mad--once you started--thet you'd
be turrible. What 've you got them eyes for, Miss Nell, if you ain't an
Auchincloss?"

He was smiling, yet he meant every word. Helen felt the truth as
something she feared.

"Las Vegas, I won't bet. But you--you will always come to me--first--if
there's trouble."

"I promise," he replied, soberly, and then went out.

Helen found that she was trembling, and that there was a commotion in
her breast. Carmichael had frightened her. No longer did she hold doubt
of the gravity of the situation. She had seen Beasley often, several
times close at hand, and once she had been forced to meet him. That time
had convinced her that he had evinced personal interest in her. And on
this account, coupled with the fact that Riggs appeared to have nothing
else to do but shadow her, she had been slow in developing her intention
of organizing and teaching a school for the children of Pine. Riggs had
become rather a doubtful celebrity in the settlements. Yet his bold,
apparent badness had made its impression. From all reports he spent his
time gambling, drinking, and bragging. It was no longer news in Pine
what his intentions were toward Helen Rayner. Twice he had ridden up to
the ranch-house, upon one occasion securing an interview with Helen. In
spite of her contempt and indifference, he was actually influencing her
life there in Pine. And it began to appear that the other man, Beasley,
might soon direct stronger significance upon the liberty of her actions.

The responsibility of the ranch had turned out to be a heavy burden. It
could not be managed, at least by her, in the way Auchincloss wanted
it done. He was old, irritable, irrational, and hard. Almost all the
neighbors were set against him, and naturally did not take kindly to
Helen.

She had not found the slightest evidence of unfair dealing on the part
of her uncle, but he had been a hard driver. Then his shrewd, far-seeing
judgment had made all his deals fortunate for him, which fact had not
brought a profit of friendship.

Of late, since Auchincloss had grown weaker and less dominating, Helen
had taken many decisions upon herself, with gratifying and hopeful
results. But the wonderful happiness that she had expected to find in
the West still held aloof. The memory of Paradise Park seemed only a
dream, sweeter and more intangible as time passed, and fuller of vague
regrets. Bo was a comfort, but also a very considerable source of
anxiety