“Say, my niece said she never heard of the name Carmichael,” declared Al, severely, as the cowboy halted before him. Helen knew her uncle had the repute of dealing hard with his men, but here she was reassured and pleased at the twinkle in his eye.
“Shore, boss, I can't help thet,” drawled the cowboy. “It's good old Texas stock.”
He did not appear shamefaced now, but just as cool, easy, clear-eyed, and lazy as the day Helen had liked his warm young face and intent gaze.
“Texas! You fellars from the Pan Handle are always hollerin' Texas. I never seen thet Texans had any one else beat—say from Missouri,” returned Al, testily.
Carmichael maintained a discreet silence, and carefully avoided looking at the girls.
“Wal, reckon we'll all call you Las Vegas, anyway,” continued the rancher. “Didn't you say my niece sent you to me for a job?”
Whereupon Carmichael's easy manner vanished.
“Now, boss, shore my memory's pore,” he said. “I only says—”
“Don't tell me thet. My memory's not p-o-r-e,” replied Al, mimicking the drawl. “What you said was thet my niece would speak a good word for you.”
Here Carmichael stole a timid glance at Bo, the result of which was to render him utterly crestfallen. Not improbably he had taken Bo's expression to mean something it did not, for Helen read it as a mingling of consternation and fright. Her eyes were big and blazing; a red spot was growing in each cheek as she gathered strength from his confusion.