“Mr. Beasley, do you remember last fall when you met Snake Anson with his gang up in the woods--and hired him to make off with me?” asked Helen, 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 that cabin where you met Anson. He heard every word of your deal with the outlaw.” Beasley swung his arm in sudden violence, so hard that he flung his glove to the floor. As he stooped to snatch it up he uttered a sibilant hiss. Then, stalking to the door, he jerked it open, and slammed it behind him. His loud voice, hoarse with passion, preceded the scrape and crack of hoofs. Shortly after supper that day, when Helen was just recovering her composure, Carmichael presented himself at the open door. Bo was not there. 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. We packed him over to Widow Cass's. An' he said for me to tell you he'd pull through.” “Shot! Pull through!” repeated Helen, in slow, unrealizing exclamation. She was conscious of a deep internal tumult and a cold checking of blood in 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 a man! What a pity! Oh, he must have met that in my behalf. Tell me, what happened? Who shot him?” “Wal, I don't know. An' thet's what's made me hoppin' mad. I wasn't there 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 wanted to get even. But, after thinkin' it over, I guess he doesn't want me lookin' 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 that afternoon and all that had occurred. “Wal, the half-breed son-of-a-greaser!” ejaculated Carmichael, in utter confoundment. “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 smothered behind 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 brand thet 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 was thet Roy come in the saloon alone. Beasley was there, an' Riggs--” “Riggs!” interrupted Helen.