ngular,
almost awkward, as if he was not accustomed to walking. The long spurs
jingled musically. He removed his sombrero and stood at ease, frank,
cool, smiling. Helen liked him on sight, and, looking to see what effect
he had upon Bo, she found that young lady staring, frightened stiff.

"Good mawnin'," drawled the cowboy, with slow, good-humored smile. "Now
where might you-all be travelin'?"

The sound of his voice, the clean-cut and droll geniality; seemed new
and delightful to Helen.

"We go to Magdalena--then take stage for the White Mountains," replied
Helen.

The cowboy's still, intent eyes showed surprise.

"Apache country, miss," he said. "I reckon I'm sorry. Thet's shore no
place for you-all... Beggin' your pawdin--you ain't Mormons?"

"No. We're nieces of Al Auchincloss," rejoined Helen.

"Wal, you don't say! I've been down Magdalena way an' heerd of Al....
Reckon you're goin' a-visitin'?"

"It's to be home for us."

"Shore thet's fine. The West needs girls.... Yes, I've heerd of Al.
An old Arizona cattle-man in a sheep country! Thet's bad.... Now I'm
wonderin'--if I'd drift down there an' ask him for a job ridin' for
him--would I get it?"

His lazy smile was infectious and his meaning was as clear as crystal
water. The gaze he bent upon Bo somehow pleased Helen. The last year or
two, since Bo had grown prettier all the time, she had been a magnet for
admiring glances. This one of the cowboy's inspired respect and liking,
as well as amusement. It certainly was not lost upon Bo.

"My uncle once said in a letter that he never had enough men to run his
ranch," replied Helen, smiling.

"Shore I'll go. I reckon I'd jest naturally drift that way--now."

He seemed so laconic, so easy, so nice, that he could not have been
taken seriously, yet Helen's quick perceptions registered a daring, a
something that was both sudden and inevitable in him. His last word was
as clear as the soft look he fixed upon Bo.

Helen had a mischievous trait, which, subdue it as she would,
occasionally cropped out; and Bo, who once in her wilful life had been
rendered speechless, offered such a temptation.

"Maybe my little sister will put in a good word for you--to Uncle Al,"
said Helen. Just then the train jerked, and started slowly. The cowboy
took two long strides beside the car, his heated boyish face almost on a
level with the window, his eyes, now shy and a little wistful, yet bold,
too, fixed upon Bo.

"Good-by