“You sure had a header. Never saw a prettier spill. Ranger doesn't do that often. I reckon we were travelin' too fast. But it was fun, don't you think?”
It was Bo who answered. “Oh, glorious!... But, gee! I was scared.”
Dale still held Helen's hands. She released them while looking up at him. The moment was realization for her of what for days had been a vague, sweet uncertainty, becoming near and strange, disturbing and present. This accident had been a sudden, violent end to the wonderful ride. But its effect, the knowledge of what had got into her blood, would never change. And inseparable from it was this man of the forest.
CHAPTER XIV
On the next morning Helen was awakened by what she imagined had been a dream of some one shouting. With a start she sat up. The sunshine showed pink and gold on the ragged spruce line of the mountain rims. Bo was on her knees, braiding her hair with shaking hands, and at the same time trying to peep out.
And the echoes of a ringing cry were cracking back from the cliffs. That had been Dale's voice.
“Nell! Nell! Wake up!” called Bo, wildly. “Oh, some one's come! Horses and men!”
Helen got to her knees and peered out over Bo's shoulder. Dale, standing tall and striking beside the campfire, was waving his sombrero. Away down the open edge of the park came a string of pack-burros with mounted men behind. In the foremost rider Helen recognized Roy Beeman.
“That first one's Roy!” she exclaimed. “I'd never forget him on a horse.... Bo, it must mean Uncle Al's come!”