Then Helen saw Harve Riggs enter, burdened with much luggage. He was a man of about medium height, of dark, flashy appearance, cultivating long black mustache and hair. His apparel was striking, as it consisted of black frock-coat, black trousers stuffed in high, fancy-topped boots, an embroidered vest, and flowing tie, and a black sombrero. His belt and gun were prominent. It was significant that he excited comment among the other passengers. When he had deposited his pieces of baggage he seemed to square himself, and, turning abruptly, approached the seat occupied by the girls. When he reached it he sat down upon the arm of the one opposite, took off his sombrero, and deliberately looked at Helen. His eyes were light, glinting, with hard, restless quiver, and his mouth was coarse and arrogant. Helen had never seen him detached from her home surroundings, and now the difference struck cold upon her heart. “Hello, Nell!” he said. “Surprised to see me?” “No,” she replied, coldly. “I'll gamble you are.” “Harve Riggs, I told you the day before I left home that nothing you could do or say mattered to me.” “Reckon that ain't so, Nell. Any woman I keep track of has reason to think. An' you know it.” “Then you followed me--out here?” demanded Helen, and her voice, despite her control, quivered with anger. “I sure did,” he replied, and there was as much thought of himself in the act as there was of her. “Why? Why? It's useless--hopeless.” “I swore I'd have you, or nobody else would,” he replied, and here, in the passion of his voice there sounded egotism rather than hunger for a woman's love. “But I reckon I'd have struck West anyhow, sooner or later.” “You're not going to--all the way--to Pine?” faltered Helen, momentarily weakening. “Nell, I'll camp on your trail from now on,” he declared. Then Bo sat bolt-upright, with pale face and flashing eyes. “Harve Riggs, you leave Nell alone,” she burst out, in ringing, brave young voice. “I'll tell you what--I'll bet--if you follow her and nag her any more, my uncle Al or some cowboy will run you out of the country.” “Hello, Pepper!” replied Riggs, coolly. “I see your manners haven't improved an' you're still wild about cowboys.” “People don't have good manners with--with--” “Bo, hush!” admonished Helen. It was difficult to reprove Bo just then, for that young lady had not the slightest fear of Riggs. Indeed, she looked as if she could slap his face. And Helen realized that however her intelligence had grasped the possibilities of leaving home for a wild country, and whatever her determination to be brave, the actual beginning of self-reliance had left her spirit weak. She would rise out of that. But just now this flashing-eyed little sister seemed a protector. Bo would readily adapt herself to the West, Helen thought, because she was so young, primitive, elemental. Whereupon Bo turned her back to Riggs and looked out of the window. The man laughed. Then he stood up and leaned over Helen.