“No. Let me thank you now,” she whispered, and, stepping closer, she put her arms up, meaning to put them round his neck. That action must be her self-punishment for the other time she had done it. Yet it might also serve to thank him. But, strangely, her hands got no farther than his breast, and fluttered there to catch hold of the fringe of his buckskin jacket. She felt a heave of his deep chest. “I--I do thank you--with all my heart,” she said, softly. “I owe you now--for myself and her--more than I can ever repay.” “Nell, I'm your friend,” he replied, hurriedly. “Don't talk of repayin' me. Let me go now--after Las Vegas.” “What for?” she queried, suddenly. “I mean to line up beside him--at the bar--or wherever he goes,” returned Dale. “Don't tell me that. _I_ know. You're going straight to meet Beasley.” “Nell, if you hold me up any longer I reckon I'll have to run--or never get to Beasley before that cowboy.” Helen locked her fingers in the fringe of his jacket--leaned closer to him, all her being responsive to a bursting gust of blood over her. “I'll not let you go,” she said. He laughed, and put his great hands over hers. “What 're you sayin', girl? You can't stop me.” “Yes, I can. Dale, I don't want you to risk your life.” He stared at her, and made as if to tear her hands from their hold. “Listen--please--oh--please!” she implored. “If you go deliberately to kill Beasley--and do it--that will be murder.... It's against my religion.... I would be unhappy all my life.” “But, child, you'll be ruined all your life if Beasley is not dealt with--as men of his breed are always dealt with in the West,” he remonstrated, and in one quick move he had freed himself from her clutching fingers. Helen, with a move as swift, put her arms round his neck and clasped her hands tight. “Milt, I'm finding myself,” she said. “The other day, when I did--this--you made an excuse for me.... I'm not two-faced now.” She meant to keep him from killing Beasley if she sacrificed every last shred of her pride. And she stamped the look of his face on her heart of hearts to treasure always. The thrill, the beat of her pulses, almost obstructed her thought of purpose. “Nell, just now--when you're overcome--rash with feelin's--don't say to me--a word--a--” He broke down huskily. “My first friend--my--Oh Dale, I KNOW you love me! she whispered. And she hid her face on his breast, there to feel a tremendous tumult. “Oh, don't you?” she cried, in low, smothered voice, as his silence drove her farther on this mad, yet glorious purpose. “If you need to be told--yes--I reckon I do love you, Nell Rayner,” he replied. It seemed to Helen that he spoke from far off. She lifted her face, her heart on her lips. “If you kill Beasley I'll never marry you,” she said.