"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.