For two days Bo was confined to her bed, suffering considerable pain, and subject to fever, during which she talked irrationally. Some of this talk afforded Helen as vast an amusement as she was certain it would have lifted Tom Carmichael to a seventh heaven.
The third day, however, Bo was better, and, refusing to remain in bed, she hobbled to the sitting-room, where she divided her time between staring out of the window toward the corrals and pestering Helen with questions she tried to make appear casual. But Helen saw through her case and was in a state of glee. What she hoped most for was that Carmichael would suddenly develop a little less inclination for Bo. It was that kind of treatment the young lady needed.
And now was the great opportunity. Helen almost felt tempted to give the cowboy a hint.
Neither this day, nor the next, however, did he put in an appearance at the house, though Helen saw him twice on her rounds. He was busy, as usual, and greeted her as if nothing particular had happened.
Roy called twice, once in the afternoon, and again during the evening. He grew more likable upon longer acquaintance.
This last visit he rendered Bo speechless by teasing her about another girl Carmichael was going to take to a dance.
Bo's face showed that her vanity could not believe this statement, but that her intelligence of young men credited it with being possible. Roy evidently was as penetrating as he was kind. He made a dry, casual little remark about the snow never melting on the mountains during the latter part of March; and the look with which be accompanied this remark brought a blush to Helen's cheek.
After Roy had departed Bo said to Helen: "Confound that fellow! He sees right through me.""My dear, you're rather transparent these days," murmured Helen.
"You needn't talk. He gave you a dig," retorted Bo. "He just knows you're dying to see the snow melt.""Gracious! I hope I'm not so bad as that. Of course I want the snow melted and spring to come, and flowers --""Hal Ha! Ha!" taunted Bo. "Nell Rayner, do you see any green in my eyes? Spring to come! Yes, the poet said in the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. But that poet meant a young woman."Helen gazed out of the window at the white stars.
"Nell, have you seen him -- since I was hurt?" continued Bo, with an effort.
"Him? Who?"
"Oh, whom do you suppose? I mean Tom!" she responded, and the last word came with a burst.
"Tom? Who's he? Ah, you mean Las Vegas. Yes, I've seen him.""Well, did he ask a-about me?"
"I believe he did ask how you were -- something like that.""Humph! Nell, I don't always trust you." After that she relapsed into silence, read awhile, and dreamed awhile, looking into the fire, and then she limped over to kiss Helen good night and left the room.
Next day she was rather quiet, seeming upon the verge of one of the dispirited spells she got infrequently. Early in the evening, just after the lights had been lit and she had joined Helen in the sitting-room, a familiar step sounded on the loose boards of the porch.
Helen went to the door to admit Carmichael. He was clean-shaven, dressed in his dark suit, which presented such marked contrast from his riding-garb, and he wore a flower in his buttonhole. Nevertheless, despite all this style, he seemed more than usually the cool, easy, careless cowboy.
"Evenin', Miss Helen," he said, as he stalked in. "Evenin', Miss Bo. How are you-all?"Helen returned his greeting with a welcoming smile.
"Good evening -- TOM," said Bo, demurely.
That assuredly was the first time she had ever called him Tom. As she spoke she looked distractingly pretty and tantalizing. But if she had calculated to floor Carmichael with the initial, half-promising, wholly mocking use of his name she had reckoned without cause. The cowboy received that greeting as if he had heard her use it a thousand times or had not heard it at all. Helen decided if he was acting a part he was certainly a clever actor. He puzzled her somewhat, but she liked his look, and his easy manner, and the something about him that must have been his unconscious sense of pride. He had gone far enough, perhaps too far, in his overtures to Bo.
"How are you feelin'?" be asked.
"I'm better to-day," she replied, with downcast eyes. "But I'm lame yet.""Reckon that bronc piled you up. Miss Helen said there shore wasn't any joke about the cut on your knee. Now, a fellar's knee is a bad place to hurt, if he has to keep on ridin'.""Oh, I'll be well soon. How's Sam? I hope he wasn't crippled.""Thet Sam -- why, he's so tough he never knowed he had a fall.""Tom -- I -- I want to thank you for giving Riggs what he deserved."She spoke it earnestly, eloquently, and for once she had no sly little intonation or pert allurement, such as was her wont to use on this infatuated young man.
"Aw, you heard about that," replied Carmichael, with a wave of his hand to make light of it. "Nothin' much. It had to be done. An' shore I was afraid of Roy. He'd been bad. An' so would any of the other boys. I'm sorta lookin' out for all of them, you know, actin' as Miss Helen's foreman now."Helen was unutterably tickled. The effect of his speech upon Bo was stupendous. He had disarmed her. He had, with the finesse and tact and suavity of a diplomat, removed himself from obligation, and the detachment of self, the casual thing be apparently made out of his magnificent championship, was bewildering and humiliating to Bo. She sat silent for a moment or two while Helen tried to fit easily into the conversation. It was not likely that Bo would long be at a loss for words, and also it was immensely probable that with a flash of her wonderful spirit she would turn the tables on her perverse lover in a twinkling. Anyway, plain it was that a lesson had sunk deep. She looked startled, hurt, wistful, and finally sweetly defiant.
"But -- you told Riggs I was your girl!" Thus Bo unmasked her battery. And Helen could not imagine how Carmichael would ever resist that and the soft, arch glance which accompanied it.