id
to let herself go and be perfectly happy. Always there was the fear that
had been too deep and strong to forget so soon.

This bright, fresh morning, in March, Helen came out upon the porch to
revel a little in the warmth of sunshine and the crisp, pine-scented
wind that swept down from the mountains. There was never a morning that
she did not gaze mountainward, trying to see, with a folly she realized,
if the snow had melted more perceptibly away on the bold white ridge.
For all she could see it had not melted an inch, and she would
not confess why she sighed. The desert had become green and fresh,
stretching away there far below her range, growing dark and purple in
the distance with vague buttes rising. The air was full of sound--notes
of blackbirds and the baas of sheep, and blasts from the corrals, and
the clatter of light hoofs on the court below.

Bo was riding in from the stables. Helen loved to watch her on one of
those fiery little mustangs, but the sight was likewise given to rousing
apprehensions. This morning Bo appeared particularly bent on frightening
Helen. Down the lane Carmichael appeared, waving his arms, and Helen
at once connected him with Bo's manifest desire to fly away from that
particular place. Since that day, a month back, when Bo had confessed
her love for Carmichael, she and Helen had not spoken of it or of the
cowboy. The boy and girl were still at odds. But this did not worry
Helen. Bo had changed much for the better, especially in that she
devoted herself to Helen and to her work. Helen knew that all would
turn out well in the end, and so she had been careful of her rather
precarious position between these two young firebrands.

Bo reined in the mustang at the porch steps. She wore a buckskin
riding-suit which she had made herself, and its soft gray with the
touches of red beads was mightily becoming to her. Then she had grown
considerably during the winter and now looked too flashing and pretty to
resemble a boy, yet singularly healthy and strong and lithe. Red spots
shone in her cheeks and her eyes held that ever-dangerous blaze.

"Nell, did you give me away to that cowboy?" she demanded.

"Give you away!" exclaimed Helen, blankly.

"Yes. You know I told you--awhile back--that I was wildly in love with
him. Did you give me away--tell on me?"

She might have been furious, but she certainly was not confused.

"Why, Bo! How could you? No. I did not," replied Helen.

"Never gav