"Most likely he might," replied the borderman with the smile that came so rarely.
"Oh! Knowing all this, how can I meet any of these men again? I'd betray myself."
"No; you've got too much pluck. It so happens you are the one to help me an' Wetzel rid the border of these hell-hounds, an' you won't fail. I know a woman when it comes to that."
"I—I help you and Wetzel?"
"Exactly."
"Gracious!" cried Helen, half-laughing, half-crying. "And poor me with more trouble coming on the next boat."
"Lass, the colonel told me about the Englishman. It'll be bad for him to annoy you."
Helen thrilled with the depth of meaning in the low voice. Fate surely was weaving a bond between her and this borderman. She felt it in his steady, piercing gaze; in her own tingling blood.
Then as her natural courage dispelled all girlish fears, she faced him, white, resolute, with a look in her eyes that matched his own.
"I will do what I can," she said.