't know as I'd thought anythin' unusual, if it hadn't been forthat smoke we saw off the rim, an' then this here fresh track made alongto-day. Looks queer to me. "

"Wish Roy was here, " replied John, scratching his head. "Milt, I've ahunch, if he was, he'd foller them tracks. "

"Maybe. But we haven't time for that. We can backtrail them, though, ifthey keep clear as they are here. An' we'll not lose any time, either. "

That broad track led straight toward Pine, down to the edge of thecedars, where, amid some jagged rocks, evidences showed that men hadcamped there for days. Here it ended as a broad trail. But from thenorth came the single fresh track made that very day, and from the east, more in a line with Pine, came two tracks made the day before. And thesewere imprints of big and little hoofs. Manifestly these interested Johnmore than they did Dale, who had to wait for his companion. 

"Milt, it ain't a colt's--thet little track, " avowed John. 

"Why not--an' what if it isn't?" queried Dale. 

"Wal, it ain't, because a colt always straggles back, an' from oneside to t'other. This little track keeps close to the big one. An', byGeorge! it was made by a led mustang. "

John resembled Roy Beeman then with that leaping, intent fire in hisgray eyes. Dale's reply was to spur his horse into a trot and callsharply to the lagging cougar. 

When they turned into the broad, blossom-bordered road that was theonly thoroughfare of Pine the sun was setting red and gold behind themountains. The horses were too tired for any more than a walk. Nativesof the village, catching sight of Dale and Beeman, and the huge gray catfollowing like a dog, called excitedly to one another. A group of menin front of Turner's gazed intently down the road, and soon manifestedsigns of excitement. Dale and his comrade dismounted in front of WidowCass's cottage. And Dale called as he strode up the little path. Mrs. Cass came out. She was white and shaking, but appeared calm. At sight ofher John Beeman drew a sharp breath. 

"Wal, now--" he began, hoarsely, and left off. 

"How's Roy?" queried Dale. 

"Lord knows I'm glad to see you, boys! Milt, you're thin an'strange-lookin'. Roy's had a little setback. He got a shock to-day an'it throwed him off. Fever--an' now he's out of his head. It won't dono good for you to waste time seein' him. Take my word for it he'sall right. But there's others as--For the land's sakes, Milt Dale, youfetched thet cougar back! Don't let him near me!"

"Tom won't hurt you, mother, " said Dale, as the cougar came padding upthe path. "You were sayin' somethin'--about others. Is Miss Helen safe?Hurry!"

"Ride up to see her--an' waste no more time here. "

Dale was quick in the saddle, followed by John, but the horses had to beseverely punished to force them even to a trot. And that was a laggingtrot, which now did not leave Torn behind. 

The ride up to Auchincloss's ranch-house seemed endless to Dale. Nativescame out in the road to watch after he had passed. Stern as Dale was indominating his feelings, he could not wholly subordinate his mountingjoy to a waiting terrible anticipation of catastrophe. But no matterwhat awaited--nor what fateful events might hinge upon this namelesscircumstance about to be disclosed, the wonderful and glorious fact ofthe present was that in a moment he would see Helen Rayner. 

There were saddled horses in the courtyard, but no riders. A Mexicanboy sat on the porch bench, in the seat where Dale remembered he hadencountered Al Auchincloss. The door of the big sitting-room was open. The scent of flowers, the murmur of bees, the pounding of hoofs camevaguely to Dale. His eyes dimmed, so that the ground, when he slid outof his saddle, seemed far below him. He stepped upon the porch. Hissight suddenly cleared. A tight fullness at his throat made incoherentthe words he said to the Mexican boy. But they were understood, as theboy ran back around the house. Dale knocked sharply and stepped over thethreshold. 

Outside, John, true to his habits, was thinking, even in that moment ofsuspense, about the faithful, exhausted horses. As he unsaddled them hetalked: "Fer soft an' fat hosses, winterin' high up, wal, you've donesomethin'!"

Then Dale heard a voice in another room, a step, a creak of the door. Itopened. A woman in white appeared. He recognized Helen. But instead ofthe rich brown bloom and dark-eyed beauty so hauntingly limned onhis memory, he saw a white, beautiful face, strained and quivering inanguish, and eyes that pierced his heart. He could not speak. 

"Oh! my friend--you've come!" she whispered. 

Dale put out a shaking hand. But she did not see it. She clutched hisshoulders, as if to feel whether or not he was real, and then her armswent up round his neck. 

"Oh, thank God! I knew you would come!" she said, and her head sank tohis shoulder. 

Dale divined what he had suspected. Helen's sister had been carried off. Yet, while his quick mind grasped Helen's broken spirit--the unbalancethat was reason for this marvelous and glorious act--he did nottake other meaning of the embrace to himself. He just stood there, transported, charged like a tree struck by lightning, making sure withall his keen senses, so that he could feel forever, how she was clinginground his neck, her face over his bursting heart, her quivering formclose pressed to his. 

"It's--Bo, " he said, unsteadily. 

"She went riding yesterday--and--never--came--back!" replied Helen, brokenly. 

"I've seen her trail. She's been taken into the woods. I'll find her. I'll fetch her back, " he replied, rapidly. 

With a shock she seemed to absorb his meaning. With another shock sheraised her face--leaned back a little to look at him. 

"You'll find her--fetch her back?"

"Yes, " he answered, instantly. 

With that ringing word it seemed to Dale she realized how she wasstanding. He felt her shake as she dropped her arms and stepped back, while the white anguish of her face was flooded out by a wave ofscarlet. But she was brave in her confusion. Her eyes never fell, thoughthey changed swiftly, darkening with shame, amaze, and with feelings hecould not read. 

"I'm almost--out of my head, " she faltered. 

"No wonder. I saw that. .. . But now you must get clear-headed. I've notime to lose. "

He led her to the door. 

"John, it's Bo that's gone, " he called. "Since yesterday. .. . Send theboy to get me a bag of meat an' bread. You run to the corral an' getme a fresh horse. My old horse Ranger if you can find him quick. An'rustle. "

Without a word John leaped bareback on one of the horses he had justunsaddled and spurred him across the courtyard. 

Then the big cougar, seeing Helen, got up from where he lay on the porchand came to her. 

"Oh, it's Tom!" cried Helen, and as he rubbed against her knees shepatted his head with trembling hand. "You big, beautiful pet! Oh, how Iremember! Oh, how Bo would love to--"

"Where's Carmichael?" interrupted Dale. "Out huntin' Bo?"

"Yes. It was he who missed her first. He rode everywhere yesterday. Lastnight when he came back he was wild. I've not seen him to-day. He madeall the other men but Hal and Joe stay home on the ranch. "

"Right. An' John must stay, too, " declared Dale. "But it's strange. Carmichael ought to have found the girl's tracks. She was ridin' apony?"

"Bo rode Sam. He's a little bronc, very strong and fast. "

"I come across his tracks. How'd Carmichael miss them?"

"He didn't. He found them--trailed them all along the north range. That's where he forbade Bo to go. You see, they're in love with eachother. They've been at odds. Neither will give in. Bo disobeyed him. There's hard ground off the north range, so he said. He was able tofollow her tracks only so far. "

"Were there any other tracks along with hers?"

"No. "

"Miss Helen, I found them 'way southeast of Pine up on the slope of themountain. There were seven other horses makin' that trail--when we runacross it. On the way down we found a camp where men had waited. An'Bo's pony, led by a rider on a big horse, come into that camp from theeast--maybe north a little. An' that tells the story. "

"Riggs ran her down--made off with her!" cried Helen, passionately. "Oh, the villain! He had men in waiting. That's Beasley's work. They wereafter me. "

"It may not be just what you said, but that's close enough. An' Bo'sin a bad fix. You must face that an' try to bear up under--fears of theworst. "

"My friend! You will save her!"

"I'll fetch her back, alive or dead. "

"Dead! Oh, my God!" Helen cried, and closed her eyes an instant, to openthem burning black. "But Bo isn't dead. I know that--I feel it. She'llnot die very easy. She's a little savage. She has no fear. She'd fightlike a tigress for her life. She's strong. You remember how strong. Shecan stand anything. Unless they murder her outright she'll live--a longtime--through any ordeal. .. . So I beg you, my friend, don't lose anhour--don't ever give up!"

Dale trembled under the clasp of her hands. Loosing his own from herclinging hold, he stepped out on the porch. At that moment John appearedon Ranger, coming at a gallop. 

"Nell, I'll never come back without her, " said Dale. "I reckon you canhope--only be prepared. That's all. It's hard. But these damned dealsare common out here in the West. "

"Suppose Beasley comes--here!" exclaimed Helen, and again her hand wentout toward him. 

"If he does, you refuse to get off, " replied Dale. "But don't let himor his greasers put a dirty hand on you. Should he threaten force--why, pack some clothes--an' your valuables--an' go down to Mrs. Cass's. An'wait till I come back!"

"Wait--till you--come back!" she faltered, slowly turning white again. Her dark eyes dilated. "Milt--you're like Las Vegas. You'll killBeasley!"

Dale heard his own laugh, very cold and strange, foreign to his ears. Agrim, deadly hate of Beasley vied with the tenderness and pity he feltfor this distressed girl. It was a sore trial to see her leaning thereagainst the door--to be compelled to leave her alone. Abruptly bestalked off the porch. Tom followed him. The black horse whinnied hisrecognition of Dale and snorted at sight of the cougar. Just then theMexican boy returned with a bag. Dale tied this, with the small pack, behind the saddle. 

"John, you stay here with Miss Helen, " said Dale. "An' if Carmichaelcomes back, keep him, too! An' to-night, if any one rides into Pine fromthe way we come, you be sure to spot him. "

"I'll do thet, Milt, " responded John. 

Dale mounted, and, turning for a last word to Helen, he felt thewords of cheer halted on his lips as he saw her standing white andbroken-hearted, with her hands to her bosom. He could not look twice. 

"Come on there, you Tom, " he called to the cougar. "Reckon on this trackyou'll pay me for all my trainin' of you. "

"Oh, my friend!" came Helen's sad voice, almost a whisper to histhrobbing ears. "Heaven help you--to save her! I--"

Then Ranger started and Dale heard no more. He could not look back. Hiseyes were full of tears and his breast ached. By a tremendous effort heshifted that emotion--called on all the spiritual energy of his being tothe duty of this grim task before him. 

He did not ride down through the village, but skirted the northernborder, and worked round to the south, where, coming to the trail he hadmade an hour past, he headed on it, straight for the slope now darkeningin the twilight. The big cougar showed more willingness to return onthis trail than he had shown in the coming. Ranger was fresh and wantedto go, but Dale held him in. 

A cool wind blew down from the mountain with the coming of night. Against the brightening stars Dale saw the promontory lift its boldoutline. It was miles away. It haunted him, strangely calling. A night, and perhaps a day, separated him from the gang that held Bo Raynerprisoner. Dale had no plan as yet. He had only a motive as great as thelove he bore Helen Rayner. 

Beasley's evil genius had planned this abduction. Riggs was a tool, acowardly knave dominated by a stronger will. Snake Anson and his ganghad lain in wait at that cedar camp; had made that broad hoof trackleading up the mountain. Beasley had been there with them that very day. All this was as assured to Dale as if he had seen the men. 

But the matter of Dale's recovering the girl and doing it speedilystrung his mental strength to its highest pitch. Many outlines of actionflashed through his mind as he rode on, peering keenly through thenight, listening with practised ears. All were rejected. And at theoutset of every new branching of thought he would gaze down at thegray form of the cougar, long, graceful, heavy, as he padded beside thehorse. From the first thought of returning to help Helen Rayner he hadconceived an undefined idea of possible value in the qualities of hispet. Tom had performed wonderful feats of trailing, but he had neverbeen tried on men. Dale believed he could make him trail anything, yethe had no proof of this. One fact stood out of all Dale's conjectures, and it was that he had known men, and brave men, to fear cougars. 

Far up on the slope, in a little hollow where water ran and there wasa little grass for Ranger to pick, Dale haltered him and made ready tospend the night. He was sparing with his food, giving Tom more than hetook himself. Curled close up to Dale, the big cat went to sleep. 

But Dale lay awake for long. 

The night was still, with only a faint moan of wind on this shelteredslope. Dale saw hope in the stars. He did not seem to have promisedhimself or Helen that he could save her sister, and then her property. He seemed to have stated something unconsciously settled, outside of histhinking. Strange how this certainty was not vague, yet irreconcilablewith any plans he created! Behind it, somehow nameless withinconceivable power, surged all his wonderful knowledge of forest, oftrails, of scents, of night, of the nature of men lying down to sleep inthe dark, lonely woods, of the nature of this great cat that lived itsevery action in accordance with his will. 

He grew sleepy, and gradually his mind stilled, with his last consciousthought a portent that he would awaken to accomplish his desperate task. 

CHAPTER XX

Young Burt possessed the keenest eyes of any man in Snake Anson'sgang, for which reason he was given the post as lookout from the loftypromontory. His instructions were to keep sharp watch over the openslopes below and to report any sight of a horse. 

A cedar fire with green boughs on top of dead wood sent up a long, palecolumn of smoke. This signal-fire had been kept burning since sunrise. 

The preceding night camp had been made on a level spot in the cedarsback of the promontory. But manifestly Anson did not expect to remainthere long. For, after breakfast, the packs had been made up and thehorses stood saddled and bridled. They were restless and uneasy, tossingbits and fighting flies. The sun, now half-way to meridian, was hot andno breeze blew in that sheltered spot. 

Shady Jones had ridden off early to fill the water-bags, and had not yetreturned. Anson, thinner and scalier and more snakelike than ever, was dealing a greasy, dirty deck of cards, his opponent being thesquare-shaped, black-visaged Moze. In lieu of money the gamblers wageredwith cedar-berries, each of which berries represented a pipeful oftobacco. Jim Wilson brooded under a cedar-tree, his unshaven face adirty dust-hue, a smoldering fire in his light eyes, a sullen set to hisjaw. Every little while he would raise his eyes to glance at Riggs, andit seemed that a quick glance was enough. Riggs paced to and fro inthe open, coatless and hatless, his black-broadcloth trousers andembroidered vest dusty and torn. An enormous gun bumped awkwardly inits sheath swinging below his hip. Riggs looked perturbed. His face wassweating freely, yet it was far from red in color. He did not appear tomind the sun or the flies. His eyes were staring, dark, wild, shiftingin gaze from everything they encountered. But often that gaze shot backto the captive girl sitting under a cedar some yards from the man. 

Bo Rayner's little, booted feet were tied together with one end of alasso and the other end trailed off over the ground. Her hands werefree. Her riding-habit was dusty and disordered. Her eyes blazeddefiantly out of a small, pale face. 

"Harve Riggs, I wouldn't be standing in those cheap boots of yours fora million dollars, " she said, sarcastically. Riggs took no notice of herwords. 

"You pack that gun-sheath wrong end out. What have you got the gun for, anyhow?" she added, tauntingly. 

Snake Anson let out a hoarse laugh and Moze's black visage opened in ahuge grin. Jim Wilson seemed to drink in the girl's words. Sullen andsomber, he bent his lean head, very still, as if listening. 

"You'd better shut up, " said Riggs, darkly. 

"I will not shut up, " declared Bo. 

"Then I'll gag you, " he threatened. 

"Gag me! Why, you dirty, low-down, two-bit of a bluff!" she exclaimed, hotly, "I'd like to see you try it. I'll tear that long hair of yoursright off your head. "

Riggs advanced toward her with his hands clutching, as if eager tothrottle her. The girl leaned forward, her face reddening, her eyesfierce. 

"You damned little cat!" muttered Riggs, thickly. "I'll gag you--if youdon't stop squallin'. "

"Come on. I dare you to lay a hand on me. .. . Harve Riggs, I'm not theleast afraid of you. Can't you savvy that? You're a liar, a four-flush, a sneak! Why, you're not fit to wipe the feet of any of these outlaws. "

Riggs took two long strides and bent over her, his teeth protruding in asnarl, and he cuffed her hard on the side of the head. 

Bo's head jerked back with the force of the blow, but she uttered nocry. 

"Are you goin' to keep your jaw shut?" he demanded, stridently, and adark tide of blood surged up into his neck. 

"I should smile I'm not, " retorted Bo, in cool, deliberate angerof opposition. "You've roped me--and you've struck me! Now get aclub--stand off there--out of my reach--and beat me! Oh, if I only knewcuss words fit for you--I'd call you them!"

Snake Anson had stopped playing cards, and was watching, listening, withhalf-disgusted, half-amused expression on his serpent-like face. JimWilson slowly rose to his feet. If any one had observed him it wouldhave been to note that he now seemed singularly fascinated by thisscene, yet all the while absorbed in himself. Once he loosened theneck-band of his blouse. 

Riggs swung his arm more violently at the girl. But she dodged. 

"You dog!" she hissed. "Oh, if I only had a gun!"

Her face then, with its dead whiteness and the eyes of flame, held atragic, impelling beauty that stung Anson into remonstrance. 

"Aw, Riggs, don't beat up the kid, " he protested. "Thet won't do anygood. Let her alone. "

"But she's got to shut up, " replied Riggs. 

"How 'n hell air you goin' to shet her up? Mebbe if you get out of hersight she'll be quiet. .. . How about thet, girl?"

Anson gnawed his drooping mustache as he eyed Bo. 

"Have I made any kick to you or your men yet?" she queried. 

"It strikes me you 'ain't, " replied Anson. 

"You won't hear me make any so long as I'm treated decent, " said Bo. "I don't know what you've got to do with Riggs. He ran me down--ropedme--dragged me to your camp. Now I've a hunch you're waiting forBeasley. "

"Girl, your hunch 's correct, " said Anson. 

"Well, do you know I'm the wrong girl?"

"What's thet? I reckon you're Nell Rayner, who got left all oldAuchincloss's property. "

"No. I'm Bo Rayner. Nell is my sister. She owns the ranch. Beasleywanted her. "

Anson cursed deep and low. Under his sharp, bristling eyebrows he bentcunning green eyes upon Riggs. 

"Say, you! Is what this kid says so?"

"Yes. She's Nell Rayner's sister, " replied Riggs, doggedly. 

"A-huh! Wal, why in the hell did you drag her into my camp an' off uphere to signal Beasley? He ain't wantin' her. He wants the girl who ownsthe ranch. Did you take one fer the other--same as thet day we was withyou?"

"Guess I must have, " replied Riggs, sullenly. 

"But you knowed her from her sister afore you come to my camp?"

Riggs shook his head. He was paler now and sweating more freely. Thedank hair hung wet over his forehead. His manner was that of a mansuddenly realizing he had gotten into a tight place. 

"Oh, he's a liar!" exclaimed Bo, with contemptuous ring in her voice. "He comes from my country. He has known Nell and me for years. "

Snake Anson turned to look at Wilson. 

"Jim, now hyar's a queer deal this feller has rung in on us. I thoughtthet kid was pretty young. Don't you remember Beasley told us NellRayner was a handsome woman?"

"Wal, pard Anson, if this heah gurl ain't handsome my eyes have gonepore, " drawled Wilson. 

"A-huh! So your Texas chilvaree over the ladies is some operatin', "retorted Anson, with fine sarcasm. "But thet ain't tellin' me what youthink?"

"Wal, I ain't tellin' you what I think yet. But I know thet kid ain'tNell Rayner. For I've seen her. "

Anson studied his right-hand man for a moment, then, taking out histobacco-pouch, he sat himself down upon a stone and proceeded leisurelyto roll a cigarette. He put it between his thin lips and apparentlyforgot to light it. For a few moments he gazed at the yellow ground andsome scant sage-brush. Riggs took to pacing up and down. Wilson leanedas before against the cedar. The girl slowly recovered from her excessof anger. 

"Kid, see hyar, " said Anson, addressing the girl; "if Riggs knowed youwasn't Nell an' fetched you along anyhow--what 'd he do thet fur?"

"He chased me--caught me. Then he saw some one after us and he hurriedto your camp. He was afraid--the cur!"

Riggs heard her reply, for he turned a malignant glance upon her. 

"Anson, I fetched her because I know Nell Rayner will give up anythin'on earth for her, " he said, in loud voice. 

Anson pondered this statement with an air of considering its apparentsincerity. 

"Don't you believe him, " declared Bo Rayner, bluntly. "He's a liar. He'sdouble-crossing Beasley and all of you. "

Riggs raised a shaking hand to clench it at her. "Keep still or it 'llbe the worse for you. "

"Riggs, shut up yourself, " put in Anson, as he leisurely rose. "Mebbe it'ain't occurred to you thet she might have some talk interestin' to me. An' I'm runnin' this hyar camp. . .. Now, kid, talk up an' say what youlike. "

"I said he was double-crossing you all, " replied the girl, instantly. "Why, I'm surprised you'd be caught in his company! My uncle Al andmy sweetheart Carmichael and my friend Dale--they've all told me whatWestern men are, even down to outlaws, robbers, cutthroat rascals likeyou. And I know the West well enough now to be sure that four-flushdoesn't belong here and can't last here. He went to Dodge City onceand when he came back he made a bluff at being a bad man. He was aswaggering, bragging, drinking gun-fighter. He talked of the men he'dshot, of the fights he'd had. He dressed like some of those gun-throwinggamblers. .. . He was in love with my sister Nell. She hated him. Hefollowed us out West and he has hung on our actions like a sneakingIndian. Why, Nell and I couldn't even walk to the store in the village. He rode after me out on the range--chased me. .. . For that Carmichaelcalled Riggs's bluff down in Turner's saloon. Dared him to draw! Cussedhim every name on the range! Slapped and beat and kicked him! Drove himout of Pine!. .. And now, whatever he has said to Beasley or you, it's adead sure bet he's playing his own game. That's to get hold of Nell, andif not her--then me!. .. Oh, I'm out of breath--and I'm out of names tocall him. If I talked forever--I'd never be--able to--do him justice. But lend me--a gun--a minute!"

Jim Wilson's quiet form vibrated with a start. Anson with his admiringsmile pulled his gun and, taking a couple of steps forward, held it outbutt first. She stretched eagerly for it and he jerked it away. 

"Hold on there!" yelled Riggs, in alarm. 

"Damme, Jim, if she didn't mean bizness!" exclaimed the outlaw. 

"Wal, now--see heah, Miss. Would you bore him--if you hed a gun?"inquired Wilson, with curious interest. There was more of respect in hisdemeanor than admiration. 

"No. I don't want his cowardly blood on my hands, " replied the girl. "But I'd make him dance--I'd make him run. "

"Shore you can handle a gun?"

She nodded her answer while her eyes flashed hate and her resolute lipstwitched. 

Then Wilson made a singularly swift motion and his gun was pitched buttfirst to within a foot of her hand. She snatched it up, cocked it, aimedit, all before Anson could move. But he yelled:

"Drop thet gun, you little devil!"

Riggs turned ghastly as the big blue gun lined on him. He also yelled, but that yell was different from Anson's. 

"Run or dance!" cried the girl. 

The big gun boomed and leaped almost out of her hand. She took bothhands, and called derisively as she fired again. The second bullet hitat Riggs's feet, scattering the dust and fragments of stone all overhim. He bounded here--there--then darted for the rocks. A third time theheavy gun spoke and this bullet must have ticked Riggs, for he let out ahoarse bawl and leaped sheer for the protection of a rock. 

"Plug him! Shoot off a leg!" yelled Snake Anson, whooping and stamping, as Riggs got out of sight. 

Jim Wilson watched the whole performance with the same quietnessthat had characterized his manner toward the girl. Then, as Riggsdisappeared, Wilson stepped forward and took the gun from the girl'strembling hands. She was whiter than ever, but still resolute anddefiant. Wilson took a glance over in the direction Riggs had hidden andthen proceeded to reload the gun. Snake Anson's roar of laughter ceasedrather suddenly. 

"Hyar, Jim, she might have held up the whole gang with thet gun, " heprotested. 

"I reckon she 'ain't nothin' ag'in' us, " replied Wilson. 

"A-huh! You know a lot about wimmen now, don't you? But thet did myheart good. Jim, what 'n earth would you have did if thet 'd been youinstead of Riggs?"

The query seemed important and amazing. Wilson pondered. 

"Shore I'd stood there--stock-still--an' never moved an eye-winker. "

"An' let her shoot!" ejaculated Anson, nodding his long head. "Me, too!"

So these rough outlaws, inured to all the violence and baseness of theirdishonest calling, rose to the challenging courage of a slip of a girl. She had the one thing they respected--nerve. 

Just then a halloo, from the promontory brought Anson up with a start. Muttering to himself, he strode out toward the jagged rocks that hid theoutlook. Moze shuffled his burly form after Anson. 

"Miss, it shore was grand--thet performance of Mister Gunman Riggs, "remarked Jim Wilson, attentively studying the girl. 

"Much obliged to you for lending me your gun, " she replied. "I--I hope Ihit him--a little. "

"Wal, if you didn't sting him, then Jim Wilson knows nothin' aboutlead. "

"Jim Wilson? Are you the man--the outlaw my uncle Al knew?"

"Reckon I am, miss. Fer I knowed Al shore enough. What 'd he say abootme?"

"I remember once he was telling me about Snake Anson's gang. Hementioned you. Said you were a real gun-fighter. And what a shame it wasyou had to be an outlaw. "

"Wal! An' so old Al spoke thet nice of me. .. . It's tolerable likely I'llremember. An' now, miss, can I do anythin' for you?"

Swift as a flash she looked at him. 

"What do you mean?"

"Wal, shore I don't mean much, I'm sorry to say. Nothin' to makeyou look like thet. .. . I hev to be an outlaw, shore as you're born. But--mebbe there's a difference in outlaws. "

She understood him and paid him the compliment not to voice her suddenupflashing hope that he might be one to betray his leader. 

"Please take this rope off my feet. Let me walk a little. Let me havea--a little privacy. That fool watched every move I made. I promise notto run away. And, oh! I'm thirsty. "

"Shore you've got sense. " He freed her feet and helped her get up. "There'll be some fresh water any minit now, if you'll wait. "

Then he turned his back and walked over to where Riggs sat nursing abullet-burn on his leg. 

"Say, Riggs, I'm takin' the responsibility of loosin' the girl for alittle spell. She can't get away. An' there ain't any sense in bein'mean. "

Riggs made no reply, and went on rolling down his trousers leg, lappeda fold over at the bottom and pulled on his boot. Then he strode outtoward the promontory. Half-way there he encountered Anson trampingback. 

"Beasley's comin' one way an' Shady's comin' another. We'll be off thishot point of rock by noon, " said the outlaw leader. 

Riggs went on to the promontory to look for himself. 

"Where's the girl?" demanded Anson, in surprise, when he got back to thecamp. 

"Wal, she's walkin' 'round between heah an' Pine, " drawled Wilson. 

"Jim, you let her loose?"

"Shore I did. She's been hawg-tied all the time. An' she said she'd notrun off. I'd take thet girl's word even to a sheep-thief. "

"A-huh. So would I, for all of thet. But, Jim, somethin's workin' inyou. Ain't you sort of rememberin' a time when you was young--an' mebbeknowed pretty kids like this one?"

"Wal, if I am it 'll shore turn out bad fer somebody. "

Anson gave him a surprised stare and suddenly lost the bantering tone. 

"A-huh! So thet's how it's workin', " he replied, and flung himself downin the shade. 

Young Burt made his appearance then, wiping his sallow face. Hisdeep-set, hungry eyes, upon which his comrades set such store, rovedaround the camp. 

"Whar's the gurl?" he queried. 

"Jim let her go out fer a stroll, " replied Anson. 

"I seen Jim was gittin' softy over her. Haw! Haw! Haw!"

But Snake Anson did not crack a smile. The atmosphere appeared not to becongenial for jokes, a fact Burt rather suddenly divined. Riggs and Mozereturned from the promontory, the latter reporting that Shady Jones wasriding up close. Then the girl walked slowly into sight and approachedto find a seat within ten yards of the group. They waited in silenceuntil the expected horseman rode up with water-bottles slung on bothsides of his saddle. His advent was welcome. All the men were thirsty. Wilson took water to the girl before drinking himself. 

"Thet's an all-fired hot ride fer water, " declared the outlaw Shady, whosomehow fitted his name in color and impression. "An', boss, if it's thesame to you I won't take it ag'in. "

"Cheer up, Shady. We'll be rustlin' back in the mountains beforesundown, " said Anson. 

"Hang me if that ain't the cheerfulest news I've hed in some days. Hey, Moze?"

The black-faced Moze nodded his shaggy head. 

"I'm sick an' sore of this deal, " broke out Burt, evidently encouragedby his elders. "Ever since last fall we've been hangin' 'round--tilljest lately freezin' in camps--no money--no drink--no grub wuth havin'. All on promises!"

Not improbably this young and reckless member of the gang had struckthe note of discord. Wilson seemed most detached from any sentimentprevailing there. Some strong thoughts were revolving in his brain. 

"Burt, you ain't insinuatin' thet I made promises?" inquired Anson, ominously. 

"No, boss, I ain't. You allus said we might hit it rich. But thempromises was made to you. An' it 'd be jest like thet greaser to go backon his word now we got the gurl. "

"Son, it happens we got the wrong one. Our long-haired pard hyar--MisterRiggs--him with the big gun--he waltzes up with this sassy kid insteadof the woman Beasley wanted. "

Burt snorted his disgust while Shady Jones, roundly swearing, peltedthe smoldering camp-fire with stones. Then they all lapsed into surlysilence. The object of their growing scorn, Riggs, sat a littleway apart, facing none of them, but maintaining as bold a front asapparently he could muster. 

Presently a horse shot up his ears, the first indication of scent orsound imperceptible to the men. But with this cue they all, exceptWilson, sat up attentively. Soon the crack of iron-shod hoofs on stonebroke the silence. Riggs nervously rose to his feet. And the others, still excepting Wilson, one by one followed suit. In another moment arangy bay horse trotted out of the cedars, up to the camp, and his riderjumped off nimbly for so heavy a man. 

"Howdy, Beasley?" was Anson's greeting. 

"Hello, Snake, old man!" replied Beasley, as his bold, snapping blackeyes swept the group. He was dusty and hot, and wet with sweat, yetevidently too excited to feel discomfort. "I seen your smoke signalfirst off an' jumped my hoss quick. But I rode north of Pine before Iheaded 'round this way. Did you corral the girl or did Riggs? Say!--youlook queer!. .. What's wrong here? You haven't signaled me for nothin'?"

Snake Anson beckoned to Bo. 

"Come out of the shade. Let him look you over. "

The girl walked out from under the spreading cedar that had hidden herfrom sight. 

Beasley stared aghast--his jaw dropped. 

"Thet's the kid sister of the woman I wanted!" he ejaculated. 

"So we've jest been told. "

Astonishment still held Beasley. 

"Told?" he echoed. Suddenly his big body leaped with a start. "Who gother? Who fetched her?"

"Why, Mister Gunman Riggs hyar, " replied Anson, with a subtle scorn. 

"Riggs, you got the wrong girl, " shouted Beasley. "You made thet mistakeonce before. What're you up to?"

"I chased her an' when I got her, seein' it wasn't Nell Rayner--why--Ikept her, anyhow, " replied Riggs. "An' I've got a word for your earalone. "

"Man, you're crazy--queerin' my deal thet way!" roared Beasley. "Youheard my plans. .. . Riggs, this girl-stealin' can't be done twice. Wasyou drinkin' or locoed or what?"

"Beasley, he was giving you the double-cross, " cut in Bo Rayner's coolvoice. 

The rancher stared speechlessly at her, then at Anson, then at Wilson, and last at Riggs, when his brown visage shaded dark with rush of purpleblood. With one lunge he knocked Riggs flat, then stood over him with aconvulsive hand at his gun. 

"You white-livered card-sharp! I've a notion to bore you. .. . They toldme you had a deal of your own, an' now I believe it. "

"Yes--I had, " replied Riggs, cautiously getting up. He was ghastly. "ButI wasn't double-crossin' you. Your deal was to get the girl away fromhome so you could take possession of her property. An' I wanted her. "

"What for did you fetch the sister, then?" demanded Beasley, his big jawbulging. 

"Because I've a plan to--"

"Plan hell! You've spoiled my plan an' I've seen about enough of you. "Beasley breathed hard; his lowering gaze boded an uncertain will towardthe man who had crossed him; his hand still hung low and clutching. 

"Beasley, tell them to get my horse. I want to go home, " said Bo Rayner. 

Slowly Beasley turned. Her words enjoined a silence. What to do with hernow appeared a problem. 

"I had nothin' to do with fetchin' you here an' I'll have nothin' to dowith sendin' you back or whatever's done with you, " declared Beasley. 

Then the girl's face flashed white again and her eyes changed to fire. 

"You're as big a liar as Riggs, " she cried, passionately. "And you'rea thief, a bully who picks on defenseless girls. Oh, we know your game!Milt Dale heard your plot with this outlaw Anson to steal my sister. Youought to be hanged--you half-breed greaser!"

"I'll cut out your tongue!" hissed Beasley. 

"Yes, I'll bet you would if you had me alone. But these outlaws--thesesheep-thieves--these tools you hire are better than you and Riggs. .. . What do you suppose Carmichael will do to you? Carmichael! He's mysweetheart--that cowboy. You know what he did to Riggs. Have you brainsenough to know what he'll do to you?"

"He'll not do much, " growled Beasley. But the thick purplish blood wasreceding from his face. "Your cowpuncher--"

"Bah!" she interrupted, and she snapped her fingers in his face. "He'sfrom Texas! He's from TEXAS!"

"Supposin' he is from Texas?" demanded Beasley, in angry irritation. "What's thet? Texans are all over. There's Jim Wilson, Snake Anson'sright-hand man. He's from Texas. But thet ain't scarin' any one. "

He pointed toward Wilson, who shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Thegirl's flaming glance followed his hand. 

"Are you from Texas?" she asked. 

"Yes, Miss, I am--an' I reckon I don't deserve it, " replied Wilson. Itwas certain that a vague shame attended his confession. 

"Oh! I believed even a bandit from Texas would fight for a helplessgirl!" she replied, in withering scorn of disappointment. 

Jim Wilson dropped his head. If any one there suspected a seriousturn to Wilson's attitude toward that situation it was the keen outlawleader. 

"Beasley, you're courtin' death, " he broke in. 

"You bet you are!" added Bo, with a passion that made her listenersquiver. "You've put me at the mercy of a gang of outlaws! You may forcemy sister out of her home! But your day will come. ' Tom Carmichael willKILL you. "

Beasley mounted his horse. Sullen, livid, furious, he sat shaking in thesaddle, to glare down at the outlaw leader. 

"Snake, thet's no fault of mine the deal's miscarried. I was square. Imade my offer for the workin' out of my plan. It 'ain't been done. Nowthere's hell to pay an' I'm through. "

"Beasley, I reckon I couldn't hold you to anythin', " replied Anson, slowly. "But if you was square you ain't square now. We've hung aroundan' tried hard. My men are all sore. An' we're broke, with no outfit tospeak of. Me an' you never fell out before. But I reckon we might. "

"Do I owe you any money--accordin' to the deal?" demanded Beasley. 

"No, you don't, " responded Anson, sharply. 

"Then thet's square. I wash my hands of the whole deal. Make Riggs payup. He's got money an' he's got plans. Go in with him. "

With that Beasley spurred his horse, wheeled and rode away. The outlawsgazed after him until he disappeared in the cedars. 

"What'd you expect from a greaser?" queried Shady Jones. 

"Anson, didn't I say so?" added Burt. 

The black-visaged Moze rolled his eyes like a mad bull and Jim Wilsonstudiously examined a stick he held in his hands. Riggs showed immenserelief. 

"Anson, stake me to some of your outfit an' I'll ride off with thegirl, " he said, eagerly. 

"Where'd you go now?" queried Anson, curiously. 

Riggs appeared at a loss for a quick answer; his wits were no more equalto this predicament than his nerve. 

"You're no woodsman. An' onless you're plumb locoed you'd never riskgoin' near Pine or Show Down. There'll be real trackers huntin' yourtrail. "

The listening girl suddenly appealed to Wilson. 

"Don't let him take me off--alone--in the woods!" she faltered. That wasthe first indication of her weakening. 

Jim Wilson broke into gruff reply. "I'm not bossin' this gang. "

"But you're a man!" she importuned. 

"Riggs, you fetch along your precious firebrand an' come with us, " saidAnson, craftily. "I'm particular curious to see her brand you. "

"Snake, lemme take the girl back to Pine, " said Jim Wilson. 

Anson swore his amaze. 

"It's sense, " continued Wilson. "We've shore got our own troubles, an'keepin' her 'll only add to them. I've a hunch. Now you know I ain'toften givin' to buckin' your say-so. But this deal ain't tastin' good tome. Thet girl ought to be sent home. "

"But mebbe there's somethin' in it for us. Her sister 'd pay to git herback. "

"Wal, I shore hope you'll recollect I offered--thet's all, " concludedWilson. 

"Jim, if we wanted to git rid of her we'd let Riggs take her off, "remonstrated the outlaw leader. He was perturbed and undecided. Wilsonworried him. 

The long Texan veered around full faced. What subtle transformation inhim!

"Like hell we would!" he said. 

It could not have been the tone that caused Anson to quail. He mighthave been leader here, but he was not the greater man. His face clouded. 

"Break camp, " he ordered. 

Riggs had probably not heard that last exchange between Anson andWilson, for he had walked a few rods aside to get his horse. 

In a few moments when they started off, Burt, Jones, and Moze were inthe lead driving the pack-horses, Anson rode next, the girl came betweenhim and Riggs, and significantly, it seemed, Jim Wilson brought up therear. 

This start was made a little after the noon hour. They zigzagged up theslope, took to a deep ravine, and followed it up to where it headed inthe level forest. From there travel was rapid, the pack-horses beingdriven at a jogtrot. Once when a troop of deer burst out of a thicketinto a glade, to stand with ears high, young Burt halted the cavalcade. His well-aimed shot brought down a deer. Then the men rode on, leavinghim behind to dress and pack the meat. The only other halt made was atthe crossing of the first water, a clear, swift brook, where both horsesand men drank thirstily. Here Burt caught up with his comrades. 

They traversed glade and park, and wended a crooked trail through thedeepening forest, and climbed, bench after bench, to higher ground, while the sun sloped to the westward, lower and redder. Sunset had gone, and twilight was momentarily brightening to the afterglow when Anson, breaking his silence of the afternoon, ordered a halt. 

The place was wild, dismal, a shallow vale between dark slopes ofspruce. Grass, fire-wood, and water were there in abundance. All themen were off, throwing saddles and packs, before the tired girl made aneffort to get down. Riggs, observing her, made a not ungentle move topull her off. She gave him a sounding slap with her gloved hand. 

"Keep your paws to yourself, " she said. No evidence of exhaustion wasthere in her spirit. 

Wilson had observed this by-play, but Anson had not. 

"What come off?" he asked. 

"Wal, the Honorable Gunman Riggs jest got caressed by the lady--as hewas doin' the elegant, " replied Moze, who stood nearest. 

"Jim, was you watchin'?" queried Anson. His curiosity had held throughthe afternoon. 

"He tried to yank her off an' she biffed him, " replied Wilson. 

"That Riggs is jest daffy or plain locoed, " said Snake, in an aside toMoze. 

"Boss, you mean plain cussed. Mark my words, he'll hoodoo this outfit. Jim was figgerin' correct. "

"Hoodoo--" cursed Anson, under his breath. 

Many hands made quick work. In a few moments a fire was burningbrightly, water was boiling, pots were steaming, the odor of venisonpermeated the cool air. The girl had at last slipped off her saddle tothe ground, where she sat while Riggs led the horse away. She sat thereapparently forgotten, a pathetic droop to her head. 

Wilson had taken an ax and was vigorously wielding it among the spruces. One by one they fell with swish and soft crash. Then the sliding ringof the ax told how he was slicing off the branches with long sweeps. Presently he appeared in the semi-darkness, dragging half-trimmedspruces behind him. He made several trips, the last of which was tostagger under a huge burden of spruce boughs. These he spread under alow, projecting branch of an aspen. Then he leaned the bushy sprucesslantingly against this branch on both sides, quickly improvising aV-shaped shelter with narrow aperture in front. Next from one ofthe packs he took a blanket and threw that inside the shelter. Then, touching the girl on the shoulder, he whispered:

"When you're ready, slip in there. An' don't lose no sleep by worryin', fer I'll be layin' right here. "

He made a motion to indicate his length across the front of the narrowaperture. 

"Oh, thank you! Maybe you really are a Texan, " she whispered back. 

"Mebbe, " was his gloomy reply. 

CHAPTER XXI

The girl refused to take food proffered her by Riggs, but she ate anddrank a little that Wilson brought her, then she disappeared in thespruce lean-to. 

Whatever loquacity and companionship had previously existed inSnake Anson's gang were not manifest in this camp. Each man seemedpreoccupied, as if pondering the dawn in his mind of an ill omen notclear to him yet and not yet dreamed of by his fellows. They all smoked. Then Moze and Shady played cards awhile by the light of the fire, but itwas a dull game, in which either seldom spoke. Riggs sought his blanketfirst, and the fact was significant that he lay down some distance fromthe spruce shelter which contained Bo Rayner. Presently young Burt wentoff grumbling to his bed. And not long afterward the card-players didlikewise. 

Snake Anson and Jim Wilson were left brooding in silence beside thedying camp-fire. 

The night was dark, with only a few stars showing. A fitful wind moanedunearthly through the spruce. An occasional thump of hoof sounded fromthe dark woods. No cry of wolf or coyote or cat gave reality to thewildness of forest-land. 

By and by those men who had rolled in their blankets were breathing deepand slow in heavy slumber. 

"Jim, I take it this hyar Riggs has queered our deal, " said Snake Anson, in low voice. 

"I reckon, " replied Wilson. 

"An' I'm feared he's queered this hyar White Mountain country fer us. "

"Shore I 'ain't got so far as thet. What d' ye mean, Snake?"

"Damme if I savvy, " was the gloomy reply. "I only know what was badlooks growin' wuss. Last fall--an' winter--an' now it's near April. We've got no outfit to make a long stand in the woods. .. . Jim, jest howstrong is thet Beasley down in the settlements?"

"I've a hunch he ain't half as strong as he bluffs. "

"Me, too. I got thet idee yesterday. He was scared of the kid--when shefired up an' sent thet hot-shot about her cowboy sweetheart killin' him. He'll do it, Jim. I seen that Carmichael at Magdalena some years ago. Then he was only a youngster. But, whew! Mebbe he wasn't bad aftertoyin' with a little red liquor. "

"Shore. He was from Texas, she said. "

"Jim, I savvied your feelin's was hurt--by thet talk about Texas--an'when she up an' asked you. "

Wilson had no rejoinder for this remark. 

"Wal, Lord knows, I ain't wonderin'. You wasn't a hunted outlaw allyour life. An' neither was I. .. . Wilson, I never was keen on this girldeal--now, was I?"

"I reckon it's honest to say no to thet, " replied Wilson. "But it'sdone. Beasley 'll get plugged sooner or later. Thet won't help us any. Chasin' sheep-herders out of the country an' stealin' sheep--thet ain'tstealin' gurls by a long sight. Beasley 'll blame that on us, an' begreaser enough to send some of his men out to hunt us. For Pine an' ShowDown won't stand thet long. There's them Mormons. They'll be hell whenthey wake up. Suppose Carmichael got thet hunter Dale an' them hawk-eyedBeemans on our trail?"

"Wal, we'd cash in--quick, " replied Anson, gruffly. 

"Then why didn't you let me take the gurl back home?"

"Wal, come to think of thet, Jim, I'm sore, an' I need money--an' Iknowed you'd never take a dollar from her sister. An' I've made up mymind to git somethin' out of her. "

"Snake, you're no fool. How 'll you do thet same an' do it quick?"

"'Ain't reckoned it out yet. "

"Wal, you got aboot to-morrer an' thet's all, " returned Wilson, gloomily. 

"Jim, what's ailin' you?"

"I'll let you figger thet out. "

"Wal, somethin' ails the whole gang, " declared Anson, savagely. "With them it's nothin' to eat--no whisky--no money to bet with--notobacco!. .. But thet's not what's ailin' you, Jim Wilson, nor me!"

"Wal, what is, then?" queried Wilson. 

"With me it's a strange feelin' thet my day's over on these ranges. Ican't explain, but it jest feels so. Somethin' in the air. I don't likethem dark shadows out there under the spruces. Savvy?. .. An' as fer you, Jim--wal, you allus was half decent, an' my gang's got too lowdown feryou. "

"Snake, did I ever fail you?"

"No, you never did. You're the best pard I ever knowed. In the yearswe've rustled together we never had a contrary word till I let Beasleyfill my ears with his promises. Thet's my fault. But, Jim, it's toolate. "

"It mightn't have been too late yesterday. "

"Mebbe not. But it is now, an' I'll hang on to the girl or git her worthin gold, " declared the outlaw, grimly. 

"Snake, I've seen stronger gangs than yours come an' go. Them Big Bendgangs in my country--them rustlers--they were all bad men. You have nolikes of them gangs out heah. If they didn't get wiped out by Rangersor cowboys, why they jest naturally wiped out themselves. Thet's a law Irecognize in relation to gangs like them. An' as for yours--why, Anson, it wouldn't hold water against one real gun-slinger. "

"A-huh' Then if we ran up ag'in' Carmichael or some such fellar--wouldyou be suckin' your finger like a baby?"

"Wal, I wasn't takin' count of myself. I was takin' generalities. "

"Aw, what 'n hell are them?" asked Anson, disgustedly. "Jim, I know aswell as you thet this hyar gang is hard put. We're goin' to be trailedan' chased. We've got to hide--be on the go all the time--here an'there--all over, in the roughest woods. An' wait our chance to worksouth. "

"Shore. But, Snake, you ain't takin' no count of the feelin's of themen--an' of mine an' yours. .. . I'll bet you my hoss thet in a day or sothis gang will go to pieces. "

"I'm feared you spoke what's been crowdin' to git in my mind, " repliedAnson. Then he threw up his hands in a strange gesture of resignation. The outlaw was brave, but all men of the wilds recognized a forcestronger than themselves. He sat there resembling a brooding snake withbasilisk eyes upon the fire. At length he arose, and without anotherword to his comrade he walked wearily to where lay the dark, quiet formsof the sleepers. 

Jim Wilson remained beside the flickering fire. He was reading somethingin the red embers, perhaps the past. Shadows were on his face, not allfrom the fading flames or the towering spruces. Ever and anon he raisedhis head to listen, not apparently that he expected any unusual sound, but as if involuntarily. Indeed, as Anson had said, there was somethingnameless in the air. The black forest breathed heavily, in fitful moansof wind. It had its secrets. The glances Wilson threw on all sidesbetrayed that any hunted man did not love the dark night, though it hidhim. Wilson seemed fascinated by the life inclosed there by the blackcircle of spruce. He might have been reflecting on the strange reactionhappening to every man in that group, since a girl had been broughtamong them. Nothing was clear, however; the forest kept its secret, asdid the melancholy wind; the outlaws were sleeping like tired beasts, with their dark secrets locked in their hearts. 

After a while Wilson put some sticks on the red embers, then pulled theend of a log over them. A blaze sputtered up, changing the dark circleand showing the sleepers with their set, shadowed faces upturned. Wilsongazed on all of them, a sardonic smile on his lips, and then his lookfixed upon the sleeper apart from the others--Riggs. It might have beenthe false light of flame and shadow that created Wilson's expression ofdark and terrible hate. Or it might have been the truth, expressedin that lonely, unguarded hour, from the depths of a man born in theSouth--a man who by his inheritance of race had reverence for allwomanhood--by whose strange, wild, outlawed bloody life of a gun-fighterhe must hate with the deadliest hate this type that aped and mocked hisfame. 

It was a long gaze Wilson rested upon Riggs--as strange and secretive asthe forest wind moaning down the great aisles--and when that dark gazewas withdrawn Wilson stalked away to make his bed with the stride of oneill whom spirit had liberated force. 

He laid his saddle in front of the spruce shelter where the girl hadentered, and his tarpaulin and blankets likewise and then wearilystretched his long length to rest. 

The camp-fire blazed up, showing the exquisite green and brown-fleckedfestooning of the spruce branches, symmetrical and perfect, yet soirregular, and then it burned out and died down, leaving all in the dimgray starlight. The horses were not moving around; the moan of nightwind had grown fainter; the low hum of insects was dying away; eventhe tinkle of the brook had diminished. And that growth toward absolutesilence continued, yet absolute silence was never attained. Life abidedin the forest; only it had changed its form for the dark hours. 

Anson's gang did not bestir themselves at the usual early sunrise hourcommon to all woodsmen, hunters, or outlaws, to whom the break of daywas welcome. These companions--Anson and Riggs included--might havehated to see the dawn come. It meant only another meager meal, thenthe weary packing and the long, long ride to nowhere in particular, and another meager meal--all toiled for without even the necessities ofsatisfactory living, and assuredly without the thrilling hopes thatmade their life significant, and certainly with a growing sense ofapproaching calamity. 

The outlaw leader rose surly and cross-grained. He had to boot Burtto drive him out for the horses. Riggs followed him. Shady Jones didnothing except grumble. Wilson, by common consent, always made thesour-dough bread, and he was slow about it this morning. Anson and Mozedid the rest of the work, without alacrity. The girl did not appear. 

"Is she dead?" growled Anson. 

"No, she ain't, " replied Wilson, looking up. "She's sleepin'. Let hersleep. She'd shore be a sight better off if she was daid. "

"A-huh! So would all of this hyar outfit, " was Anson's response. 

"Wal, Sna-ake, I shore reckon we'll all be thet there soon, " drawledWilson, in his familiar cool and irritating tone that said so much morethan the content of the words. 

Anson did not address the Texas member of his party again. 

Burt rode bareback into camp, driving half the number of the horses;Riggs followed shortly with several more. But three were missed, oneof them being Anson's favorite. He would not have budged without thathorse. During breakfast he growled about his lazy men, and after themeal tried to urge them off. Riggs went unwillingly. Burt refused to goat all. 

"Nix. I footed them hills all I'm a-goin' to, " he said. "An' from now onI rustle my own hoss. "

The leader glared his reception of this opposition. Perhaps his sense offairness actuated him once more, for he ordered Shady and Moze out to dotheir share. 

"Jim, you're the best tracker in this outfit. Suppose you go, " suggestedAnson. "You allus used to be the first one off. "

"Times has changed, Snake, " was the imperturbable reply. 

"Wal, won't you go?" demanded the leader, impatiently. 

"I shore won't. "

Wilson did not look or intimate in any way that he would not leave thegirl in camp with one or any or all of Anson's gang, but the truth wasas significant as if he had shouted it. The slow-thinking Moze gaveWilson a sinister look. 

"Boss, ain't it funny how a pretty wench--?" began Shady Jones, sarcastically. 

"Shut up, you fool!" broke in Anson. "Come on, I'll help rustle themhosses. "

After they had gone Burt took his rifle and strolled off into theforest. Then the girl appeared. Her hair was down, her face pale, withdark shadows. She asked for water to wash her face. Wilson pointed tothe brook, and as she walked slowly toward it he took a comb and a cleanscarf from his pack and carried them to her. 

Upon her return to the camp-fire she looked very different with her hairarranged and the red stains in her cheeks. 

"Miss, air you hungry?" asked Wilson. 

"Yes, I am, " she replied. 

He helped her to portions of bread, venison and gravy, and a cup ofcoffee. Evidently she relished the meat, but she had to force down therest. 

"Where are they all?" she asked. 

"Rustlin' the hosses. "

Probably she divined that he did not want to talk, for the fleetingglance she gave him attested to a thought that his voice or demeanor hadchanged. Presently she sought a seat under the aspen-tree, out ofthe sun, and the smoke continually blowing in her face; and there shestayed, a forlorn little figure, for all the resolute lips and defianteyes. 

The Texan paced to and fro beside the camp-fire with bent head, and hands locked behind him. But for the swinging gun he would haveresembled a lanky farmer, coatless and hatless, with his brown vestopen, his trousers stuck in the top of the high boots. 

And neither he nor the girl changed their positions relatively fora long time. At length, however, after peering into the woods, andlistening, he remarked to the girl that he would be back in a moment, and then walked off around the spruces. 

No sooner had he disappeared--in fact, so quickly after-ward that itpresupposed design instead of accident--than Riggs came running from theopposite side of the glade. He ran straight to the girl, who sprang toher feet. 

"I hid--two of the--horses, " he panted, husky with excitement. "I'lltake--two saddles. You grab some grub. We'll run for it. "

"No, " she cried, stepping back. 

"But it's not safe--for us--here, " he said, hurriedly, glancing allaround. "I'll take you--home. I swear. .. . Not safe--I tell you--thisgang's after me. Hurry!"

He laid hold of two saddles, one with each hand. The moment had reddenedhis face, brightened his eyes, made his action strong. 

"I'm safer--here with this outlaw gang, " she replied. 

"You won't come!" His color began to lighten then, and his face todistort. He dropped his hold on the saddles. 

"Harve Riggs, I'd rather become a toy and a rag for these ruffians thanspend an hour alone with you, " she flashed at him, in unquenchable hate. 

"I'll drag you!"

He seized her, but could not hold her. Breaking away, she screamed. 

"Help!"

That whitened his face, drove him to frenzy. Leaping forward, he struckher a hard blow across the mouth. It staggered her, and, tripping on asaddle, she fell. His hands flew to her throat, ready to choke her. Butshe lay still and held her tongue. Then he dragged her to her feet. 

"Hurry now--grab that pack--an' follow me. " Again Riggs laid hold of thetwo saddles. A desperate gleam, baleful and vainglorious, flashed overhis face. He was living his one great adventure. 

The girl's eyes dilated. They looked beyond him. Her lips opened. 

"Scream again an' I'll kill you!" he cried, hoarsely and swiftly. Thevery opening of her lips had terrified Riggs. 

"Reckon one scream was enough, " spoke a voice, slow, but without thedrawl, easy and cool, yet incalculable in some terrible sense. 

Riggs wheeled with inarticulate cry. Wilson stood a few paces off, withhis gun half leveled, low down. His face seemed as usual, only his eyesheld a quivering, light intensity, like boiling molten silver. 

"Girl, what made thet blood on your mouth?"

"Riggs hit me!" she whispered. Then at something she feared or saw ordivined she shrank back, dropped on her knees, and crawled into thespruce shelter. 

"Wal, Riggs, I'd invite you to draw if thet 'd be any use, " said Wilson. This speech was reflective, yet it hurried a little. 

Riggs could not draw nor move nor speak. He seemed turned to stone, except his jaw, which slowly fell. 

"Harve Riggs, gunman from down Missouri way, " continued the voice ofincalculable intent, "reckon you've looked into a heap of gun-barrels inyour day. Shore! Wal, look in this heah one!"

Wilson deliberately leveled the gun on a line with Riggs's startingeyes. 

"Wasn't you heard to brag in Turner's saloon--thet you could see leadcomin'--an' dodge it? Shore you must be swift!. .. DODGE THIS HEAHBULLET!"

The gun spouted flame and boomed. One of Riggs's starting, poppingeyes--the right one--went out, like a lamp. The other rolled horribly, then set in blank dead fixedness. Riggs swayed in slow motion until alost balance felled him heavily, an inert mass. 

Wilson bent over the prostrate form. Strange, violent contrast to thecool scorn of the preceding moment! Hissing, spitting, as if poisoned bypassion, he burst with the hate that his character had forbidden him toexpress on a living counterfeit. Wilson was shaken, as if by a palsy. Hechoked over passionate, incoherent invective. It was class hate first, then the hate of real manhood for a craven, then the hate of disgracefor a murder. No man so fair as a gun-fighter in the Western creed of an"even break"!

Wilson's terrible cataclysm of passion passed. Straightening up, hesheathed his weapon and began a slow pace before the fire. Not manymoments afterward he jerked his head high and listened. Horses weresoftly thudding through the forest. Soon Anson rode into sight withhis men and one of the strayed horses. It chanced, too, that young Burtappeared on the other side of the glade. He walked quickly, as one whoanticipated news. 

Snake Anson as he dismounted espied the dead man. 

"Jim--I thought I heard a shot. "

The others exclaimed and leaped off their horses to view the prostrateform with that curiosity and strange fear common to all men confrontedby sight of sudden death. 

That emotion was only momentary. 

"Shot his lamp out!" ejaculated Moze. 

"Wonder how Gunman Riggs liked thet plumb center peg!" exclaimed ShadyJones, with a hard laugh. 

"Back of his head all gone!" gasped young Burt. Not improbably he hadnot seen a great many bullet-marked men. 

"Jim!--the long-haired fool didn't try to draw on you!" exclaimed SnakeAnson, astounded. 

Wilson neither spoke nor ceased his pacing. 

"What was it over?" added Anson, curiously. 

"He hit the gurl, " replied Wilson. 

Then there were long-drawn exclamations all around, and glance metglance. 

"Jim, you saved me the job, " continued the outlaw leader. "An' I'm muchobliged. .. . Fellars, search Riggs an' we'll divvy. .. . Thet all right, Jim?"

"Shore, an' you can have my share. "

They found bank-notes in the man's pocket and considerable gold worn ina money-belt around his waist. Shady Jones appropriated his boots, andMoze his gun. Then they left him as he had fallen. 

"Jim, you'll have to track them lost hosses. Two still missin' an' oneof them's mine, " called Anson as Wilson paced to the end of his beat. 

The girl heard Anson, for she put her head out of the spruce shelter andcalled: "Riggs said he'd hid two of the horses. They must be close. Hecame that way. "

"Howdy, kid! Thet's good news, " replied Anson. His spirits were rising. "He must hev wanted you to slope with him?"

"Yes. I wouldn't go. "

"An' then he hit you?"

"Yes. "

"Wal, recallin' your talk of yestiddy, I can't see as Mister Riggslasted much longer hyar than he'd hev lasted in Texas. We've some ofthet great country right in our outfit. "

The girl withdrew her white face. 

"It's break camp, boys, " was the leader's order. "A couple of you lookup them hosses. They'll be hid in some thick spruces. The rest of us 'llpack. "

Soon the gang was on the move, heading toward the height of land, andswerving from it only to find soft and grassy ground that would notleave any tracks. 

They did not travel more than a dozen miles during the afternoon, butthey climbed bench after bench until they reached the timbered plateauthat stretched in sheer black slope up to the peaks. Here rose the greatand gloomy forest of firs and pines, with the spruce overshadowed andthinned out. The last hour of travel was tedious and toilsome, a zigzag, winding, breaking, climbing hunt for the kind of camp-site suitedto Anson's fancy. He seemed to be growing strangely irrational aboutselecting places to camp. At last, for no reason that could have beenmanifest to a good woodsman, he chose a gloomy bowl in the center of thedensest forest that had been traversed. The opening, if such it couldhave been called, was not a park or even a glade. A dark cliff, withstrange holes, rose to one side, but not so high as the lofty pines thatbrushed it. Along its base babbled a brook, running over such formationof rock that from different points near at hand it gave forth differentsounds, some singing, others melodious, and one at least of a hollow, weird, deep sound, not loud, but strangely penetrating. 

"Sure spooky I say, " observed Shady, sentiently. 

The little uplift of mood, coincident with the rifling of Riggs'sperson, had not worn over to this evening camp. What talk the outlawsindulged in was necessary and conducted in low tones. The place enjoinedsilence. 

Wilson performed for the girl very much the same service as he had thenight before. Only he advised her not to starve herself; she must eatto keep up her strength. She complied at the expense of considerableeffort. 

As it had been a back-breaking day, in which all of them, except thegirl, had climbed miles on foot, they did not linger awake long enoughafter supper to learn what a wild, weird, and pitch-black spot theoutlaw leader had chosen. The little spaces of open ground between thehuge-trunked pine-trees had no counterpart up in the lofty spreadingfoliage. Not a star could blink a wan ray of light into that Stygianpit. The wind, cutting down over abrupt heights farther up, sang in thepine-needles as if they were strings vibrant with chords. Dismal creakswere audible. They were the forest sounds of branch or tree rubbing oneanother, but which needed the corrective medium of daylight to convinceany human that they were other than ghostly. Then, despite the wind anddespite the changing murmur of the brook, there seemed to be a silenceinsulating them, as deep and impenetrable as the darkness. 

But the outlaws, who were fugitives now, slept the sleep of the weary, and heard nothing. They awoke with the sun, when the forest seemed smokyin a golden gloom, when light and bird and squirrel proclaimed the day. 

The horses had not strayed out of this basin during the night, acircumstance that Anson was not slow to appreciate. 

"It ain't no cheerful camp, but I never seen a safer place to hole upin, " he remarked to Wilson. 

"Wal, yes--if any place is safe, " replied that ally, dubiously. 

"We can watch our back tracks. There ain't any other way to git in hyarthet I see. "

"Snake, we was tolerable fair sheep-rustlers, but we're no goodwoodsmen. "

Anson grumbled his disdain of this comrade who had once been hismainstay. Then he sent Burt out to hunt fresh meat and engaged his othermen at cards. As they now had the means to gamble, they at once becameabsorbed. Wilson smoked and divided his thoughtful gaze between thegamblers and the drooping figure of the girl. The morning air waskeen, and she, evidently not caring to be near her captors beside thecamp-fire, had sought the only sunny spot in this gloomy dell. A coupleof hours passed; the sun climbed high; the air grew warmer. Once theoutlaw leader raised his head to scan the heavy-timbered slopes thatinclosed the camp. 

"Jim, them hosses are strayin' off, " he observed. 

Wilson leisurely rose and stalked off across the small, open patches, in the direction of the horses. They had grazed around from the righttoward the outlet of the brook. Here headed a ravine, dense and green. Two of the horses had gone down. Wilson evidently heard them, thoughthey were not in sight, and he circled somewhat so as to get ahead ofthem and drive them back. The invisible brook ran down over the rockswith murmur and babble. He halted with instinctive action. He listened. Forest sounds, soft, lulling, came on the warm, pine-scented breeze. Itwould have taken no keen ear to hear soft and rapid padded footfalls. He moved on cautiously and turned into a little open, mossy spot, brown-matted and odorous, full of ferns and bluebells. In the middleof this, deep in the moss, he espied a huge round track of a cougar. He bent over it. Suddenly he stiffened, then straightened guardedly. Atthat instant he received a hard prod in the back. Throwing up his hands, he stood still, then slowly turned. A tall hunter in gray buckskin, gray-eyed and square-jawed, had him covered with a cocked rifle. Andbeside this hunter stood a monster cougar, snarling and blinking. 

CHAPTER XXII

"Howdy, Dale, " drawled Wilson. "Reckon you're a little previous on me. "

"Sssssh! Not so loud, " said the hunter, in low voice. "You're JimWilson?"

"Shore am. Say, Dale, you showed up soon. Or did you jest happen to runacrost us?"

"I've trailed you. Wilson, I'm after the girl. "

"I knowed thet when I seen you!"

The cougar seemed actuated by the threatening position of his master, and he opened his mouth, showing great yellow fangs, and spat at Wilson. The outlaw apparently had no fear of Dale or the cocked rifle, but thathuge, snarling cat occasioned him uneasiness. 

"Wilson, I've heard you spoken of as a white outlaw, " said Dale. 

"Mebbe I am. But shore I'll be a scared one in a minit. Dale, he's goin'to jump me!"

"The cougar won't jump you unless I make him. Wilson, if I let you gowill you get the girl for me?"

"Wal, lemme see. Supposin' I refuse?" queried Wilson, shrewdly. 

"Then, one way or another, it's all up with you. "

"Reckon I 'ain't got much choice. Yes, I'll do it. But, Dale, are yougoin' to take my word for thet an' let me go back to Anson?"

"Yes, I am. You're no fool. An' I believe you're square. I've got Ansonand his gang corralled. You can't slip me--not in these woods. I couldrun off your horses--pick you off one by one--or turn the cougar looseon you at night. "

"Shore. It's your game. Anson dealt himself this hand. .. . Between youan' me, Dale, I never liked the deal. "

"Who shot Riggs?. .. I found his body. "

"Wal, yours truly was around when thet come off, " replied Wilson, withan involuntary little shudder. Some thought made him sick. 

"The girl? Is she safe--unharmed?" queried Dale, hurriedly. 

"She's shore jest as safe an' sound as when she was home. Dale, she'sthe gamest kid thet ever breathed! Why, no one could hev ever made mebelieve a girl, a kid like her, could hev the nerve she's got. Nothin'shappened to her 'cept Riggs hit her in the mouth. .. . I killed him forthet. .. . An', so help me, God, I believe it's been workin' in me to saveher somehow! Now it'll not be so hard. "

"But how?" demanded Dale. 

"Lemme see. .. . Wal, I've got to sneak her out of camp an' meet you. Thet's all. "

"It must be done quick. "

"But, Dale, listen, " remonstrated Wilson, earnestly. "Too quick 'llbe as bad as too slow. Snake is sore these days, gittin' sorer all thetime. He might savvy somethin', if I ain't careful, an' kill the girlor do her harm. I know these fellars. They're all ready to go to pieces. An' shore I must play safe. Shore it'd be safer to have a plan. "

Wilson's shrewd, light eyes gleamed with an idea. He was about to lowerone of his upraised hands, evidently to point to the cougar, when hethought better of that. 

"Anson's scared of cougars. Mebbe we can scare him an' the gang so it'd be easy to sneak the girl off. Can you make thet big brute do tricks?Rush the camp at night an' squall an' chase off the horses?"

"I'll guarantee to scare Anson out of ten years' growth, " replied Dale. 

"Shore it's a go, then, " resumed Wilson, as if glad. "I'll post thegirl--give her a hunch to do her part. You sneak up to-night jest beforedark. I'll hev the gang worked up. An' then you put the cougar to histricks, whatever you want. When the gang gits wild I'll grab the girlan' pack her off down heah or somewheres aboot an' whistle fer you. .. . But mebbe thet ain't so good. If thet cougar comes pilin' into camp hemight jump me instead of one of the gang. An' another hunch. He mightslope up on me in the dark when I was tryin' to find you. Shore thetain't appealin' to me. "

"Wilson, this cougar is a pet, " replied Dale. "You think he's dangerous, but he's not. No more than a kitten. He only looks fierce. He has neverbeen hurt by a person an' he's never fought anythin' himself but deeran' bear. I can make him trail any scent. But the truth is I couldn'tmake him hurt you or anybody. All the same, he can be made to scare thehair off any one who doesn't know him. "

"Shore thet settles me. I'll be havin' a grand joke while them fellarsis scared to death. .. . Dale, you can depend on me. An' I'm beholdin'to you fer what 'll square me some with myself. .. . To-night, an' if itwon't work then, to-morrer night shore!"

Dale lowered the rifle. The big cougar spat again. Wilson dropped hishands and, stepping forward, split the green wall of intersecting sprucebranches. Then he turned up the ravine toward the glen. Once there, insight of his comrades, his action and expression changed. 

"Hosses all thar, Jim?" asked Anson, as he picked up, his cards. 

"Shore. They act awful queer, them hosses, " replied. Wilson. "They'reafraid of somethin'. "

"A-huh! Silvertip mebbe, " muttered Anson. "Jim, You jest keep watch ofthem hosses. We'd be done if some tarnal varmint stampeded them. "

"Reckon I'm elected to do all the work now, " complained Wilson, "whileyou card-sharps cheat each other. Rustle the hosses--an' water an'fire-wood. Cook an' wash. Hey?"

"No one I ever seen can do them camp tricks any better 'n Jim Wilson, "replied Anson. 

"Jim, you're a lady's man an' thar's our pretty hoodoo over thar tofeed an' amoose, " remarked Shady Jones, with a smile that disarmed hisspeech. 

The outlaws guffawed. 

"Git out, Jim, you're breakin' up the game, " said Moze, who appearedloser. 

"Wal, thet gurl would starve if it wasn't fer me, " replied Wilson, genially, and he walked over toward her, beginning to address her, quiteloudly, as he approached. "Wal, miss, I'm elected cook an' I'd shorelike to heah what you fancy fer dinner. "

The outlaws heard, for they guffawed again. "Haw! Haw! if Jim ain'tfunny!" exclaimed Anson. 

The girl looked up amazed. Wilson was winking at her, and when he gotnear he began to speak rapidly and low. 

"I jest met Dale down in the woods with his pet cougar. He's after you. I'm goin' to help him git you safe away. Now you do your part. I wantyou to pretend you've gone crazy. Savvy? Act out of your head! ShoreI don't care what you do or say, only act crazy. An' don't be scared. We're goin' to scare the gang so I'll hev a chance to sneak you away. To-night or to-morrow--shore. "

Before he began to speak she was pale, sad, dull of eye. Swiftly, withhis words, she was transformed, and when he had ended she did not appearthe same girl. She gave him one blazing flash of comprehension andnodded her head rapidly. 

"Yes, I understand. I'll do it!" she whispered. 

The outlaw turned slowly away with the most abstract air, confoundedamid his shrewd acting, and he did not collect himself until half-wayback to his comrades. Then, beginning to hum an old darky tune, hestirred up and replenished the fire, and set about preparation for themidday meal. But he did not miss anything going on around him. He sawthe girl go into her shelter and come out with her hair all down overher face. Wilson, back to his comrades, grinned his glee, and he waggedhis head as if he thought the situation was developing. 

The gambling outlaws, however, did not at once see the girl preeningherself and smoothing her long hair in a way calculated to startle. 

"Busted!" ejaculated Anson, with a curse, as he slammed down his cards. "If I ain't hoodooed I'm a two-bit of a gambler!"

"Sartin you're hoodooed, " said Shady Jones, in scorn. "Is thet jestdawnin' on you?"

"Boss, you play like a cow stuck in the mud, " remarked Moze, laconically. 

"Fellars, it ain't funny, " declared Anson, with pathetic gravity. "I'mjest gittin' on to myself. Somethin's wrong. Since 'way last fall noluck--nothin' but the wust end of everythin'. I ain't blamin' anybody. I'm the boss. It's me thet's off. "

"Snake, shore it was the gurl deal you made, " rejoined Wilson, who hadlistened. "I told you. Our troubles hev only begun. An' I can see thewind-up. Look!"

Wilson pointed to where the girl stood, her hair flying wildly all overher face and shoulders. She was making most elaborate bows to an oldstump, sweeping the ground with her tresses in her obeisance. 

Anson started. He grew utterly astounded. His amaze was ludicrous. Andthe other two men looked to stare, to equal their leader's bewilderment. 

"What 'n hell's come over her?" asked Anson, dubiously. "Must hev perkedup. .. . But she ain't feelin' thet gay!"

Wilson tapped his forehead with a significant finger. 

"Shore I was scared of her this mawnin', " he whispered. 

"Naw!" exclaimed Anson, incredulously. 

"If she hain't queer I never seen no queer wimmin, " vouchsafed ShadyJones, and it would have been judged, by the way he wagged his head, that he had been all his days familiar with women. 

Moze looked beyond words, and quite alarmed. 

"I seen it comin', " declared Wilson, very much excited. "But I wasscared to say so. You-all made fun of me aboot her. Now I shore wish Ihad spoken up. "

Anson nodded solemnly. He did not believe the evidence of his sight, but the facts seemed stunning. As if the girl were a dangerous andincomprehensible thing, he approached her step by step. Wilson followed, and the others appeared drawn irresistibly. 

"Hey thar--kid!" called Anson, hoarsely. 

The girl drew her slight form up haughtily. Through her spreadingtresses her eyes gleamed unnaturally upon the outlaw leader. But shedeigned not to reply. 

"Hey thar--you Rayner girl!" added Anson, lamely. "What's ailin' you?"

"My lord! did you address me?" she asked, loftily. 

Shady Jones got over his consternation and evidently extracted somehumor from the situation, as his dark face began to break its strain. 

"Aww!" breathed Anson, heavily. 

"Ophelia awaits your command, my lord. I've been gathering flowers, "she said, sweetly, holding up her empty hands as if they contained abouquet. 

Shady Jones exploded in convulsed laughter. But his merriment was notshared. And suddenly it brought disaster upon him. The girl flew at him. 

"Why do you croak, you toad? I will have you whipped and put in irons, you scullion!" she cried, passionately. 

Shady underwent a remarkable change, and stumbled in his backwardretreat. Then she snapped her fingers in Moze's face. 

"You black devil! Get hence! Avaunt!"

Anson plucked up courage enough to touch her. 

"Aww! Now, Ophelyar--"

Probably he meant to try to humor her, but she screamed, and he jumpedback as if she might burn him. She screamed shrilly, in wild, staccatonotes. 

"You! You!" she pointed her finger at the outlaw leader. "You brute towomen! You ran off from your wife!"

Anson turned plum-color and then slowly white. The girl must have sent arandom shot home. 

"And now the devil's turned you into a snake. A long, scaly snake withgreen eyes! Uugh! You'll crawl on your belly soon--when my cowboy findsyou. And he'll tramp you in the dust. "

She floated away from them and began to whirl gracefully, arms spreadand hair flying; and then, apparently oblivious of the staring men, shebroke into a low, sweet song. Next she danced around a pine, then dancedinto her little green inclosure. From which presently she sent out themost doleful moans. 

"Aww! What a shame!" burst out Anson. "Thet fine, healthy, nervy kid!Clean gone! Daffy! Crazy 'n a bedbug!"

"Shore it's a shame, " protested Wilson. "But it's wuss for us. Lord! ifwe was hoodooed before, what will we be now? Didn't I tell you, SnakeAnson? You was warned. Ask Shady an' Moze--they see what's up. "

"No luck 'll ever come our way ag'in, " predicted Shady, mournfully. 

"It beats me, boss, it beats me, " muttered Moze. 

"A crazy woman on my hands! If thet ain't the last straw!" broke outAnson, tragically, as he turned away. Ignorant, superstitious, workedupon by things as they seemed, the outlaw imagined himself at last besetby malign forces. When he flung himself down upon one of the packs hisbig red-haired hands shook. Shady and Moze resembled two other men atthe end of their ropes. 

Wilson's tense face twitched, and he averted it, as apparently he foughtoff a paroxysm of some nature. Just then Anson swore a thundering oath. 

"Crazy or not, I'll git gold out of thet kid!" he roared. 

"But, man, talk sense. Are you gittin' daffy, too? I declare thisoutfit's been eatin' loco. You can't git gold fer her!" said Wilson, deliberately. 

"Why can't I?"

"'Cause we're tracked. We can't make no dickers. Why, in another day orso we'll be dodgin' lead. "

"Tracked! Whar 'd you git thet idee? As soon as this?" queried Anson, lifting his head like a striking snake. His men, likewise, betrayedsudden interest. 

"Shore it's no idee. I 'ain't seen any one. But I feel it in my senses. I hear somebody comin'--a step on our trail--all the time--night inparticular. Reckon there's a big posse after us. "

"Wal, if I see or hear anythin' I'll knock the girl on the head an'we'll dig out of hyar, " replied Anson, sullenly. 

Wilson executed a swift forward motion, violent and passionate, soutterly unlike what might have been looked for from him, that the threeoutlaws gaped. 

"Then you'll shore hev to knock Jim Wilson on the haid first, " he said, in voice as strange as his action. 

"Jim! You wouldn't go back on me!" implored Anson, with uplifted hands, in a dignity of pathos. 

"I'm losin' my haid, too, an' you shore might as well knock it in, an'you'll hev to before I'll stand you murderin' thet pore little gurlyou've drove crazy. "

"Jim, I was only mad, " replied Anson. "Fer thet matter, I'm growin'daffy myself. Aw! we all need a good stiff drink of whisky. "

So he tried to throw off gloom and apprehension, but he failed. Hiscomrades did not rally to his help. Wilson walked away, nodding hishead. 

"Boss, let Jim alone, " whispered Shady. "It's orful the way you buckag'in' him--when you seen he's stirred up. Jim's true blue. But yougotta be careful. "

Moze corroborated this statement by gloomy nods. 

When the card-playing was resumed, Anson did not join the game, andboth Moze and Shady evinced little of that whole-hearted obsession whichusually attended their gambling. Anson lay at length, his head in asaddle, scowling at the little shelter where the captive girl keptherself out of sight. At times a faint song or laugh, very unnatural, was wafted across the space. Wilson plodded at the cooking andapparently heard no sounds. Presently he called the men to eat, whichoffice they surlily and silently performed, as if it was a favorbestowed upon the cook. 

"Snake, hadn't I ought to take a bite of grub over to the gurl?" askedWilson. 

"Do you hev to ask me thet?" snapped Anson. "She's gotta be fed, if wehev to stuff it down her throat. "

"Wal, I ain't stuck on the job, " replied Wilson. "But I'll tackle it, seein' you-all got cold feet. "

With plate and cup be reluctantly approached the little lean-to, and, kneeling, he put his head inside. The girl, quick-eyed and alert, hadevidently seen him coming. At any rate, she greeted him with a cautioussmile. 

"Jim, was I pretty good?" she whispered. 

"Miss, you was shore the finest aktress I ever seen, " he responded, in alow voice. "But you dam near overdid it. I'm goin' to tell Anson you'resick now--poisoned or somethin' awful. Then we'll wait till night. Daleshore will help us out. "

"Oh, I'm on fire to get away, " she exclaimed. "Jim Wilson, I'll neverforget you as long as I live!"

He seemed greatly embarrassed. 

"Wal--miss--I--I'll do my best licks. But I ain't gamblin' none onresults. Be patient. Keep your nerve. Don't get scared. I reckon betweenme an' Dale you'll git away from heah. "

Withdrawing his head, he got up and returned to the camp-fire, whereAnson was waiting curiously. 

"I left the grub. But she didn't touch it. Seems sort of sick to me, like she was poisoned. "

"Jim, didn't I hear you talkin'?" asked Anson. 

"Shore. I was coaxin' her. Reckon she ain't so ranty as she was. But sheshore is doubled-up, an' sickish. "

"Wuss an' wuss all the time, " said Anson, between his teeth. "An'where's Burt? Hyar it's noon an' he left early. He never was nowoodsman. He's got lost. "

"Either thet or he's run into somethin', " replied Wilson, thoughtfully. 

Anson doubled a huge fist and cursed deep under his breath--the reactionof a man whose accomplices and partners and tools, whose luck, whosefaith in himself had failed him. He flung himself down under a tree, andafter a while, when his rigidity relaxed, he probably fell asleep. Mozeand Shady kept at their game. Wilson paced to and fro, sat down, andthen got up to bunch the horses again, walked around the dell and backto camp. The afternoon hours were long. And they were waiting hours. Theact of waiting appeared on the surface of all these outlaws did. 

At sunset the golden gloom of the glen changed to a vague, thicktwilight. Anson rolled over, yawned, and sat up. As he glanced around, evidently seeking Burt, his face clouded. 

"No sign of Burt?" he asked. 

Wilson expressed a mild surprise. "Wal, Snake, you ain't expectin' Burtnow?"

"I am, course I am. Why not?" demanded Anson. "Any other time we'd lookfer him, wouldn't we?"

"Any other time ain't now. .. . Burt won't ever come back!" Wilson spokeit with a positive finality. 

"A-huh! Some more of them queer feelin's of yourn--operatin' again, hey?Them onnatural kind thet you can't explain, hey?"

Anson's queries were bitter and rancorous. 

"Yes. An', Snake, I tax you with this heah. Ain't any of them queerfeelin's operatin' in you?"

"No!" rolled out the leader, savagely. But his passionate denial was aproof that he lied. From the moment of this outburst, which was a fierceclinging to the old, brave instincts of his character, unless a suddenchange marked the nature of his fortunes, he would rapidly deteriorateto the breaking-point. And in such brutal, unrestrained natures as histhis breaking-point meant a desperate stand, a desperate forcing ofevents, a desperate accumulation of passions that stalked out to dealand to meet disaster and blood and death. 

Wilson put a little wood on the fire and he munched a biscuit. No oneasked him to cook. No one made any effort to do so. One by one each manwent to the pack to get some bread and meat. 

Then they waited as men who knew not what they waited for, yet hated anddreaded it. 

Twilight in that glen was naturally a strange, veiled condition of theatmosphere. It was a merging of shade and light, which two seemed tomake gray, creeping shadows. 

Suddenly a snorting and stamping of the horses startled the men. 

"Somethin' scared the hosses, " said Anson, rising. "Come on. "

Moze accompanied him, and they disappeared in the gloom. More tramplingof hoofs was heard, then a cracking of brush, and the deep voices ofmen. At length the two outlaws returned, leading three of the horses, which they haltered in the open glen. 

The camp-fire light showed Anson's face dark and serious. 

"Jim, them hosses are wilder 'n deer, " he said. "I ketched mine, an'Moze got two. But the rest worked away whenever we come close. Somevarmint has scared them bad. We all gotta rustle out thar quick. "

Wilson rose, shaking his head doubtfully. And at that moment the quietair split to a piercing, horrid neigh of a terrified horse. Prolonged toa screech, it broke and ended. Then followed snorts of fright, pound andcrack and thud of hoofs, and crash of brush; then a gathering thumping, crashing roar, split by piercing sounds. 

"Stampede!" yelled Anson, and he ran to hold his own horse, which he hadhaltered right in camp. It was big and wild-looking, and now reared andplunged to break away. Anson just got there in time, and then it tookall his weight to pull the horse down. Not until the crashing, snorting, pounding melee had subsided and died away over the rim of the glen didAnson dare leave his frightened favorite. 

"Gone! Our horses are gone! Did you hear 'em?" he exclaimed, blankly. 

"Shore. They're a cut-up an' crippled bunch by now, " replied Wilson. 

"Boss, we'll never git 'ern back, not 'n a hundred years, " declaredMoze. 

"Thet settles us, Snake Anson, " stridently added Shady Jones. "Themhosses are gone! You can kiss your hand to them. .. . They wasn't hobbled. They hed an orful scare. They split on thet stampede an' they'll nevergit together. . .. See what you've fetched us to!"

Under the force of this triple arraignment the outlaw leader dropped tohis seat, staggered and silenced. In fact, silence fell upon all the menand likewise enfolded the glen. 

Night set in jet-black, dismal, lonely, without a star. Faintly the windmoaned. Weirdly the brook babbled through its strange chords to end inthe sound that was hollow. It was never the same--a rumble, as if faint, distant thunder--a deep gurgle, as of water drawn into a vortex--arolling, as of a stone in swift current. The black cliff was invisible, yet seemed to have many weird faces; the giant pines loomed spectral;the shadows were thick, moving, changing. Flickering lights from thecamp-fire circled the huge trunks and played fantastically over thebrooding men. This camp-fire did not burn or blaze cheerily; it had noglow, no sputter, no white heart, no red, living embers. One by one theoutlaws, as if with common consent, tried their hands at making the fireburn aright. What little wood had been collected was old; it would burnup with false flare, only to die quickly. 

After a while not one of the outlaws spoke or stirred. Not one smoked. Their gloomy eyes were fixed on the fire. Each one was concerned withhis own thoughts, his own lonely soul unconsciously full of a doubt ofthe future. That brooding hour severed him from comrade. 

At night nothing seemed the same as it was by day. With success andplenty, with full-blooded action past and more in store, these outlawswere as different from their present state as this black night wasdifferent from the bright day they waited for. Wilson, though he playeda deep game of deceit for the sake of the helpless girl--and thus didnot have haunting and superstitious fears on her account--was probablymore conscious of impending catastrophe than any of them. 

The evil they had done spoke in the voice of nature, out of thedarkness, and was interpreted by each according to his hopes and fears. Fear was their predominating sense. For years they had lived with somespecies of fear--of honest men or vengeance, of pursuit, of starvation, of lack of drink or gold, of blood and death, of stronger men, of luck, of chance, of fate, of mysterious nameless force. Wilson was the type offearless spirit, but he endured the most gnawing and implacable fear ofall--that of himself--that he must inevitably fall to deeds beneath hismanhood. 

So they hunched around the camp-fire, brooding because hope was atlowest ebb; listening because the weird, black silence, with its moanof wind and hollow laugh of brook, compelled them to hear; waiting forsleep, for the hours to pass, for whatever was to come. 

And it was Anson who caught the first intimation of an impending doom. 

CHAPTER XXIII

"Listen!"

Anson whispered tensely. His poise was motionless, his eyes rovedeverywhere. He held up a shaking, bludgy finger, to command silence. 

A third and stranger sound accompanied the low, weird moan of the wind, and the hollow mockery of the brook--and it seemed a barely perceptible, exquisitely delicate wail or whine. It filled in the lulls between theother sounds. 

"If thet's some varmint he's close, " whispered Anson. 

"But shore, it's far off, " said Wilson. 

Shady Jones and Moze divided their opinions in the same way. 

All breathed freer when the wail ceased, relaxing to their formerlounging positions around the fire. An impenetrable wall of blacknesscircled the pale space lighted by the camp-fire; and this circlecontained the dark, somber group of men in the center, the dyingcamp-fire, and a few spectral trunks of pines and the tethered horses onthe outer edge. The horses scarcely moved from their tracks, and theirerect, alert heads attested to their sensitiveness to the peculiaritiesof the night. 

Then, at an unusually quiet lull the strange sound gradually arose to awailing whine. 

"It's thet crazy wench cryin', " declared the outlaw leader. 

Apparently his allies accepted that statement with as much relief asthey had expressed for the termination of the sound. 

"Shore, thet must be it, " agreed Jim Wilson, gravely. 

"We'll git a lot of sleep with thet gurl whinin' all night, " growledShady Jones. 

"She gives me the creeps, " said Moze. 

Wilson got up to resume his pondering walk, head bent, hands behind hisback, a grim, realistic figure of perturbation. 

"Jim--set down. You make me nervous, " said Anson, irritably. 

Wilson actually laughed, but low, as if to keep his strange mirth wellconfined. 

"Snake, I'll bet you my hoss an' my gun ag'in' a biscuit thet in abootsix seconds more or less I'll be stampedin like them hosses. "

Anson's lean jaw dropped. The other two outlaws stared with roundeyes. Wilson was not drunk, they evidently knew; but what he really wasappeared a mystery. 

"Jim Wilson, are you showin' yellow?" queried Anson, hoarsely. 

"Mebbe. The Lord only knows. But listen heah. .. . Snake, you've seen an'heard people croak?"

"You mean cash in--die?"

"Shore. "

"Wal, yes--a couple or so, " replied Anson, grimly. 

"But you never seen no one die of shock--of an orful scare?"

"No, I reckon I never did. "

"I have. An' thet's what's ailin' Jim Wilson, " and he resumed his doggedsteps. 

Anson and his two comrades exchanged bewildered glances with oneanother. 

"A-huh! Say, what's thet got to do with us hyar? asked Anson, presently. 

"Thet gurl is dyin'!" retorted Wilson, in a voice cracking like a whip. 

The three outlaws stiffened in their seats, incredulous, yetirresistibly swayed by emotions that stirred to this dark, lonely, ill-omened hour. 

Wilson trudged to the edge of the lighted circle, muttering to himself, and came back again; then he trudged farther, this time almost outof sight, but only to return; the third time he vanished in theimpenetrable wall of light. The three men scarcely moved a muscle asthey watched the place where he had disappeared. In a few moments hecame stumbling back. 

"Shore she's almost gone, " he said, dismally. "It took my nerve, butI felt of her face. .. . Thet orful wail is her breath chokin' in herthroat. .. . Like a death-rattle, only long instead of short. "

"Wal, if she's gotta croak it's good she gits it over quick, " repliedAnson. "I 'ain't hed sleep fer three nights. . .. An' what I need iswhisky. "

"Snake, thet's gospel you're spoutin', " remarked Shady Jones, morosely. 

The direction of sound in the glen was difficult to be assured of, butany man not stirred to a high pitch of excitement could have told thatthe difference in volume of this strange wail must have been caused bydifferent distances and positions. Also, when it was loudest, it wasmost like a whine. But these outlaws heard with their consciences. 

At last it ceased abruptly. 

Wilson again left the group to be swallowed up by the night. His absencewas longer than usual, but he returned hurriedly. 

"She's daid!" he exclaimed, solemnly. "Thet innocent kid--who neverharmed no one--an' who'd make any man better fer seein' her--she'sdaid!. .. Anson, you've shore a heap to answer fer when your time comes. "

"What's eatin' you?" demanded the leader, angrily. "Her blood ain't onmy hands. "

"It shore is, " shouted Wilson, shaking his hand at Anson. "An' you'llhev to take your medicine. I felt thet comin' all along. An' I feel somemore. "

"Aw! She's jest gone to sleep, " declared Anson, shaking his long frameas he rose. "Gimme a light. "

"Boss, you're plumb off to go near a dead gurl thet's jest died crazy, "protested Shady Jones. 

"Off! Haw! Haw! Who ain't off in this outfit, I'd like to know?" Ansonpossessed himself of a stick blazing at one and, and with this hestalked off toward the lean-to where the girl was supposed to be dead. His gaunt figure, lighted by the torch, certainly fitted the weird, black surroundings. And it was seen that once near the girl's shelter heproceeded more slowly, until he halted. He bent to peer inside. 

"SHE'S GONE!" he yelled, in harsh, shaken accents. 

Than the torch burned out, leaving only a red glow. He whirled it about, but the blaze did not rekindle. His comrades, peering intently, lostsight of his tall form and the end of the red-ended stick. Darkness likepitch swallowed him. For a moment no sound intervened. Again the moan ofwind, the strange little mocking hollow roar, dominated the place. Thenthere came a rush of something, perhaps of air, like the soft swishingof spruce branches swinging aside. Dull, thudding footsteps followed it. Anson came running back to the fire. His aspect was wild, his face pale, his eyes were fierce and starting from their sockets. He had drawn hisgun. 

"Did--ye--see er hear--anythin'?" he panted, peering back, then allaround, and at last at his man. 

"No. An' I shore was lookin' an' listenin', " replied Wilson. 

"Boss, there wasn't nothin', " declared Moze. 

"I ain't so sartin, " said Shady Jones, with doubtful, staring eyes. "Ibelieve I heerd a rustlin'. "

"She wasn't there!" ejaculated Anson, in wondering awe. "She's gone!. .. My torch went out. I couldn't see. An' jest then I felt somethin' waspassin'. Fast! I jerked 'round. All was black, an' yet if I didn't seea big gray streak I'm crazier 'n thet gurl. But I couldn't swear toanythin' but a rushin' of wind. I felt thet. "

"Gone!" exclaimed Wilson, in great alarm. "Fellars, if thet's so, thenmebbe she wasn't daid an' she wandered off. . .. But she was daid! Herheart hed quit beatin'. I'll swear to thet. "

"I move to break camp, " said Shady Jones, gruffly, and he stood up. Mozeseconded that move by an expressive flash of his black visage. 

"Jim, if she's dead--an' gone--what 'n hell's come off?" huskily askedAnson. "It, only seems thet way. We're all worked up. .. . Let's talksense. "

"Anson, shore there's a heap you an' me don't know, " replied Wilson. "The world come to an end once. Wal, it can come to another end. .. . Itell you I ain't surprised--"

"THAR!" cried Anson, whirling, with his gun leaping out. 

Something huge, shadowy, gray against the black rushed behind the menand trees; and following it came a perceptible acceleration of the air. 

"Shore, Snake, there wasn't nothin', " said Wilson, "presently. "

"I heerd, " whispered Shady Jones. 

"It was only a breeze blowin' thet smoke, " rejoined Moze. 

"I'd bet my soul somethin' went back of me, " declared Anson, glaringinto the void. 

"Listen an' let's make shore, " suggested Wilson. 

The guilty, agitated faces of the outlaws showed plain enough in theflickering light for each to see a convicting dread in his fellow. Likestatues they stood, watching and listening. 

Few sounds stirred in the strange silence. Now and then the horsesheaved heavily, but stood still; a dismal, dreary note of the wind inthe pines vied with a hollow laugh of the brook. And these low soundsonly fastened attention upon the quality of the silence. A breathing, lonely spirit of solitude permeated the black dell. Like a pit ofunplumbed depths the dark night yawned. An evil conscience, listeningthere, could have heard the most peaceful, beautiful, and mournfulsounds of nature only as strains of a calling hell. 

Suddenly the silent, oppressive, surcharged air split to a short, piercing scream. 

Anson's big horse stood up straight, pawing the air, and came down witha crash. The other horses shook with terror. 

"Wasn't--thet--a cougar?" whispered Anson, thickly. 

"Thet was a woman's scream, " replied Wilson, and he appeared to beshaking like a leaf in the wind. 

"Then--I figgered right--the kid's alive--wonderin' around--an' she letout thet orful scream, " said Anson. 

"Wonderin' 'round, yes--but she's daid!"

"My Gawd! it ain't possible!"

"Wal, if she ain't wonderin' round daid she's almost daid, " repliedWilson. And he began to whisper to himself. 

"If I'd only knowed what thet deal meant I'd hev plugged Beasley insteadof listenin'. .. . An' I ought to hev knocked thet kid on the head an'made sartin she'd croaked. If she goes screamin' 'round thet way--"

His voice failed as there rose a thin, splitting, high-pointed shriek, somewhat resembling the first scream, only less wild. It came apparentlyfrom the cliff. 

From another point in the pitch-black glen rose the wailing, terriblecry of a woman in agony. Wild, haunting, mournful wail!

Anson's horse, loosing the halter, plunged back, almost falling over aslight depression in the rocky ground. The outlaw caught him and draggedhim nearer the fire. The other horses stood shaking and straining. Mozeran between them and held them. Shady Jones threw green brush on thefire. With sputter and crackle a blaze started, showing Wilson standingtragically, his arms out, facing the black shadows. 

The strange, live shriek was not repeated. But the cry, like that ofa woman in her death-throes, pierced the silence again. It left aquivering ring that softly died away. Then the stillness clamped downonce more and the darkness seemed to thicken. The men waited, and whenthey had begun to relax the cry burst out appallingly close, rightbehind the trees. It was human--the personification of pain andterror--the tremendous struggle of precious life against horrible death. So pure, so exquisite, so wonderful was the cry that the listenerswrithed as if they saw an innocent, tender, beautiful girl tornfrightfully before their eyes. It was full of suspense; it thrilledfor death; its marvelous potency was the wild note--that beautiful andghastly note of self-preservation. 

In sheer desperation the outlaw leader fired his gun at the black wallwhence the cry came. Then he had to fight his horse to keep him fromplunging away. Following the shot was an interval of silence; the horsesbecame tractable; the men gathered closer to the fire, with the haltersstill held firmly. 

"If it was a cougar--thet 'd scare him off, " said Anson. 

"Shore, but it ain't a cougar, " replied Wilson. "Wait an' see!"

They all waited, listening with ears turned to different points, eyesroving everywhere, afraid of their very shadows. Once more the moan ofwind, the mockery of brook, deep gurgle, laugh and babble, dominated thesilence of the glen. 

"Boss, let's shake this spooky hole, " whispered Moze. 

The suggestion attracted Anson, and he pondered it while slowly shakinghis head. 

"We've only three hosses. An' mine 'll take ridin'--after them squalls, "replied the leader. "We've got packs, too. An' hell 'ain't nothin' onthis place fer bein' dark. "

"No matter. Let's go. I'll walk an' lead the way, " said Moze, eagerly. "I got sharp eyes. You fellars can ride an' carry a pack. We'll git outof here an' come back in daylight fer the rest of the outfit. "

"Anson, I'm keen fer thet myself, " declared Shady Jones. 

"Jim, what d'ye say to thet?" queried Anson. "Rustlin' out of this blackhole?"

"Shore it's a grand idee, " agreed Wilson. 

"Thet was a cougar, " avowed Anson, gathering courage as the silenceremained unbroken. "But jest the same it was as tough on me as if it hedbeen a woman screamin' over a blade twistin' in her gizzards. "

"Snake, shore you seen a woman heah lately?" deliberately asked Wilson. 

"Reckon I did. Thet kid, " replied Anson, dubiously. 

"Wal, you seen her go crazy, didn't you?"

"Yes. "

"'An' she wasn't heah when you went huntin' fer her?"

"Correct. "

"Wal, if thet's so, what do you want to blab about cougars for?"

Wilson's argument seemed incontestable. Shady and Moze nodded gloomilyand shifted restlessly from foot to foot. Anson dropped his head. 

"No matter--if we only don't hear--" he began, suddenly to grow mute. 

Right upon them, from some place, just out the circle of light, rose ascream, by reason of its proximity the most piercing and agonizing yetheard, simply petrifying the group until the peal passed. Anson's hugehorse reared, and with a snort of terror lunged in tremendous leap, straight out. He struck Anson with thudding impact, knocking him overthe rocks into the depression back of the camp-fire, and plunging afterhim. Wilson had made a flying leap just in time to avoid being struck, and he turned to see Anson go down. There came a crash, a groan, andthen the strike and pound of hoofs as the horse struggled up. Apparentlyhe had rolled over his master. 

"Help, fellars!" yelled Wilson, quick to leap down over the little bank, and in the dim light to grasp the halter. The three men dragged thehorse out and securely tied him close to a tree. That done, theypeered down into the depression. Anson's form could just barely bedistinguished in the gloom. He lay stretched out. Another groan escapedhim. 

"Shore I'm scared he's hurt, " said Wilson. 

"Hoss rolled right on top of him. An' thet hoss's heavy, " declared Moze. 

They got down and knelt beside their leader. In the darkness his facelooked dull gray. His breathing was not right. 

"Snake, old man, you ain't--hurt?" asked Wilson, with a tremor in hisvoice. Receiving no reply, he said to his comrades, "Lay hold an' we'llheft him up where we can see. "

The three men carefully lifted Anson up on the bank and laid him nearthe fire in the light. Anson was conscious. His face was ghastly. Bloodshowed on his lips. 

Wilson knelt beside him. The other outlaws stood up, and with one darkgaze at one another damned Anson's chance of life. And on the instantrose that terrible distressing scream of acute agony--like that of awoman being dismembered. Shady Jones whispered something to Moze. Thenthey stood up, gazing down at their fallen leader. 

"Tell me where you're hurt?" asked Wilson. 

"He--smashed--my chest, " said Anson, in a broken, strangled whisper. 

Wilson's deft hands opened the outlaw's shirt and felt of his chest. 

"No. Shore your breast-bone ain't smashed, " replied Wilson, hopefully. And he began to run his hand around one side of Anson's body and thenthe other. Abruptly he stopped, averted his gaze, then slowly ran thehand all along that side. Anson's ribs had been broken and crushed inby the weight of the horse. He was bleeding at the mouth, and his slow, painful expulsions of breath brought a bloody froth, which showed thatthe broken bones had penetrated the lungs. An injury sooner or laterfatal!

"Pard, you busted a rib or two, " said Wilson. 

"Aw, Jim--it must be--wuss 'n thet!" he whispered. "I'm--in orful--pain. An' I can't--git any--breath. "

"Mebbe you'll be better, " said Wilson, with a cheerfulness his facebelied. 

Moze bent close over Anson, took a short scrutiny of that ghastly face, at the blood-stained lips, and the lean hands plucking at nothing. Thenhe jerked erect. 

"Shady, he's goin' to cash. Let's clear out of this. "

"I'm yours pertickler previous, " replied Jones. 

Both turned away. They untied the two horses and led them up to wherethe saddles lay. Swiftly the blankets went on, swiftly the saddlesswung up, swiftly the cinches snapped. Anson lay gazing up at Wilson, comprehending this move. And Wilson stood strangely grim and silent, somehow detached coldly from that self of the past few hours. 

"Shady, you grab some bread an' I'll pack a bunk of meat, " said Moze. Both men came near the fire, into the light, within ten feet of wherethe leader lay. 

"Fellars--you ain't--slopin'?" he whispered, in husky amaze. 

"Boss, we air thet same. We can't do you no good an' this hole ain'thealthy, " replied Moze. 

Shady Jones swung himself astride his horse, all about him sharp, eager, strung. 

"Moze, I'll tote the grub an' you lead out of hyar, till we git past thewust timber, " he said. 

"Aw, Moze--you wouldn't leave--Jim hyar--alone, " implored Anson. 

"Jim can stay till he rots, " retorted Moze. "I've hed enough of thishole. "

"But, Moze--it ain't square--" panted Anson. "Jim wouldn't--leave me. I'd stick--by you. .. . I'll make it--all up to you. "

"Snake, you're goin' to cash, " sardonically returned Moze. 

A current leaped all through Anson's stretched frame. His ghastly faceblazed. That was the great and the terrible moment which for long hadbeen in abeyance. Wilson had known grimly that it would come, by onemeans or another. Anson had doggedly and faithfully struggled againstthe tide of fatal issues. Moze and Shady Jones, deep locked in theirself-centered motives, had not realized the inevitable trend of theirdark lives. 

Anson, prostrate as he was, swiftly drew his gun and shot Moze. Withoutsound or movement of hand Moze fell. Then the plunge of Shady's horsecaused Anson's second shot to miss. A quick third shot brought noapparent result but Shady's cursing resort to his own weapon. He triedto aim from his plunging horse. His bullets spattered dust and gravelover Anson. Then Wilson's long arm stretched and his heavy gun banged. Shady collapsed in the saddle, and the frightened horse, throwing him, plunged out of the circle of light. Thudding hoofs, crashings of brush, quickly ceased. 

"Jim--did you--git him?" whispered Anson. 

"Shore did, Snake, " was the slow, halting response. Jim Wilson must havesustained a sick shudder as he replied. Sheathing his gun, he folded ablanket and put it under Anson's head. 

"Jim--my feet--air orful cold, " whispered Anson. 

"Wal, it's gittin' chilly, " replied Wilson, and, taking a secondblanket, he laid that over Anson's limbs. "Snake, I'm feared Shady hityou once. "

"A-huh! But not so I'd care--much--if I hed--no wuss hurt. "

"You lay still now. Reckon Shady's hoss stopped out heah a ways. An'I'll see. "

"Jim--I 'ain't heerd--thet scream fer--a little. "

"Shore it's gone. .. . Reckon now thet was a cougar. "

"I knowed it!"

Wilson stalked away into the darkness. That inky wall did not seem soimpenetrable and black after he had gotten out of the circle of light. He proceeded carefully and did not make any missteps. He groped fromtree to tree toward the cliff and presently brought up against a hugeflat rock as high as his head. Here the darkness was blackest, yet hewas able to see a light form on the rock. 

"Miss, are you there--all right?" he called, softly. 

"Yes, but I'm scared to death, " she whispered in reply. 

"Shore it wound up sudden. Come now. I reckon your trouble's over. "

He helped her off the rock, and, finding her unsteady on her feet, hesupported her with one arm and held the other out in front of him tofeel for objects. Foot by foot they worked out from under the denseshadow of the cliff, following the course of the little brook. Itbabbled and gurgled, and almost drowned the low whistle Wilson sent out. The girl dragged heavily upon him now, evidently weakening. At length hereached the little open patch at the head of the ravine. Halting here, he whistled. An answer came from somewhere behind him and to the right. Wilson waited, with the girl hanging on his arm. 

"Dale's heah, " he said. "An' don't you keel over now--after all thenerve you hed. "

A swishing of brush, a step, a soft, padded footfall; a looming, darkfigure, and a long, low gray shape, stealthily moving--it was the lastof these that made Wilson jump. 

"Wilson!" came Dale's subdued voice. 

"Heah. I've got her, Dale. Safe an sound, " replied Wilson, steppingtoward the tall form. And he put the drooping girl into Dale's arms. 

"Bo! Bo! You're all right?" Dale's deep voice was tremulous. 

She roused up to seize him and to utter little cries of joy

"Oh, Dale!. .. Oh, thank Heaven! I'm ready to drop now. .. . Hasn't it beena night--an adventure?. .. I'm well--safe--sound. .. . Dale, we owe it tothis Jim Wilson. "

"Bo, I--we'll all thank him--all our lives, " replied Dale. "Wilson, you're a man!. .. If you'll shake that gang--"

"Dale, shore there ain't much of a gang left, onless you let Burt gitaway, " replied Wilson. 

"I didn't kill him--or hurt him. But I scared him so I'll bet he'srunnin' yet. .. . Wilson, did all the shootin' mean a fight?"

"Tolerable. "

"Oh, Dale, it was terrible! I saw it all. I--"

"Wal, Miss, you can tell him after I go. .. . I'm wishin' you good luck. "

His voice was a cool, easy drawl, slightly tremulous. 

The girl's face flashed white in the gloom. She pressed against theoutlaw--wrung his hands. 

"Heaven help you, Jim Wilson! You ARE from Texas!. .. I'll rememberyou--pray for you all my life!"

Wilson moved away, out toward the pale glow of light under the blackpines. 

CHAPTER XXIV

As Helen Rayner watched Dale ride away on a quest perilous to him, andwhich meant almost life or death for her, it was surpassing strange thatshe could think of nothing except the thrilling, tumultuous moment whenshe had put her arms round his neck. 

It did not matter that Dale--splendid fellow that he was--had madethe ensuing moment free of shame by taking her action as he had takenit--the fact that she had actually done it was enough. How utterlyimpossible for her to anticipate her impulses or to understand them, once they were acted upon! Confounding realization then was that whenDale returned with her sister, Helen knew she would do the same thingover again!

"If I do--I won't be two-faced about it, " she soliloquized, and a hotblush flamed her cheeks. 

She watched Dale until he rode out of sight. 

When he had gone, worry and dread replaced this other confusing emotion. She turned to the business of meeting events. Before supper she packedher valuables and books, papers, and clothes, together with Bo's, andhad them in readiness so if she was forced to vacate the premises shewould have her personal possessions. 

The Mormon boys and several other of her trusted men slept in theirtarpaulin beds on the porch of the ranch-house that night, so that Helenat least would not be surprised. But the day came, with its manifoldduties undisturbed by any event. And it passed slowly with the leadenfeet of listening, watching vigilance. 

Carmichael did not come back, nor was there news of him to be had. Thelast known of him had been late the afternoon of the preceding day, whena sheep-herder had seen him far out on the north range, headed for thehills. The Beemans reported that Roy's condition had improved, and alsothat there was a subdued excitement of suspense down in the village. 

This second lonely night was almost unendurable for Helen. When sheslept it was to dream horrible dreams; when she lay awake it was to haveher heart leap to her throat at a rustle of leaves near the window, andto be in torture of imagination as to poor Bo's plight. A thousand timesHelen said to herself that Beasley could have had the ranch and welcome, if only Bo had been spared. Helen absolutely connected her enemy withher sister's disappearance. Riggs might have been a means to it. 

Daylight was not attended by so many fears; there were things to dothat demanded attention. And thus it was that the next morning, shortlybefore noon, she was recalled to her perplexities by a shouting out atthe corrals and a galloping of horses somewhere near. From the windowshe saw a big smoke. 

"Fire! That must be one of the barns--the old one, farthest out, "she said, gazing out of the window. "Some careless Mexican with hiseverlasting cigarette!"

Helen resisted an impulse to go out and see what had happened. She haddecided to stay in the house. But when footsteps sounded on the porchand a rap on the door, she unhesitatingly opened it. Four Mexicans stoodclose. One of them, quick as thought, flashed a hand in to grasp her, and in a single motion pulled her across the threshold. 

"No hurt, Senora, " he said, and pointed--making motions she must go. 

Helen did not need to be told what this visit meant. Many as herconjectures had been, however, she had not thought of Beasley subjectingher to this outrage. And her blood boiled. 

"How dare you!" she said, trembling in her effort to control her temper. But class, authority, voice availed nothing with these swarthy Mexicans. They grinned. Another laid hold of Helen with dirty, brown hand. Sheshrank from the contact. 

"Let go!" she burst out, furiously. And instinctively she began tostruggle to free herself. Then they all took hold of her. Helen'sdignity might never have been! A burning, choking rush of blood washer first acquaintance with the terrible passion of anger that was herinheritance from the Auchinclosses. She who had resolved never to layherself open to indignity now fought like a tigress. The Mexicans, jabbering in their excitement, had all they could do, until theylifted her bodily from the porch. They handled her as if she had been ahalf-empty sack of corn. One holding each hand and foot they packed her, with dress disarranged and half torn off, down the path to the lane anddown the lane to the road. There they stood upright and pushed her offher property. 

Through half-blind eyes Helen saw them guarding the gateway, ready toprevent her entrance. She staggered down the road to the village. It seemed she made her way through a red dimness--that there was acongestion in her brain--that the distance to Mrs. Cass's cottage wasinsurmountable. But she got there, to stagger up the path, to hear theold woman's cry. Dizzy, faint, sick, with a blackness enveloping all shelooked at, Helen felt herself led into the sitting-room and placed inthe big chair. 

Presently sight and clearness of mind returned to her. She saw Roy, white as a sheet, questioning her with terrible eyes. The old womanhung murmuring over her, trying to comfort her as well as fasten thedisordered dress. 

"Four greasers--packed me down--the hill--threw me off my ranch--intothe road!" panted Helen. 

She seemed to tell this also to her own consciousness and to realize themighty wave of danger that shook her whole body. 

"If I'd known--I would have killed them!"

She exclaimed that, full-voiced and hard, with dry, hot eyes on herfriends. Roy reached out to take her hand, speaking huskily. Helendid not distinguish what he said. The frightened old woman knelt, withunsteady fingers fumbling over the rents in Helen's dress. The momentcame when Helen's quivering began to subside, when her blood quietedto let her reason sway, when she began to do battle with her rage, andslowly to take fearful stock of this consuming peril that had been asleeping tigress in her veins. 

"Oh, Miss Helen, you looked so turrible, I made sure you was hurted, "the old woman was saying. 

Helen gazed strangely at her bruised wrists, at the one stocking thathung down over her shoe-top, at the rent which had bared her shoulder tothe profane gaze of those grinning, beady-eyed Mexicans. 

"My body's--not hurt, " she whispered. 

Roy had lost some of his whiteness, and where his eyes had been fiercethey were now kind. 

"Wal, Miss Nell, it's lucky no harm's done. .. . Now if you'll only seethis whole deal clear!. .. Not let it spoil your sweet way of lookin' an'hopin'! If you can only see what's raw in this West--an' love it jestthe same!"

Helen only half divined his meaning, but that was enough for a futurereflection. The West was beautiful, but hard. In the faces of thesefriends she began to see the meaning of the keen, sloping lines, andshadows of pain, of a lean, naked truth, cut as from marble. 

"For the land's sakes, tell us all about it, " importuned Mrs. Cass. 

Whereupon Helen shut her eyes and told the brief narrative of herexpulsion from her home. 

"Shore we-all expected thet, " said Roy. "An' it's jest as well you'rehere with a whole skin. Beasley's in possession now an' I reckon we'dall sooner hev you away from thet ranch. "

"But, Roy, I won't let Beasley stay there, " cried Helen. 

"Miss Nell, shore by the time this here Pine has growed big enough ferlaw you'll hev gray in thet pretty hair. You can't put Beasley off withyour honest an' rightful claim. Al Auchincloss was a hard driver. Hemade enemies an' he made some he didn't kill. The evil men do livesafter them. An' you've got to suffer fer Al's sins, though Al was asgood as any man who ever prospered in these parts. "

"Oh, what can I do? I won't give up. I've been robbed. Can't the peoplehelp me? Must I meekly sit with my hands crossed while that half-breedthief--Oh, it's unbelievable!"

"I reckon you'll jest hev to be patient fer a few days, " said Roy, calmly. "It'll all come right in the end. "

"Roy! You've had this deal, as you call it, all worked out in mind for along time!" exclaimed Helen. 

"Shore, an' I 'ain't missed a reckonin' yet. "

"Then what will happen--in a few days?"

"Nell Rayner, are you goin' to hev some spunk an' not lose your nerveagain or go wild out of your head?"

"I'll try to be brave, but--but I must be prepared, " she replied, tremulously. 

"Wal, there's Dale an' Las Vegas an' me fer Beasley to reckon with. An', Miss Nell, his chances fer long life are as pore as his chances ferheaven!"

"But, Roy, I don't believe in deliberate taking of life, " repliedHelen, shuddering. "That's against my religion. I won't allow it. .. . And--then--think, Dale, all of you--in danger!"

"Girl, how 're you ever goin' to help yourself? Shore you might holdDale back, if you love him, an' swear you won't give yourself to him. .. . An' I reckon I'd respect your religion, if you was goin' to sufferthrough me. .. . But not Dale nor you--nor Bo--nor love or heaven or hellcan ever stop thet cowboy Las Vegas!"

"Oh, if Dale brings Bo back to me--what will I care for my ranch?"murmured Helen. 

"Reckon you'll only begin to care when thet happens. Your big hunter hasgot to be put to work, " replied Roy, with his keen smile. 

Before noon that day the baggage Helen had packed at home was left onthe porch of Widow Cass's cottage, and Helen's anxious need of the hourwas satisfied. She was made comfortable in the old woman's one spareroom, and she set herself the task of fortitude and endurance. 

To her surprise, many of Mrs. Cass's neighbors came unobtrusively tothe back door of the little cottage and made sympathetic inquiries. Theyappeared a subdued and apprehensive group, and whispered to one anotheras they left. Helen gathered from their visits a conviction that thewives of the men dominated by Beasley believed no good could come ofthis high-handed taking over of the ranch. Indeed, Helen found at theend of the day that a strength had been borne of her misfortune. 

The next day Roy informed her that his brother John had come down thepreceding night with the news of Beasley's descent upon the ranch. Not ashot had been fired, and the only damage done was that of the burning ofa hay-filled barn. This had been set on fire to attract Helen's men toone spot, where Beasley had ridden down upon them with three times theirnumber. He had boldly ordered them off the land, unless they wanted toacknowledge him boss and remain there in his service. The three Beemanshad stayed, having planned that just in this event they might bevaluable to Helen's interests. Beasley had ridden down into Pine thesame as upon any other day. Roy reported also news which had come inthat morning, how Beasley's crowd had celebrated late the night before. 

The second and third and fourth days endlessly wore away, and Helenbelieved they had made her old. At night she lay awake most of the time, thinking and praying, but during the afternoon she got some sleep. Shecould think of nothing and talk of nothing except her sister, and Dale'schances of saving her. 

"Well, shore you pay Dale a pore compliment, " finally protested thepatient Roy. "I tell you--Milt Dale can do anythin' he wants to do inthe woods. You can believe thet. . .. But I reckon he'll run chancesafter he comes back. "

This significant speech thrilled Helen with its assurance of hope, andmade her blood curdle at the implied peril awaiting the hunter. 

On the afternoon of the fifth day Helen was abruptly awakened from hernap. The sun had almost set. She heard voices--the shrill, cacklingnotes of old Mrs. Cass, high in excitement, a deep voice that made Helentingle all over, a girl's laugh, broken but happy. There were footstepsand stamping of hoofs. Dale had brought Bo back! Helen knew it. She grewvery weak, and had to force herself to stand erect. Her heart began topound in her very ears. A sweet and perfect joy suddenly flooded hersoul. She thanked God her prayers had been answered. Then suddenly alivewith sheer mad physical gladness, she rushed out. 

She was just in time to see Roy Beeman stalk out as if he had never beenshot, and with a yell greet a big, gray-clad, gray-faced man--Dale. 

"Howdy, Roy! Glad to see you up, " said Dale. How the quiet voicesteadied Helen! She beheld Bo. Bo, looking the same, except a littlepale and disheveled! Then Bo saw her and leaped at her, into her arms. 

"Nell! I'm here! Safe--all right! Never was so happy in my life. .. . Oh-h! talk about your adventures! Nell, you dear old mother to me--I'vehad e-enough forever!"

Bo was wild with joy, and by turns she laughed and cried. But Helencould not voice her feelings. Her eyes were so dim that she couldscarcely see Dale when he loomed over her as she held Bo. But he foundthe hand she put shakily out. 

"Nell!. .. Reckon it's been harder--on you. " His voice was earnest andhalting. She felt his searching gaze upon her face. "Mrs. Cass said youwere here. An' I know why. "

Roy led them all indoors. 

"Milt, one of the neighbor boys will take care of thet hoss, " he said, as Dale turned toward the dusty and weary Ranger. "Where'd you leave thecougar?"

"I sent him home, " replied Date. 

"Laws now, Milt, if this ain't grand!" cackled Mrs. Cass. "We've worriedsome here. An' Miss Helen near starved a-hopin' fer you. "

"Mother, I reckon the girl an' I are nearer starved than anybody youknow, " replied Dale, with a grim laugh. 

"Fer the land's sake! I'll be fixin' supper this minit. "

"Nell, why are you here?" asked Bo, suspiciously. 

For answer Helen led her sister into the spare room and closed the door. Bo saw the baggage. Her expression changed. The old blaze leaped to thetelltale eyes. 

"He's done it!" she cried, hotly. 

"Dearest--thank God. I've got you--back again!" murmured Helen, findingher voice. "Nothing else matters!. .. I've prayed only for that!"

"Good old Nell!" whispered Bo, and she kissed and embraced Helen. "Youreally mean that, I know. But nix for yours truly! I'm back alive andkicking, you bet. .. . Where's my--where's Tom?"

"Bo, not a word has been heard of him for five days. He's searching foryou, of course. "

"And you've been--been put off the ranch?"

"Well, rather, " replied Helen, and in a few trembling words she told thestory of her eviction. 

Bo uttered a wild word that had more force than elegance, but it becameher passionate resentment of this outrage done her sister. 

"Oh!. .. Does Tom Carmichael know this?" she added, breathlessly. 

"How could he?"

"When he finds out, then--Oh, won't there be hell? I'm glad I got herefirst. .. . Nell, my boots haven't been off the whole blessed time. Helpme. And oh, for some soap and hot water and some clean clothes! Nell, old girl, I wasn't raised right for these Western deals. Too luxurious!"

And then Helen had her ears filled with a rapid-fire account of runninghorses and Riggs and outlaws and Beasley called boldly to his teeth, anda long ride and an outlaw who was a hero--a fight with Riggs--blood anddeath--another long ride--a wild camp in black woods--night--lonely, ghostly sounds--and day again--plot--a great actress lost to theworld--Ophelia--Snakes and Ansons--hoodooed outlaws--mournful moansand terrible cries--cougar--stampede--fight and shots, more blood anddeath--Wilson hero--another Tom Carmichael--fallen in love with outlawgun-fighter if--black night and Dale and horse and rides and starvedand, "Oh, Nell, he WAS from Texas!"

Helen gathered that wonderful and dreadful events had hung overthe bright head of this beloved little sister, but the bewildermentoccasioned by Bo's fluent and remarkable utterance left only that lastsentence clear. 

Presently Helen got a word in to inform Bo that Mrs. Cass had knockedtwice for supper, and that welcome news checked Bo's flow of speech whennothing else seemed adequate. 

It was obvious to Helen that Roy and Dale had exchanged stories. Roycelebrated this reunion by sitting at table the first time since hehad been shot; and despite Helen's misfortune and the suspended waitingbalance in the air the occasion was joyous. Old Mrs. Cass was in theheight of her glory. She sensed a romance here, and, true to her sex, she radiated to it. 

Daylight was still lingering when Roy got up and went out on the porch. His keen ears had heard something. Helen fancied she herself had heardrapid hoof-beats. 

"Dale, come out!" called Roy, sharply. 

The hunter moved with his swift, noiseless agility. Helen and Bofollowed, halting in the door. 

"Thet's Las Vegas, " whispered Dale. 

To Helen it seemed that the cowboy's name changed the very atmosphere. 

Voices were heard at the gate; one that, harsh and quick, sounded likeCarmichael's. And a spirited horse was pounding and scatteringgravel. Then a lithe figure appeared, striding up the path. It wasCarmichael--yet not the Carmichael Helen knew. She heard Bo's strangelittle cry, a corroboration of her own impression. 

Roy might never have been shot, judging from the way he stepped out, and Dale was almost as quick. Carmichael reached them--grasped them withswift, hard hands. 

"Boys--I jest rode in. An' they said you'd found her!"

"Shore, Las Vegas. Dale fetched her home safe an' sound. .. . There sheis. "

The cowboy thrust aside the two men, and with a long stride he faced theporch, his piercing eyes on the door. All that Helen could think of hislook was that it seemed terrible. Bo stepped outside in front of Helen. Probably she would have run straight into Carmichael's arms if somestrange instinct had not withheld her. Helen judged it to be fear; shefound her heart lifting painfully. 

"Bo!" he yelled, like a savage, yet he did not in the least resembleone. 

"Oh--Tom!" cried Bo, falteringly. She half held out her arms. 

"You, girl?" That seemed to be his piercing query, like the quiveringblade in his eyes. Two more long strides carried him close up to her, and his look chased the red out of Bo's cheek. Then it was beautiful tosee his face marvelously change until it was that of the well rememberedLas Vegas magnified in all his old spirit. 

"Aw!" The exclamation was a tremendous sigh. "I shore am glad!"

That beautiful flash left his face as he wheeled to the men. He wrungDale's hand long and hard, and his gaze confused the older man. 

"RIGGS!" he said, and in the jerk of his frame as he whipped out theword disappeared the strange, fleeting signs of his kindlier emotion. 

"Wilson killed him, " replied Dale. 

"Jim Wilson--that old Texas Ranger!. .. Reckon he lent you a hand?"

"My friend, he saved Bo, " replied Dale, with emotion. "My old cougar an'me--we just hung 'round. "

"You made Wilson help you?" cut in the hard voice. 

"Yes. But he killed Riggs before I come up an' I reckon he'd done wellby Bo if I'd never got there. "

"How about the gang?"

"All snuffed out, I reckon, except Wilson. "

"Somebody told me Beasley hed ran Miss Helen off the ranch. Thet so?"

"Yes. Four of his greasers packed her down the hill--most tore herclothes off, so Roy tells me. "

"Four greasers!. .. Shore it was Beasley's deal clean through?"

"Yes. Riggs was led. He had an itch for a bad name, you know. ButBeasley made the plan. It was Nell they wanted instead of Bo. "

Abruptly Carmichael stalked off down the darkening path, his silverheel-plates ringing, his spurs jingling. 

"Hold on, Carmichael, " called Dale, taking a step. 

"Oh, Tom!" cried Bo. 

"Shore folks callin' won't be no use, if anythin would be, " said Roy. "Las Vegas has hed a look at red liquor. "

"He's been drinking! Oh, that accounts!. .. He never--never even touchedme!"

For once Helen was not ready to comfort Bo. A mighty tug at her hearthad sent her with flying, uneven steps toward Dale. He took anotherstride down the path, and another. 

"Dale--oh--please stop!" she called, very low. 

He halted as if he had run sharply into a bar across the path. When heturned Helen had come close. Twilight was deep there in the shade of thepeach-trees, but she could see his face, the hungry, flaring eyes. 

"I--I haven't thanked you--yet--for bringing Bo home, " she whispered. 

"Nell, never mind that, " he said, in surprise. "If you must--why, wait. I've got to catch up with that cowboy. "

"No. Let me thank you now, " she whispered, and, stepping closer, she puther arms up, meaning to put them round his neck. That action must be herself-punishment for the other time she had done it. Yet it might alsoserve to thank him. But, strangely, her hands got no farther than hisbreast, and fluttered there to catch hold of the fringe of his buckskinjacket. She felt a heave of his deep chest. 

"I--I do thank you--with all my heart, " she said, softly. "I owe younow--for myself and her--more than I can ever repay. "

"Nell, I'm your friend, " he replied, hurriedly. "Don't talk of repayin'me. Let me go now--after Las Vegas. "

"What for?" she queried, suddenly. 

"I mean to line up beside him--at the bar--or wherever he goes, "returned Dale. 

"Don't tell me that. _I_ know. You're going straight to meet Beasley. "

"Nell, if you hold me up any longer I reckon I'll have to run--or neverget to Beasley before that cowboy. "

Helen locked her fingers in the fringe of his jacket--leaned closer tohim, all her being responsive to a bursting gust of blood over her. 

"I'll not let you go, " she said. 

He laughed, and put his great hands over hers. "What 're you sayin', girl? You can't stop me. "

"Yes, I can. Dale, I don't want you to risk your life. "

He stared at her, and made as if to tear her hands from their hold. 

"Listen--please--oh--please!" she implored. "If you go deliberatelyto kill Beasley--and do it--that will be murder. .. . It's against myreligion. .. . I would be unhappy all my life. "

"But, child, you'll be ruined all your life if Beasley is not dealtwith--as men of his breed are always dealt with in the West, " heremonstrated, and in one quick move he had freed himself from herclutching fingers. 

Helen, with a move as swift, put her arms round his neck and clasped herhands tight. 

"Milt, I'm finding myself, " she said. "The other day, when Idid--this--you made an excuse for me. .. . I'm not two-faced now. "

She meant to keep him from killing Beasley if she sacrificed every lastshred of her pride. And she stamped the look of his face on her heartof hearts to treasure always. The thrill, the beat of her pulses, almostobstructed her thought of purpose. 

"Nell, just now--when you're overcome--rash with feelin's--don't say tome--a word--a--"

He broke down huskily. 

"My first friend--my--Oh Dale, I KNOW you love me! she whispered. Andshe hid her face on his breast, there to feel a tremendous tumult. 

"Oh, don't you?" she cried, in low, smothered voice, as his silencedrove her farther on this mad, yet glorious purpose. 

"If you need to be told--yes--I reckon I do love you, Nell Rayner, " hereplied. 

It seemed to Helen that he spoke from far off. She lifted her face, herheart on her lips. 

"If you kill Beasley I'll never marry you, " she said. 

"Who's expectin' you to?" he asked, with low, hoarse laugh. "Do youthink you have to marry me to square accounts? This's the only time youever hurt me, Nell Rayner. .. . I'm 'shamed you could think I'd expectyou--out of gratitude--"

"Oh--you--you are as dense as the forest where you live, " she cried. And then she shut her eyes again, the better to remember thattransfiguration of his face, the better to betray herself. 

"Man--I love you!" Full and deep, yet tremulous, the words burst fromher heart that had been burdened with them for many a day. 

Then it seemed, in the throbbing riot of her senses, that she waslifted and swung into his arms, and handled with a great and terribletenderness, and hugged and kissed with the hunger and awkwardness of abear, and held with her feet off the ground, and rendered blind, dizzy, rapturous, and frightened, and utterly torn asunder from her old calm, thinking self. 

He put her down--released her. 

"Nothin' could have made me so happy as what you said. " He finished witha strong sigh of unutterable, wondering joy. 

"Then you will not go to--to meet--"

Helen's happy query froze on her lips. 

"I've got to go!" he rejoined, with his old, quiet voice. "Hurry in toBo. .. . An' don't worry. Try to think of things as I taught you up in thewoods. "

Helen heard his soft, padded footfalls swiftly pass away. She was leftthere, alone in the darkening twilight, suddenly cold and stricken, asif turned to stone. 

Thus she stood an age-long moment until the upflashing truth galvanizedher into action. Then she flew in pursuit of Dale. The truth was that, in spite of Dale's' early training in the East and the long years ofsolitude which had made him wonderful in thought and feeling, he hadalso become a part of this raw, bold, and violent West. 

It was quite dark now and she had run quite some distance before she sawDale's tall, dark form against the yellow light of Turner's saloon. 

Somehow, in that poignant moment, when her flying feet kept pace withher heart, Helen felt in herself a force opposing itself against thisraw, primitive justice of the West. She was one of the first influencesemanating from civilized life, from law and order. In that flash oftruth she saw the West as it would be some future time, when throughwomen and children these wild frontier days would be gone forever. Also, just as clearly she saw the present need of men like Roy Beeman and Daleand the fire-blooded Carmichael. Beasley and his kind must be killed. But Helen did not want her lover, her future husband, and the probablefather of her children to commit what she held to be murder. 

At the door of the saloon she caught up with Dale. 

"Milt--oh--wait!'--wait!" she panted. 

She heard him curse under his breath as he turned. They were alone inthe yellow flare of light. Horses were champing bits and drooping beforethe rails. 

"You go back!" ordered Dale, sternly. His face was pale, his eyes weregleaming. 

"No! Not till--you take me--or carry me!" she replied, resolutely, withall a woman's positive and inevitable assurance. 

Then he laid hold of her with ungentle hands. His violence, especiallythe look on his face, terrified Helen, rendered her weak. But nothingcould have shaken her resolve. She felt victory. Her sex, her love, andher presence would be too much for Dale. 

As he swung Helen around, the low hum of voices inside the saloonsuddenly rose to sharp, hoarse roars, accompanied by a scuffling of feetand crashing of violently sliding chairs or tables. Dale let go of Helenand leaped toward the door. But a silence inside, quicker and strangerthan the roar, halted him. Helen's heart contracted, then seemed tocease beating. There was absolutely not a perceptible sound. Even thehorses appeared, like Dale, to have turned to statues. 

Two thundering shots annihilated this silence. Then quickly came alighter shot--the smash of glass. Dale ran into the saloon. The horsesbegan to snort, to rear, to pound. A low, muffled murmur terrified Heleneven as it drew her. Dashing at the door, she swung it in and entered. 

The place was dim, blue-hazed, smelling of smoke. Dale stood just insidethe door. On the floor lay two men. Chairs and tables were overturned. A motley, dark, shirt-sleeved, booted, and belted crowd of men appearedhunched against the opposite wall, with pale, set faces, turned to thebar. Turner, the proprietor, stood at one end, his face livid, his handsaloft and shaking. Carmichael leaned against the middle of the bar. Heheld a gun low down. It was smoking. 

With a gasp Helen flashed her eyes back to Dale. He had seen her--wasreaching an arm toward her. Then she saw the man lying almost at herfeet. Jeff Mulvey--her uncle's old foreman! His face was awful tobehold. A smoking gun lay near his inert hand. The other man had fallenon his face. His garb proclaimed him a Mexican. He was not yet dead. Then Helen, as she felt Dale's arm encircle her, looked farther, becauseshe could not prevent it--looked on at that strange figure against thebar--this boy who had been such a friend in her hour of need--this naiveand frank sweetheart of her sister's. 

She saw a man now--wild, white, intense as fire, with some terrible coolkind of deadliness in his mien. His left elbow rested upon the bar, andhis hand held a glass of red liquor. The big gun, low down in his otherhand, seemed as steady as if it were a fixture. 

"Heah's to thet--half-breed Beasley an' his outfit!"

Carmichael drank, while his flaming eyes held the crowd; then withsavage action of terrible passion he flung the glass at the quiveringform of the still living Mexican on the floor. 

Helen felt herself slipping. All seemed to darken around her. She couldnot see Dale, though she knew he held her. Then she fainted. 

CHAPTER XXV

Las Vegas Carmichael was a product of his day. 

The Pan Handle of Texas, the old Chisholm Trail along which weredriven the great cattle herds northward, Fort Dodge, where the cowboysconflicted with the card-sharps--these hard places had left their markson Carmichael. To come from Texas was to come from fighting stock. Anda cowboy's life was strenuous, wild, violent, and generally brief. Theexceptions were the fortunate and the swiftest men with guns; and theydrifted from south to north and west, taking with them the reckless, chivalrous, vitriolic spirit peculiar to their breed. 

The pioneers and ranchers of the frontier would never have made the Westhabitable had it not been for these wild cowboys, these hard-drinking, hard-riding, hard-living rangers of the barrens, these easy, cool, laconic, simple young men whose blood was tinged with fire and whopossessed a magnificent and terrible effrontery toward danger and death. 

Las Vegas ran his horse from Widow Cass's cottage to Turner's saloon, and the hoofs of the goaded steed crashed in the door. Las Vegas'sentrance was a leap. Then he stood still with the door ajar and thehorse pounding and snorting back. All the men in that saloon who saw theentrance of Las Vegas knew what it portended. No thunderbolt couldhave more quickly checked the drinking, gambling, talking crowd. Theyrecognized with kindred senses the nature of the man and his arrival. For a second the blue-hazed room was perfectly quiet, then men breathed, moved, rose, and suddenly caused a quick, sliding crash of chairs andtables. 

The cowboy's glittering eyes flashed to and fro, and then fixed onMulvey and his Mexican companion. That glance singled out these two, andthe sudden rush of nervous men proved it. Mulvey and the sheep-herderwere left alone in the center of the floor. 

"Howdy, Jeff! Where's your boss?" asked Las Vegas. His voice was cool, friendly; his manner was easy, natural; but the look of him was whatmade Mulvey pale and the Mexican livid. 

"Reckon he's home, " replied Mulvey. 

"Home? What's he call home now?"

"He's hangin' out hyar at Auchincloss's, " replied Mulvey. His voice wasnot strong, but his eyes were steady, watchful. 

Las Vegas quivered all over as if stung. A flame that seemed white andred gave his face a singular hue. 

"Jeff, you worked for old Al a long time, an' I've heard of yourdifferences, " said Las Vegas. "Thet ain't no mix of mine. .. . But youdouble-crossed Miss Helen!"

Mulvey made no attempt to deny this. He gulped slowly. His handsappeared less steady, and he grew paler. Again Las Vegas's wordssignified less than his look. And that look now included the Mexican. 

"Pedro, you're one of Beasley's old hands, " said Las Vegas, accusingly. "An'--you was one of them four greasers thet--"

Here the cowboy choked and bit over his words as if they were a materialpoison. The Mexican showed his guilt and cowardice. He began to jabber. 

"Shet up!" hissed Las Vegas, with a savage and significant jerk ofhis arm, as if about to strike. But that action was read for its truemeaning. Pell-mell the crowd split to rush each way and leave an openspace behind the three. 

Las Vegas waited. But Mulvey seemed obstructed. The Mexican lookeddangerous through his fear. His fingers twitched as if the tendonsrunning up into his arms were being pulled. 

An instant of suspense--more than long enough for Mulvey to be tried andfound wanting--and Las Vegas, with laugh and sneer, turned his back uponthe pair and stepped to the bar. His call for a bottle made Turner jumpand hold it out with shaking hands. Las Vegas poured out a drink, whilehis gaze was intent on the scarred old mirror hanging behind the bar. 

This turning his back upon men he had just dared to draw showed whatkind of a school Las Vegas had been trained in. If those men had beenworthy antagonists of his class he would never have scorned them. As itwas, when Mulvey and the Mexican jerked at their guns, Las Vegas swiftlywheeled and shot twice. Mulvey's gun went off as he fell, and theMexican doubled up in a heap on the floor. Then Las Vegas reached aroundwith his left hand for the drink he had poured out. 

At this juncture Dale burst into the saloon, suddenly to check hisimpetus, to swerve aside toward the bar and halt. The door had notceased swinging when again it was propelled inward, this time to admitHelen Rayner, white and wide-eyed. 

In another moment then Las Vegas had spoken his deadly toast toBeasley's gang and had fiercely flung the glass at the writhing Mexicanon the floor. Also Dale had gravitated toward the reeling Helen to catchher when she fainted. 

Las Vegas began to curse, and, striding to Dale, he pushed him out ofthe saloon. 

"--! What 're you doin' heah?" he yelled, stridently. "Hevn't you gotthet girl to think of? Then do it, you big Indian! Lettin' her run afteryou heah--riskin' herself thet way! You take care of her an' Bo an'leave this deal to me!"

The cowboy, furious as he was at Dale, yet had keen, swift eyes for thehorses near at hand, and the men out in the dim light. Dale liftedthe girl into his arms, and, turning without a word, stalked away todisappear in the darkness. Las Vegas, holding his gun low, returned tothe bar-room. If there had been any change in the crowd it was slight. The tension had relaxed. Turner no longer stood with hands up. 

"You-all go on with your fun, " called the cowboy, with a sweep of hisgun. "But it'd be risky fer any one to start leavin'. "

With that he backed against the bar, near where the black bottle stood. Turner walked out to begin righting tables and chairs, and presently thecrowd, with some caution and suspense, resumed their games and drinking. It was significant that a wide berth lay between them and the door. Fromtime to time Turner served liquor to men who called for it. 

Las Vegas leaned with back against the bar. After a while he sheathedhis gun and reached around for the bottle. He drank with his piercingeyes upon the door. No one entered and no one went out. The gamesof chance there and the drinking were not enjoyed. It was a hardscene--that smoky, long, ill-smelling room, with its dim, yellow lights, and dark, evil faces, with the stealthy-stepping Turner passing to andfro, and the dead Mulvey staring in horrible fixidity at the ceiling, and the Mexican quivering more and more until he shook violently, thenlay still, and with the drinking, somber, waiting cowboy, more fiery andmore flaming with every drink, listening for a step that did not come. 

Time passed, and what little change it wrought was in the cowboy. Drinkaffected him, but he did not become drunk. It seemed that the liquor hedrank was consumed by a mounting fire. It was fuel to a driving passion. He grew more sullen, somber, brooding, redder of eye and face, morecrouching and restless. At last, when the hour was so late that therewas no probability of Beasley appearing, Las Vegas flung himself out ofthe saloon. 

All lights of the village had now been extinguished. The tired horsesdrooped in the darkness. Las Vegas found his horse and led him away downthe road and out a lane to a field where a barn stood dim and dark inthe starlight. Morning was not far off. He unsaddled the horse and, turning him loose, went into the barn. Here he seemed familiar withhis surroundings, for he found a ladder and climbed to a loft, where hethrew himself on the hay. 

He rested, but did not sleep. At daylight he went down and brought hishorse into the barn. Sunrise found Las Vegas pacing to and fro the shortlength of the interior, and peering out through wide cracks betweenthe boards. Then during the succeeding couple of hours he watchedthe occasional horseman and wagon and herder that passed on into thevillage. 

About the breakfast hour Las Vegas saddled his horse and rode back theway he had come the night before. At Turner's he called for somethingto eat as well as for whisky. After that he became a listening, watchingmachine. He drank freely for an hour; then he stopped. He seemed tobe drunk, but with a different kind of drunkenness from that usual indrinking men. Savage, fierce, sullen, he was one to avoid. Turner waitedon him in evident fear. 

At length Las Vegas's condition became such that action was involuntary. He could not stand still nor sit down. Stalking out, he passed thestore, where men slouched back to avoid him, and he went down the road, wary and alert, as if he expected a rifle-shot from some hidden enemy. Upon his return down that main thoroughfare of the village not a personwas to be seen. He went in to Turner's. The proprietor was there at hispost, nervous and pale. Las Vegas did not order any more liquor. 

"Turner, I reckon I'll bore you next time I run in heah, " he said, andstalked out. 

He had the stores, the road, the village, to himself; and he patrolled abeat like a sentry watching for an Indian attack. 

Toward noon a single man ventured out into the road to accost thecowboy. 

"Las Vegas, I'm tellin' you--all the greasers air leavin' the range, " hesaid. 

"Howdy, Abe!" replied Las Vegas. "What 'n hell you talkin' about?"

The man repeated his information. And Las Vegas spat out frightfulcurses. 

"Abe--you heah what Beasley's doin'?"

"Yes. He's with his men--up at the ranch. Reckon he can't put off ridin'down much longer. "

That was where the West spoke. Beasley would be forced to meet the enemywho had come out single-handed against him. Long before this hour abraver man would have come to face Las Vegas. Beasley could not hireany gang to bear the brunt of this situation. This was the test by whicheven his own men must judge him. All of which was to say that as thewildness of the West had made possible his crimes, so it now held himresponsible for them. 

"Abe, if thet--greaser don't rustle down heah I'm goin' after him. "

"Sure. But don't be in no hurry, " replied Abe. 

"I'm waltzin' to slow music. .. . Gimme a smoke. "

With fingers that slightly trembled Abe rolled a cigarette, lit it fromhis own, and handed it to the cowboy. 

"Las Vegas, I reckon I hear hosses, " he said, suddenly. 

"Me, too, " replied Las Vegas, with his head high like that of alistening deer. Apparently he forgot the cigarette and also his friend. Abe hurried back to the store, where he disappeared. 

Las Vegas began his stalking up and down, and his action now was anexaggeration of all his former movements. A rational, ordinary mortalfrom some Eastern community, happening to meet this red-faced cowboy, would have considered him drunk or crazy. Probably Las Vegas lookedboth. But all the same he was a marvelously keen and strung andefficient instrument to meet the portending issue. How many thousands oftimes, on the trails, and in the wide-streeted little towns all over theWest, had this stalk of the cowboy's been perpetrated! Violent, bloody, tragic as it was, it had an importance in that pioneer day equal to theuse of a horse or the need of a plow. 

At length Pine was apparently a deserted village, except for Las Vegas, who patrolled his long beat in many ways--he lounged while hewatched; he stalked like a mountaineer; he stole along Indian fashion, stealthily, from tree to tree, from corner to corner; he disappeared inthe saloon to reappear at the back; he slipped round behind the barns tocome out again in the main road; and time after time he approached hishorse as if deciding to mount. 

The last visit he made into Turner's saloon he found no one there. Savagely he pounded on the bar with his gun. He got no response. Thenthe long-pent-up rage burst. With wild whoops he pulled another gun andshot at the mirror, the lamps. He shot the neck off a bottle and dranktill he choked, his neck corded, bulging, and purple. His only slow anddeliberate action was the reloading of his gun. Then he crashed throughthe doors, and with a wild yell leaped sheer into the saddle, haulinghis horse up high and goading him to plunge away. 

Men running to the door and windows of the store saw a streak of dustflying down the road. And then they trooped out to see it disappear. Thehour of suspense ended for them. Las Vegas had lived up to the code ofthe West, had dared his man out, had waited far longer than needful toprove that man a coward. Whatever the issue now, Beasley was brandedforever. That moment saw the decline of whatever power he had wielded. He and his men might kill the cowboy who had ridden out alone to facehim, but that would not change the brand. 

The preceding night Beasley bad been finishing a late supper at hisnewly acquired ranch, when Buck Weaver, one of his men, burst in uponhim with news of the death of Mulvey and Pedro. 

"Who's in the outfit? How many?" he had questioned, quickly. 

"It's a one-man outfit, boss, " replied Weaver. 

Beasley appeared astounded. He and his men had prepared to meet thefriends of the girl whose property he had taken over, and because of thesuperiority of his own force he had anticipated no bloody or extendedfeud. This amazing circumstance put the case in very much more difficultform. 

"One man!" he ejaculated. 

"Yep. Thet cowboy Las Vegas. An', boss, he turns out to be a gun-slingerfrom Texas. I was in Turner's. Hed jest happened to step in the otherroom when Las Vegas come bustin' in on his hoss an' jumped off. .. . Fustthing he called Jeff an' Pedro. They both showed yaller. An' then, damnif thet cowboy didn't turn his back on them an' went to the bar fer adrink. But he was lookin' in the mirror an' when Jeff an' Pedro went fertheir guns why he whirled quick as lightnin' an' bored them both. .. . Isneaked out an--"

"Why didn't you bore him?" roared Beasley. 

Buck Weaver steadily eyed his boss before he replied. "I ain'ttakin' shots at any fellar from behind doors. An' as fer meetin' LasVegas--excoose me, boss! I've still a hankerin' fer sunshine an' redliquor. Besides, I 'ain't got nothin' ag'in' Las Vegas. If he's rustledover here at the head of a crowd to put us off I'd fight, jest as we'dall fight. But you see we figgered wrong. It's between you an' LasVegas!. .. You oughter seen him throw thet hunter Dale out of Turner's. "

"Dale! Did he come?" queried Beasley. 

"He got there just after the cowboy plugged Jeff. An' thet big-eyedgirl, she came runnin' in, too. An' she keeled over in Dale's arms. LasVegas shoved him out--cussed him so hard we all heerd. .. . So, Beasley, there ain't no fight comin' off as we figgered on. "

Beasley thus heard the West speak out of the mouth of his own man. Andgrim, sardonic, almost scornful, indeed, were the words of Buck Weaver. This rider had once worked for Al Auchincloss and had deserted toBeasley under Mulvey's leadership. Mulvey was dead and the situation wasvastly changed. 

Beasley gave Weaver a dark, lowering glance, and waved him away. Fromthe door Weaver sent back a doubtful, scrutinizing gaze, then slouchedout. That gaze Beasley had not encountered before. 

It meant, as Weaver's cronies meant, as Beasley's long-faithful riders, and the people of the range, and as the spirit of the West meant, thatBeasley was expected to march down into the village to face his singlefoe. 

But Beasley did not go. Instead he paced to and fro the length of HelenRayner's long sitting-room with the nervous energy of a man whocould not rest. Many times he hesitated, and at others he made suddenmovements toward the door, only to halt. Long after midnight he wentto bed, but not to sleep. He tossed and rolled all night, and at dawnarose, gloomy and irritable. 

He cursed the Mexican serving-women who showed their displeasure athis authority. And to his amaze and rage not one of his men came tothe house. He waited and waited. Then he stalked off to the corrals andstables carrying a rifle with him. The men were there, in a group thatdispersed somewhat at his advent. Not a Mexican was in sight. 

Beasley ordered the horses to be saddled and all hands to go down intothe village with him. That order was disobeyed. Beasley stormed andraged. His riders sat or lounged, with lowered faces. An unspokenhostility seemed present. Those who had been longest with him were leastdistant and strange, but still they did not obey. At length Beasleyroared for his Mexicans. 

"Boss, we gotta tell you thet every greaser on the ranch hessloped--gone these two hours--on the way to Magdalena, " said BuckWeaver. 

Of all these sudden-uprising perplexities this latest was the mostastounding. Beasley cursed with his questioning wonder. 

"Boss, they was sure scared of thet gun-slingin' cowboy from Texas, "replied Weaver, imperturbably. 

Beasley's dark, swarthy face changed its hue. What of the subtlereflection in Weaver's slow speech! One of the men came out of a corralleading Beasley's saddled and bridled horse. This fellow dropped thebridle and sat down among his comrades without a word. No one spoke. Thepresence of the horse was significant. With a snarling, muttered curse, Beasley took up his rifle and strode back to the ranch-house. 

In his rage and passion he did not realize what his men had known forhours--that if he had stood any chance at all for their respect as wellas for his life the hour was long past. 

Beasley avoided the open paths to the house, and when he got there henervously poured out a drink. Evidently something in the fiery liquorfrightened him, for he threw the bottle aside. It was as if that bottlecontained a courage which was false. 

Again he paced the long sitting-room, growing more and more wrought-upas evidently he grew familiar with the singular state of affairs. Twicethe pale serving-woman called him to dinner. 

The dining-room was light and pleasant, and the meal, fragrant andsteaming, was ready for him. But the women had disappeared. Beasleyseated himself--spread out his big hands on the table. 

Then a slight rustle--a clink of spur--startled him. He twisted hishead. 

"Howdy, Beasley!" said Las Vegas, who had appeared as if by magic. 

Beasley's frame seemed to swell as if a flood had been loosed in hisveins. Sweat-drops stood out on his pallid face. 

"What--you--want?" he asked, huskily. 

"Wal now, my boss, Miss Helen, says, seein' I am foreman heah, thet it'dbe nice an' proper fer me to drop in an' eat with you--THE LAST TIME!"replied the cowboy. His drawl was slow and cool, his tone was friendlyand pleasant. But his look was that of a falcon ready to drive deep itsbeak. 

Beasley's reply was loud, incoherent, hoarse. 

Las Vegas seated himself across from Beasley. 

"Eat or not, it's shore all the same to me, " said Las Vegas, and hebegan to load his plate with his left hand. His right hand rested verylightly, with just the tips of his vibrating fingers on the edge ofthe table; and he never for the slightest fraction of a second took hispiercing eyes off Beasley. 

"Wal, my half-breed greaser guest, it shore roils up my blood to see yousittin' there--thinkin' you've put my boss, Miss Helen, off this ranch, "began Las Vegas, softly. And then he helped himself leisurely to foodand drink. "In my day I've shore stacked up against a lot of outlaws, thieves, rustlers, an' sich like, but fer an out an' out dirty low-downskunk, you shore take the dough!. .. I'm goin, to kill you in a minit orso, jest as soon as you move one of them dirty paws of yourn. But I hopeyou'll be polite an' let me say a few words. I'll never be happy againif you don't. .. . Of all the--yaller greaser dogs I ever seen, you're theworst!. .. I was thinkin' last night mebbe you'd come down an' meet melike a man, so 's I could wash my hands ever afterward without gettin'sick to my stummick. But you didn't come. .. . Beasley, I'm so ashamed ofmyself thet I gotta call you--when I ought to bore you, thet--I ain'teven second cousin to my old self when I rode fer Chisholm. It don'tmean nuthin' to you to call you liar! robber! blackleg! a sneakin'coyote! an' a cheat thet hires others to do his dirty work!. .. ByGawd!--"

"Carmichael, gimme a word in, " hoarsely broke out Beasley. "You'reright, it won't do no good to call me. .. . But let's talk. .. . I'll buyyou off. Ten thousand dollars--"

"Haw! Haw! Haw!" roared Las Vegas. He was as tense as a strung cord andhis face possessed a singular pale radiance. His right hand began toquiver more and more. 

"I'll--double--it!" panted Beasley. "I'll--make over--half theranch--all the stock--"

"Swaller thet!" yelled Las Vegas, with terrible strident ferocity. 

"Listen--man!. .. I take--it back!. .. I'll give up--Auchincloss's ranch!"Beasley was now a shaking, whispering, frenzied man, ghastly white, withrolling eyes. 

Las Vegas's left fist pounded hard on the table. 

"GREASER, COME ON!" he thundered. 

Then Beasley, with desperate, frantic action, jerked for his gun. 

CHAPTER XXVI

For Helen Rayner that brief, dark period of expulsion from her home hadbecome a thing of the past, almost forgotten. 

Two months had flown by on the wings of love and work and the joy offinding her place there in the West. All her old men had been only tooglad of the opportunity to come back to her, and under Dale and RoyBeeman a different and prosperous order marked the life of the ranch. 

Helen had made changes in the house by altering the arrangement ofrooms and adding a new section. Only once had she ventured into the olddining-room where Las Vegas Carmichael had sat down to that fatal dinnerfor Beasley. She made a store-room of it, and a place she would neveragain enter. 

Helen was happy, almost too happy, she thought, and therefore mademore than needful of the several bitter drops in her sweet cup oflife. Carmichael had ridden out of Pine, ostensibly on the trail of theMexicans who had executed Beasley's commands. The last seen of himhad been reported from Show Down, where he had appeared red-eyed anddangerous, like a hound on a scent. Then two months had flown by withouta word. 

Dale had shaken his head doubtfully when interrogated about the cowboy'sabsence. It would be just like Las Vegas never to be heard of again. Also it would be more like him to remain away until all trace of hisdrunken, savage spell had departed from him and had been forgotten byhis friends. Bo took his disappearance apparently less to heart thanHelen. But Bo grew more restless, wilder, and more wilful than ever. Helen thought she guessed Bo's secret; and once she ventured a hintconcerning Carmichael's return. 

"If Tom doesn't come back pretty soon I'll marry Milt Dale, " retortedBo, tauntingly. 

This fired Helen's cheeks with red. 

"But, child, " she protested, half angry, half grave. "Milt and I areengaged. "

"Sure. Only you're so slow. There's many a slip--you know. "

"Bo, I tell you Tom will come back, " replied Helen, earnestly. "I feelit. There was something fine in that cowboy. He understood me betterthan you or Milt, either. .. . And he was perfectly wild in love withyou. "

"Oh! WAS he?"

"Very much more than you deserved, Bo Rayner. "

Then occurred one of Bo's sweet, bewildering, unexpectedtransformations. Her defiance, resentment, rebelliousness, vanished froma softly agitated face. 

"Oh, Nell, I know that. .. . You just watch me if I ever get anotherchance at him!. .. Then--maybe he'd never drink again!"

"Bo, be happy--and be good. Don't ride off any more--don't tease theboys. It'll all come right in the end. "

Bo recovered her equanimity quickly enough. 

"Humph! You can afford to be cheerful. You've got a man who can't livewhen you're out of his sight. He's like a fish on dry land. .. . Andyou--why, once you were an old pessimist!"

Bo was not to be consoled or changed. Helen could only sigh and praythat her convictions would be verified. 

The first day of July brought an early thunder-storm, just at sunrise. It roared and flared and rolled away, leaving a gorgeous golden cloudpageant in the sky and a fresh, sweetly smelling, glistening green rangethat delighted Helen's eye. 

Birds were twittering in the arbors and bees were humming in theflowers. From the fields down along the brook came a blended song ofswamp-blackbird and meadow-lark. A clarion-voiced burro split the airwith his coarse and homely bray. The sheep were bleating, and a soft baaof little lambs came sweetly to Helen's ears. She went her usual roundswith more than usual zest and thrill. Everywhere was color, activity, life. The wind swept warm and pine-scented down from the mountainheights, now black and bold, and the great green slopes seemed to callto her. 

At that very moment she came suddenly upon Dale, in his shirt-sleeves, dusty and hot, standing motionless, gazing at the distant mountains. Helen's greeting startled him. 

"I--I was just looking away yonder, " he said, smiling. She thrilled atthe clear, wonderful light of his eyes. 

"So was I--a moment ago, " she replied, wistfully. "Do you miss theforest--very much?"

"Nell, I miss nothing. But I'd like to ride with you under the pinesonce more. "

"We'll go, " she cried. 

"When?" he asked, eagerly. 

"Oh--soon!" And then with flushed face and downcast eyes she passed on. For long Helen had cherished a fond hope that she might be married inParadise Park, where she had fallen in love with Dale and had realizedherself. But she had kept that hope secret. Dale's eager tone, hisflashing eyes, had made her feel that her secret was there in hertelltale face. 

As she entered the lane leading to the house she encountered one of thenew stable-boys driving a pack-mule. 

"Jim, whose pack is that?" she asked. 

"Ma'am, I dunno, but I heard him tell Roy he reckoned his name was mud, "replied the boy, smiling. 

Helen's heart gave a quick throb. That sounded like Las Vegas. Shehurried on, and upon entering the courtyard she espied Roy Beemanholding the halter of a beautiful, wild-looking mustang. There wasanother horse with another man, who was in the act of dismounting on thefar side. When he stepped into better view Helen recognized Las Vegas. And he saw her at the same instant. 

Helen did not look up again until she was near the porch. She haddreaded this meeting, yet she was so glad that she could have criedaloud. 

"Miss Helen, I shore am glad to see you, " he said, standing bareheadedbefore her, the same young, frank-faced cowboy she had seen first fromthe train. 

"Tom!" she exclaimed, and offered her hands. 

He wrung them hard while he looked at her. The swift woman's glanceHelen gave in return seemed to drive something dark and doubtful out ofher heart. This was the same boy she had known--whom she had liked sowell--who had won her sister's love. Helen imagined facing him thus waslike awakening from a vague nightmare of doubt. Carmichael's face wasclean, fresh, young, with its healthy tan; it wore the old glad smile, cool, easy, and natural; his eyes were like Dale's--penetrating, clearas crystal, without a shadow. What had evil, drink, blood, to dowith the real inherent nobility of this splendid specimen of Westernhardihood? Wherever he had been, whatever he had done during thatlong absence, he had returned long separated from that wild and savagecharacter she could now forget. Perhaps there would never again be callfor it. 

"How's my girl?" he asked, just as naturally as if he had been gone afew days on some errand of his employer's. 

"Bo? Oh, she's well--fine. I--I rather think she'll be glad to see you, "replied Helen, warmly. 

"An' how's thet big Indian, Dale?" he drawled. 

"Well, too--I'm sure. "

"Reckon I got back heah in time to see you-all married?"

"I--I assure you I--no one around here has been married yet, " repliedHelen, with a blush. 

"Thet shore is fine. Was some worried, " he said, lazily. "I've beenchasin' wild hosses over in New Mexico, an' I got after this heah blueroan. He kept me chasin' him fer a spell. I've fetched him back for Bo. "

Helen looked at the mustang Roy was holding, to be instantly delighted. He was a roan almost blue in color, neither large nor heavy, butpowerfully built, clean-limbed, and racy, with a long mane and tail, black as coal, and a beautiful head that made Helen love him at once. 

"Well, I'm jealous, " declared Helen, archly. "I never did see such apony. "

"I reckoned you'd never ride any hoss but Ranger, " said Las Vegas. 

"No, I never will. But I can be jealous, anyhow, can't I?"

"Shore. An I reckon if you say you're goin' to have him--wal, Bo 'd befunny, " he drawled. 

"I reckon she would be funny, " retorted Helen. She was so happy thatshe imitated his speech. She wanted to hug him. It was too good to betrue--the return of this cowboy. He understood her. He had come backwith nothing that could alienate her. He had apparently forgotten theterrible role he had accepted and the doom he had meted out to herenemies. That moment was wonderful for Helen in its revelation of thestrange significance of the West as embodied in this cowboy. He wasgreat. But he did not know that. 

Then the door of the living-room opened, and a sweet, high voice pealedout:

"Roy! Oh, what a mustang! Whose is he?"

"Wal, Bo, if all I hear is so he belongs to you, " replied Roy with ahuge grin. 

Bo appeared in the door. She stepped out upon the porch. She saw thecowboy. The excited flash of her pretty face vanished as she paled. 

"Bo, I shore am glad to see you, " drawled Las Vegas, as he steppedforward, sombrero in hand. Helen could not see any sign of confusion inhim. But, indeed, she saw gladness. Then she expected to behold Bo runright into the cowboys's arms. It appeared, however, that she was doomedto disappointment. 

"Tom, I'm glad to see you, " she replied. 

They shook hands as old friends. 

"You're lookin' right fine, " he said. 

"Oh, I'm well. .. . And how have you been these six months?" she queried. 

"Reckon I though it was longer, " he drawled. "Wal, I'm pretty tip-topnow, but I was laid up with heart trouble for a spell. "

"Heart trouble?" she echoed, dubiously. 

"Shore. .. . I ate too much over heah in New Mexico. "

"It's no news to me--where your heart's located, " laughed Bo. Then sheran off the porch to see the blue mustang. She walked round and roundhim, clasping her hands in sheer delight. 

"Bo, he's a plumb dandy, " said Roy. "Never seen a prettier hoss. He'llrun like a streak. An' he's got good eyes. He'll be a pet some day. ButI reckon he'll always be spunky. "

"Bo ventured to step closer, and at last got a hand on the mustang, andthen another. She smoothed his quivering neck and called softly to him, until he submitted to her hold. 

"What's his name?" she asked. 

"Blue somethin' or other, " replied Roy. 

"Tom, has my new mustang a name?" asked Bo, turning to the cowboy. 

"Shore. "

"What then?"

"Wal, I named him Blue-Bo, " answered Las Vegas, with a smile. 

"Blue-Boy?"

"Nope. He's named after you. An' I chased him, roped him, broke him allmyself. "

"Very well. Blue-Bo he is, then. .. . And he's a wonderful darling horse. Oh, Nell, just look at him. .. . Tom, I can't thank you enough. "

"Reckon I don't want any thanks, " drawled the cowboy. "But see heah, Bo, you shore got to live up to conditions before you ride him. "

"What!" exclaimed Bo, who was startled by his slow, cool, meaning tone, of voice. 

Helen delighted in looking at Las Vegas then. He had never appeared tobetter advantage. So cool, careless, and assured! He seemed master ofa situation in which his terms must be accepted. Yet he might have beenactuated by a cowboy motive beyond the power of Helen to divine. 

"Bo Rayner, " drawled Las Vegas, "thet blue mustang will be yours, an'you can ride him--when you're MRS. TOM CARMICHAEL!"

Never had he spoken a softer, more drawling speech, nor gazed at Bomore mildly. Roy seemed thunderstruck. Helen endeavored heroically torestrain her delicious, bursting glee. Bo's wide eyes stared at herlover--darkened--dilated. Suddenly she left the mustang to confront thecowboy where he lounged on the porch steps. 

"Do you mean that?" she cried. 

"Shore do. "

"Bah! It's only a magnificent bluff, " she retorted. "You're only in fun. It's your--your darned nerve!"

"Why, Bo, " began Las Vegas, reproachfully. "You shore know I'm not thefour-flusher kind. Never got away with a bluff in my life! An' I'm jestin daid earnest aboot this heah. "

All the same, signs were not wanting in his mobile face that he wasalmost unable to restrain his mirth. 

Helen realized then that Bo saw through the cowboy--that the ultimatumwas only one of his tricks. 

"It IS a bluff and I CALL you!" declared Bo, ringingly. 

Las Vegas suddenly awoke to consequences. He essayed to speak, but shewas so wonderful then, so white and blazing-eyed, that he was strickenmute. 

"I'll ride Blue-Bo this afternoon, " deliberately stated the girl. 

Las Vegas had wit enough to grasp her meaning, and he seemed about tocollapse. 

"Very well, you can make me Mrs. Tom Carmichael to-day--thismorning--just before dinner. .. . Go get a preacher to marry us--andmake yourself look a more presentable bridegroom--UNLESS IT WAS ONLY ABLUFF!"

Her imperiousness changed as the tremendous portent of her words seemedto make Las Vegas a blank, stone image of a man. With a wild-rose colorsuffusing her face, she swiftly bent over him, kissed him, and flashedaway into the house. Her laugh pealed back, and it thrilled Helen, sodeep and strange was it for the wilful sister, so wild and merry andfull of joy. 

It was then that Roy Beeman recovered from his paralysis, to let outsuch a roar of mirth as to frighten the horses. Helen was laughing, andcrying, too, but laughing mostly. Las Vegas Carmichael was a sight forthe gods to behold. Bo's kiss had unclamped what had bound him. Thesudden truth, undeniable, insupportable, glorious, made him a madman. 

"Bluff--she called me--ride Blue-Bo saf'ternoon!" he raved, reaching wildly for Helen. "Mrs. --Tom--Carmichael--beforedinner--preacher--presentable bridegroom!. .. Aw! I'm drunk again! I--whoswore off forever!"

"No, Tom, you're just happy, " said Helen. 

Between her and Roy the cowboy was at length persuaded to accept thesituation and to see his wonderful opportunity. 

"Now--now, Miss Helen--what'd Bo mean by pre--presentable bridegroom?. .. Presents? Lord, I'm clean busted flat!"

"She meant you must dress up in your best, of course, " replied Helen. 

"Where 'n earth will I get a preacher?. .. Show Down's forty miles. .. . Can't ride there in time. .. . Roy, I've gotta have a preacher. .. . Life ordeath deal fer me. "

"Wal, old man, if you'll brace up I'll marry you to Bo, " said Roy, withhis glad grin. 

"Aw!" gasped Las Vegas, as if at the coming of a sudden beautiful hope. 

"Tom, I'm a preacher, " replied Roy, now earnestly. "You didn't knowthet, but I am. An' I can marry you an' Bo as good as any one, an'tighter 'n most. "

Las Vegas reached for his friend as a drowning man might have reachedfor solid rock. 

"Roy, can you really marry them--with my Bible--and the service of mychurch?" asked Helen, a happy hope flushing her face. 

"Wal, indeed I can. I've married more 'n one couple whose religionwasn't mine. "

"B-b-before--d-d-din-ner!" burst out Las Vegas, like a stuttering idiot. 

"I reckon. Come on, now, an' make yourself pre-senttible, " said Roy. "Miss Helen, you tell Bo thet it's all settled. "

He picked up the halter on the blue mustang and turned away toward thecorrals. Las Vegas put the bridle of his horse over his arm, and seemedto be following in a trance, with his dazed, rapt face held high. 

"Bring Dale, " called Helen, softly after them. 

So it came about as naturally as it was wonderful that Bo rode the bluemustang before the afternoon ended. 

Las Vegas disobeyed his first orders from Mrs. Tom Carmichael and rodeout after her toward the green-rising range. Helen seemed impelled tofollow. She did not need to ask Dale the second time. They rode swiftly, but never caught up with Bo and Las Vegas, whose riding resembled theirhappiness. 

Dale read Helen's mind, or else his own thoughts were in harmony withhers, for he always seemed to speak what she was thinking. And as theyrode homeward he asked her in his quiet way if they could not spare afew days to visit his old camp. 

"And take Bo--and Tom? Oh, of all things I'd like to'" she replied. 

"Yes--an' Roy, too, " added Dale, significantly. 

"Of course, " said Helen, lightly, as if she had not caught his meaning. But she turned her eyes away, while her heart thumped disgracefully andall her body was aglow. "Will Tom and Bo go?"

"It was Tom who got me to ask you, " replied Dale. "John an' Hal can lookafter the men while we're gone. "

"Oh--so Tom put it in your head? I guess--maybe--I won't go. "

"It is always in my mind, Nell, " he said, with his slow seriousness. "I'm goin' to work all my life for you. But I'll want to an' need to goback to the woods often. .. . An' if you ever stoop to marry me--an' makeme the richest of men--you'll have to marry me up there where I fell inlove with you. "

"Ah! Did Las Vegas Tom Carmichael say that, too?" inquired Helen, softly. 

"Nell, do you want to know what Las Vegas said?"

"By all means. "

"He said this--an' not an hour ago. 'Milt, old hoss, let me give you ahunch. I'm a man of family now--an' I've been a devil with the wimmenin my day. I can see through 'em. Don't marry Nell Rayner in or near thehouse where I killed Beasley. She'd remember. An' don't let her rememberthet day. Go off into the woods. Paradise Park! Bo an' me will go withyou. "

Helen gave him her hand, while they walked the horses homeward in thelong sunset shadows. In the fullness of that happy hour she had time fora grateful wonder at the keen penetration of the cowboy Carmichael. Dalehad saved her life, but it was Las Vegas who had saved her happiness. 

Not many days later, when again the afternoon shadows were slanting low, Helen rode out upon the promontory where the dim trail zigzagged farabove Paradise Park. 

Roy was singing as he drove the pack-burros down the slope; Bo and LasVegas were trying to ride the trail two abreast, so they could holdhands; Dale had dismounted to stand beside Helen's horse, as she gazeddown the shaggy black slopes to the beautiful wild park with its graymeadows and shining ribbons of brooks. 

It was July, and there were no golden-red glorious flames and blazes ofcolor such as lingered in Helen's memory. Black spruce slopes and greenpines and white streaks of aspens and lacy waterfall of foam and darkoutcroppings of rock--these colors and forms greeted her gaze with allthe old enchantment. Wildness, beauty, and loneliness were there, thesame as ever, immutable, like the spirit of those heights. 

Helen would fain have lingered longer, but the others called, and Rangerimpatiently snorted his sense of the grass and water far below. And sheknew that when she climbed there again to the wide outlook she would beanother woman. 

"Nell, come on, " said Dale, as he led on. "It's better to look up. "

The sun had just sunk behind the ragged fringe of mountain-rim whenthose three strong and efficient men of the open had pitched camp andhad prepared a bountiful supper. Then Roy Beeman took out the littleworn Bible which Helen had given him to use when he married Bo, and ashe opened it a light changed his dark face. 

"Come, Helen an' Dale, " he said. 

They arose to stand before him. And he married them there under thegreat, stately pines, with the fragrant blue smoke curling upward, andthe wind singing through the branches, while the waterfall murmured itslow, soft, dreamy music, and from the dark slope came the wild, lonelycry of a wolf, full of the hunger for life and a mate. 

"Let us pray, " said Roy, as he closed the Bible, and knelt with them. 

"There is only one God, an' Him I beseech in my humble office for thewoman an' man I have just wedded in holy bonds. Bless them an' watchthem an' keep them through all the comin' years. Bless the sons ofthis strong man of the woods an' make them like him, with love an'understandin' of the source from which life comes. Bless the daughtersof this woman an' send with them more of her love an' soul, which mustbe the softenin' an' the salvation of the hard West. O Lord, blaze thedim, dark trail for them through the unknown forest of life! O Lord, lead the way across the naked range of the future no mortal knows! Weask in Thy name! Amen. "

When the preacher stood up again and raised the couple from theirkneeling posture, it seemed that a grave and solemn personage had lefthim. This young man was again the dark-faced, clear-eyed Roy, droll anddry, with the enigmatic smile on his lips. 

"Mrs. Dale, " he said, taking her hands, "I wish you joy. .. . An' now, after this here, my crownin' service in your behalf--I reckon I'll claima reward. "

Then he kissed her. Bo came next with her warm and loving felicitations, and the cowboy, with characteristic action, also made at Helen. 

"Nell, shore it's the only chance I'll ever have to kiss you, " hedrawled. "Because when this heah big Indian once finds out what kissin'is--!"

Las Vegas then proved how swift and hearty he could be upon occasions. All this left Helen red and confused and unutterably happy. Sheappreciated Dale's state. His eyes reflected the precious treasurewhich manifestly he saw, but realization of ownership had not yet becomedemonstrable. 

Then with gay speech and happy laugh and silent look these five partookof the supper. When it was finished Roy made known his intention toleave. They all protested and coaxed, but to no avail. He only laughedand went on saddling his horse. 

"Roy, please stay, " implored Helen. "The day's almost ended. You'retired. "

"Nope. I'll never be no third party when there's only two. "

"But there are four of us. "

"Didn't I just make you an' Dale one?. .. An', Mrs. Dale, you forget I'vebeen married more 'n once. "

Helen found herself confronted by an unanswerable side of the argument. Las Vegas rolled on the grass in his mirth. Dale looked strange. 

"Roy, then that's why you're so nice, " said Bo, with a little devil inher eyes. "Do you know I had my mind made up if Tom hadn't come around Iwas going to make up to you, Roy. .. . I sure was. What number wife wouldI have been?"

It always took Bo to turn the tables on anybody. Roy looked mightilyembarrassed. And the laugh was on him. He did not face them again untilhe had mounted. 

"Las Vegas, I've done my best for you--hitched you to thet blue-eyedgirl the best I know how, " he declared. "But I shore ain't guaranteein'nothin'. You'd better build a corral for her. "

"Why, Roy, you shore don't savvy the way to break these wild ones, "drawled Las Vegas. "Bo will be eatin' out of my hand in about a week. "

Bo's blue eyes expressed an eloquent doubt as to this extraordinaryclaim. 

"Good-by, friends, " said Roy, and rode away to disappear in the spruces. 

Thereupon Bo and Las Vegas forgot Roy, and Dale and Helen, the campchores to be done, and everything else except themselves. Helen's firstwifely duty was to insist that she should and could and would help herhusband with the work of cleaning up after the sumptuous supper. Beforethey had finished a sound startled them. It came from Roy, evidentlyhigh on the darkening slope, and was a long, mellow pealing halloo, thatrang on the cool air, burst the dreamy silence, and rapped acrossfrom slope to slope and cliff to cliff, to lose its power and die awayhauntingly in the distant recesses. 

Dale shook his head as if he did not care to attempt a reply to thatbeautiful call. Silence once again enfolded the park, and twilightseemed to be born of the air, drifting downward. 

"Nell, do you miss anythin'?" asked Dale. 

"No. Nothing in all the world, " she murmured. "I am happier than I everdared pray to be. "

"I don't mean people or things. I mean my pets. "

"Ah! I had forgotten. .. . Milt, where are they?"

"Gone back to the wild, " he said. "They had to live in my absence. An'I've been away long. "

Just then the brooding silence, with its soft murmur of falling waterand faint sigh of wind in the pines, was broken by a piercing scream, high, quivering, like that of a woman in exquisite agony. 

"That's Tom!" exclaimed Dale. 

"Oh--I was so--so frightened!" whispered Helen. 

Bo came running, with Las Vegas at her heels. 

"Milt, that was your tame cougar, " cried Bo, excitedly. "Oh, I'll neverforget him! I'll hear those cries in my dreams!"

"Yes, it was Tom, " said Dale, thoughtfully. "But I never heard him cryjust like that. "

"Oh, call him in!"

Dale whistled and called, but Tom did not come. Then the hunter stalkedoff in the gloom to call from different points under the slope. Aftera while he returned without the cougar. And at that moment, from farup the dark ravine, drifted down the same wild cry, only changed bydistance, strange and tragic in its meaning. 

"He scented us. He remembers. But he'll never come back, " said Dale. 

Helen felt stirred anew with the convictions of Dale's deep knowledge oflife and nature. And her imagination seemed to have wings. How full andperfect her trust, her happiness in the realization that her love andher future, her children, and perhaps grandchildren, would come underthe guidance of such a man! Only a little had she begun to comprehendthe secrets of good and ill in their relation to the laws of nature. Ages before men had lived on the earth there had been the creatures ofthe wilderness, and the holes of the rocks, and the nests of the trees, and rain, frost, heat, dew, sunlight and night, storm and calm, thehoney of the wildflower and the instinct of the bee--all the beautifuland multiple forms of life with their inscrutable design. To knowsomething of them and to love them was to be close to the kingdom ofearth--perhaps to the greater kingdom of heaven. For whatever breathedand moved was a part of that creation. The coo of the dove, the lichenon the mossy rock, the mourn of a hunting wolf, and the murmur of thewaterfall, the ever-green and growing tips of the spruces, and thethunderbolts along the battlements of the heights--these one and allmust be actuated by the great spirit--that incalculable thing in theuniverse which had produced man and soul. 

And there in the starlight, under the wide-gnarled pines, sighing lowwith the wind, Helen sat with Dale on the old stone that an avalancheof a million years past had flung from the rampart above to serve ascamp-table and bench for lovers in the wilderness; the sweet scent ofspruce mingled with the fragrance of wood-smoke blown in their faces. How white the stars, and calm and true! How they blazed their singletask! A coyote yelped off on the south slope, dark now as midnight. Abit of weathered rock rolled and tapped from shelf to shelf. And thewind moaned. Helen felt all the sadness and mystery and nobility of thislonely fastness, and full on her heart rested the supreme consciousnessthat all would some day be well with the troubled world beyond. 

"Nell, I'll homestead this park, " said Dale. "Then it'll always beours. "

"Homestead! What's that?" murmured Helen, dreamily. The word soundedsweet. 

"The government will give land to men who locate an' build, " repliedDale. "We'll run up a log cabin. "

"And come here often. .. . Paradise Park!" whispered Helen. 

Dale's first kisses were on her lips then, hard and cool and clean, likethe life of the man, singularly exalting to her, completing her woman'sstrange and unutterable joy of the hour, and rendering her mute. 

Bo's melodious laugh, and her voice with its old mockery of torment, drifted softly on the night breeze. And the cowboy's "Aw, Bo, " drawlinghis reproach and longing, was all that the tranquil, waiting silenceneeded. 

Paradise Park was living again one of its romances. Love was no strangerto that lonely fastness. Helen heard in the whisper of the wind throughthe pine the old-earth story, beautiful, ever new, and yet eternal. She thrilled to her depths. The spar-pointed spruces stood up blackand clear against the noble stars. All that vast solitude breathed andwaited, charged full with its secret, ready to reveal itself to hertremulous soul.