“Well, didn't you?” demanded Al.
From the glance the old rancher shot from the cowboy to the others of his employ it seemed to Helen that they were having fun at Carmichael's expense.
“Yes, sir, I did,” suddenly replied the cowboy.
“A-huh! All right, here's my niece. Now see thet she speaks the good word.”
Carmichael looked at Bo and Bo looked at him. Their glances were strange, wondering, and they grew shy. Bo dropped hers. The cowboy apparently forgot what had been demanded of him.
Helen put a hand on the old rancher's arm.
“Uncle, what happened was my fault,” she said. “The train stopped at Las Vegas. This young man saw us at the open window. He must have guessed we were lonely, homesick girls, getting lost in the West. For he spoke to us—nice and friendly. He knew of you. And he asked, in what I took for fun, if we thought you would give him a job. And I replied, just to tease Bo, that she would surely speak a good word for him.”
“Haw! Haw! So thet's it,” replied Al, and he turned to Bo with merry eyes. “Wal, I kept this here Las Vegas Carmichael on his say-so. Come on with your good word, unless you want to see him lose his job.”
Bo did not grasp her uncle's bantering, because she was seriously gazing at the cowboy. But she had grasped something.
“He—he was the first person—out West—to speak kindly to us,” she said, facing her uncle.