The cowboy thrust aside the two men, and with a long stride he faced the porch, his piercing eyes on the door. All that Helen could think of his look was that it seemed terrible. Bo stepped outside in front of Helen. Probably she would have run straight into Carmichael's arms if some strange instinct had not withheld her. Helen judged it to be fear; she found her heart lifting painfully. “Bo!” he yelled, like a savage, yet he did not in the least resemble one. “Oh--Tom!” cried Bo, falteringly. She half held out her arms. “You, girl?” That seemed to be his piercing query, like the quivering blade 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 to see his face marvelously change until it was that of the well remembered Las 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 wrung Dale'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 the word 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 well by 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 her clothes 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. But Beasley made the plan. It was Nell they wanted instead of Bo.” Abruptly Carmichael stalked off down the darkening path, his silver heel-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 touched me!” For once Helen was not ready to comfort Bo. A mighty tug at her heart had sent her with flying, uneven steps toward Dale. He took another stride 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 he turned Helen had come close. Twilight was deep there in the shade of the peach-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.”