Big Spring had its source somewhere deep under the gray, weathered bluff, from which came a hollow subterranean gurgle and roar of water. Its fountainhead must have been a great well rushing up through the cold stone. Helen and Bo lay flat on a mossy bank, seeing their faces as they bent over, and they sipped a mouthful, by Dale's advice, and because they were so hot and parched and burning they wanted to tarry a moment with a precious opportunity. The water was so cold that it sent a shock over Helen, made her teeth ache, and a singular, revivifying current steal all through her, wonderful in its cool absorption of that dry heat of flesh, irresistible in its appeal to thirst. Helen raised her head to look at this water. It was colorless as she had found it tasteless. “Nell--drink!” panted Bo. “Think of our--old spring--in the orchard--full of pollywogs!” And then Helen drank thirstily, with closed eyes, while a memory of home stirred from Bo's gift of poignant speech. CHAPTER VII The first camp duty Dale performed was to throw a pack off one of the horses, and, opening it, he took out tarpaulin and blankets, which he arranged on the ground under a pine-tree. “You girls rest,” he said, briefly. “Can't we help?” asked Helen, though she could scarcely stand. “You'll be welcome to do all you like after you're broke in.” “Broke in!” ejaculated Bo, with a little laugh. “I'm all broke UP now.” “Bo, it looks as if Mr. Dale expects us to have quite a stay with him in the woods.” “It does,” replied Bo, as slowly she sat down upon the blankets, stretched out with a long sigh, and laid her head on a saddle. “Nell, didn't he say not to call him Mister?” Dale was throwing the packs off the other horses. Helen lay down beside Bo, and then for once in her life she experienced the sweetness of rest. “Well, sister, what do you intend to call him?” queried Helen, curiously. “Milt, of course,” replied Bo. Helen had to laugh despite her weariness and aches. “I suppose, then, when your Las Vegas cowboy comes along you will call him what he called you.” Bo blushed, which was a rather unusual thing for her. “I will if I like,” she retorted. “Nell, ever since I could remember you've raved about the West. Now you're OUT West, right in it good and deep. So wake up!” That was Bo's blunt and characteristic way of advising the elimination of Helen's superficialities. It sank deep. Helen had no retort. Her ambition, as far as the West was concerned, had most assuredly not been for such a wild, unheard-of jaunt as this. But possibly the West--a living from day to day--was one succession of adventures, trials, tests, troubles, and achievements. To make a place for others to live comfortably some day! That might be Bo's meaning, embodied in her forceful hint. But Helen was too tired to think it out then. She found it interesting and vaguely pleasant to watch Dale.