“Where's Mr. Roy?” asked Helen.
“Roy's gone. He was sorry not to say good-by. But it's important he gets down in the pines on Anson's trail. He'll hang to Anson, an' in case they get near Pine he'll ride in to see where your uncle is.”
“What do you expect?” questioned Helen, gravely.
“'Most anythin',” he replied. “Al, I reckon, knows now. Maybe he's rustlin' into the mountains by this time. If he meets up with Anson, well an' good, for Roy won't be far off. An' sure if he runs across Roy, why they'll soon be here. But if I were you I wouldn't count on seein' your uncle very soon. I'm sorry. I've done my best. It sure is a bad deal.”
“Don't think me ungracious,” replied Helen, hastily. How plainly he had intimated that it must be privation and annoyance for her to be compelled to accept his hospitality! “You are good—kind. I owe you much. I'll be eternally grateful.”
Dale straightened as he looked at her. His glance was intent, piercing. He seemed to be receiving a strange or unusual portent. No need for him to say he had never before been spoken to like that!
“You may have to stay here with me—for weeks—maybe months—if we've the bad luck to get snowed in,” he said, slowly, as if startled at this deduction. “You're safe here. No sheep-thief could ever find this camp. I'll take risks to get you safe into Al's hands. But I'm goin' to be pretty sure about what I'm doin'.... So—there's plenty to eat an' it's a pretty place.”
“Pretty! Why, it's grand!” exclaimed Bo. “I've called it Paradise Park.”
“Paradise Park,” he repeated, weighing the words. “You've named it an' also the creek. Paradise Creek! I've been here twelve years with no fit name for my home till you said that.”
“Oh, that pleases me!” returned Bo, with shining eyes.