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 do
ne 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' scare
d 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!"