"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'?" he 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."