ms, and handled with a great and terrible
tenderness, and hugged and kissed with the hunger and awkwardness of a
bear, and held with her feet off the ground, and rendered blind, dizzy,
rapturous, and frightened, and utterly torn asunder from her old calm,
thinking self.

He put her down--released her.

"Nothin' could have made me so happy as what you said." He finished with
a strong sigh of unutterable, wondering joy.

"Then you will not go to--to meet--"

Helen's happy query froze on her lips.

"I've got to go!" he rejoined, with his old, quiet voice. "Hurry in to
Bo.... An' don't worry. Try to think of things as I taught you up in the
woods."

Helen heard his soft, padded footfalls swiftly pass away. She was left
there, alone in the darkening twilight, suddenly cold and stricken, as
if turned to stone.

Thus she stood an age-long moment until the upflashing truth galvanized
her into action. Then she flew in pursuit of Dale. The truth was that,
in spite of Dale's' early training in the East and the long years of
solitude which had made him wonderful in thought and feeling, he had
also become a part of this raw, bold, and violent West.

It was quite dark now and she had run quite some distance before she saw
Dale's tall, dark form against the yellow light of Turner's saloon.

Somehow, in that poignant moment, when her flying feet kept pace with
her heart, Helen felt in herself a force opposing itself against this
raw, primitive justice of the West. She was one of the first influences
emanating from civilized life, from law and order. In that flash of
truth she saw the West as it would be some future time, when through
women and children these wild frontier days would be gone forever. Also,
just as clearly she saw the present need of men like Roy Beeman and Dale
and the fire-blooded Carmichael. Beasley and his kind must be killed.
But Helen did not want her lover, her future husband, and the probable
father of her children to commit what she held to be murder.

At the door of the saloon she caught up with Dale.

"Milt--oh--wait!'--wait!" she panted.

She heard him curse under his breath as he turned. They were alone in
the yellow flare of light. Horses were champing bits and drooping before
the rails.

"You go back!" ordered Dale, sternly. His face was pale, his eyes were
gleaming.

"No! Not till--you take me--or carry me!" she replied, resolutely, with
all a woman's positive and inevitable assurance.