“Mornin'--girls,” he drawled. “Shore is good of you, now, comin' down.” Helen stood beside him, bent over him, in her earnestness, as she greeted him. She saw a shade of pain in his eyes and his immobility struck her, but he did not seem badly off. Bo was pale, round-eyed, and apparently too agitated to speak. Carmichael placed chairs beside the couch for the girls. “Wal, what's ailin' you this nice mornin'?” asked Roy, eyes on the cowboy. “Huh! Would you expect me to be wearin' the smile of a fellar goin' to be 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 somber hue. “I allow it's none of your d--darn bizness if SHE ain't made up with me,” he said. “Las Vegas, you're a wonder with a hoss an' a rope, an' I reckon with a gun, 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 they can talk.” “Folks, I was jest a-goin' to say thet Roy's got fever an' he oughtn't t' talk too much,” said the old woman. Then she and Carmichael went into the kitchen and closed the door. Roy looked up at Helen with his keen eyes, more kindly piercing than ever. “My brother John was here. He'd just left when you come. He rode home to tell my folks I'm not so bad hurt, an' then he's goin' to ride a bee-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 sight of 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; and then came swell and beat of heart, and inconceivable chafing of a tide at 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 visit to me?” “No. You tell me,” replied Roy. Briefly Helen began to acquaint him with the circumstances of that visit, and before she had finished she made sure Roy was swearing to himself. “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 up with Senor Beasley last night he was shore spoilin' from somethin'; now I see what thet was. An' I reckon I picked out the bad time.” “For what? Roy, what did you do?”