“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 was much 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. I stopped drinkin' an' saved my money. Wal, she knows all thet. Once she said 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 the madder Bo is at me the more chance I've got. She knows I love her--thet I'd die for her--thet I'm a changed man. An' she knows I never before thought of darin' to touch her hand. An' she knows she flirted with Turner.” “She's only a child,” replied Helen. “And all this change--the West--the wildness--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 is gold.” “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 out here. The West is the West. Any kind of girls are scarce. An' one like Bo--Lord! we cowboys never seen none to compare with her. She'll make bad blood an' some of it will be spilled.” “Uncle Al encourages her,” said Helen, apprehensively. “It tickles him to hear how the boys are after her. Oh, she doesn't tell him. But he hears. 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 was strong and elemental, caught in the toils of some power beyond him. Yesterday Helen might have hesitated at that question. But to-day Carmichael brought some proven quality of loyalty, some strange depth of rugged 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 he hinted at. Some of his ruddy color had gone. “An' now I want to tell you why 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 the door, then return to her with intent eyes. She sensed events in his look, and she divined suddenly that he must feel as if he were her brother. “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 calamities to mar her management of the ranch--loss of cattle, horses, sheep--the desertion of herders to Beasley--failure of freighters to arrive when most needed--fights among the cowboys--and disagreements over long-arranged deals. “Your uncle Al makes a heap of this here Jeff Mulvey,” asserted Carmichael. “Yes, indeed. Uncle absolutely relies on Jeff,” replied Helen.