sharp as he addressed
Dale.

"Milt, wasn't you held up?"

"No. But some long-haired galoot was tryin' to hold up the girls.
Wanted to throw his gun on me. I was sure scared," replied Dale, as he
deposited the luggage.

Bo laughed. Her eyes, resting upon Dale, were warm and bright. The
young man at the coach door took a second look at her, and then a smile
changed the dark hardness of his face.

Dale helped the girls up the high step into the stage, and then, placing
the lighter luggage, in with them, he threw the heavier pieces on top.

"Joe, climb up," he said.

"Wal, Milt," drawled the driver, "let's ooze along."

Dale hesitated, with his hand on the door. He glanced at the crowd, now
edging close again, and then at Helen.

"I reckon I ought to tell you," he said, and indecision appeared to
concern him.

"What?" exclaimed Helen.

"Bad news. But talkin' takes time. An' we mustn't lose any."

"There's need of hurry?" queried Helen, sitting up sharply.

"I reckon."

"Is this the stage to Snowdrop?

"No. That leaves in the mornin'. We rustled this old trap to get a start
to-night."

"The sooner the better. But I--I don't understand," said Helen,
bewildered.

"It'll not be safe for you to ride on the mornin' stage," returned Dale.

"Safe! Oh, what do you mean?" exclaimed Helen. Apprehensively she gazed
at him and then back at Bo.

"Explainin' will take time. An' facts may change your mind. But if you
can't trust me--"

"Trust you!" interposed Helen, blankly. "You mean to take us to
Snowdrop?"

"I reckon we'd better go roundabout an' not hit Snowdrop," he replied,
shortly.

"Then to Pine--to my uncle--Al Auchincloss?

"Yes, I'm goin' to try hard."

Helen caught her breath. She divined that some peril menaced her. She
looked steadily, with all a woman's keenness, into this man's face. The
moment was one of the fateful decisions she knew the West had in store
for her. Her future and that of Bo's were now to be dependent upon her
judgments. It was a hard moment and, though she shivered inwardly, she
welcomed the initial and inevitable step. This man Dale, by his dress of
buckskin, must be either scout or hunter. His size, his action, the tone
of his voice had been reassuring. But Helen must decide from what she
saw in his face whether or not to trust him. And that face was
clear bronze, unlined, unshadowed, like a tranquil mask, clean-cut,
strong-jawed, with eyes of wonderful transparent gray.