"Yes, I'll trust you," she said. "Get in, and let us hurry. Then you can
explain."

"All ready, Bill. Send 'em along," called Dale.

He had to stoop to enter the stage, and, once in, he appeared to fill
that side upon which he sat. Then the driver cracked his whip; the
stage lurched and began to roll; the motley crowd was left behind. Helen
awakened to the reality, as she saw Bo staring with big eyes at the
hunter, that a stranger adventure than she had ever dreamed of had began
with the rattling roll of that old stage-coach.

Dale laid off his sombrero and leaned forward, holding his rifle between
his knees. The light shone better upon his features now that he was
bareheaded. Helen had never seen a face like that, which at first glance
appeared darkly bronzed and hard, and then became clear, cold, aloof,
still, intense. She wished she might see a smile upon it. And now that
the die was cast she could not tell why she had trusted it. There was
singular force in it, but she did not recognize what kind of force. One
instant she thought it was stern, and the next that it was sweet, and
again that it was neither.

"I'm glad you've got your sister," he said, presently.

"How did you know she's my sister?"

"I reckon she looks like you."

"No one else ever thought so," replied Helen, trying to smile.

Bo had no difficulty in smiling, as she said, "Wish I was half as pretty
as Nell."

"Nell. Isn't your name Helen?" queried Dale.

"Yes. But my--some few call me Nell."

"I like Nell better than Helen. An' what's yours?" went on Dale, looking
at Bo.

"Mine's Bo. Just plain B-o. Isn't it silly? But I wasn't asked when they
gave it to me," she replied.

"Bo. It's nice an' short. Never heard it before. But I haven't met many
people for years."

"Oh! we've left the town!" cried Bo. "Look, Nell! How bare! It's just
like desert."

"It is desert. We've forty miles of that before we come to a hill or a
tree."

Helen glanced out. A flat, dull-green expanse waved away from the road
on and on to a bright, dark horizon-line, where the sun was setting
rayless in a clear sky. Open, desolate, and lonely, the scene gave her a
cold thrill.

"Did your uncle Al ever write anythin' about a man named Beasley?" asked
Dale.

"Indeed he did," replied Helen, with a start of surprise. "Beasley! That
name is familiar to us--and detestable. My uncle complained of this man
for years. Then he grew bitter--accused Beasley. But the l