“Wal, thet's a pretty good word, but it ain't enough,” responded Al.
Subdued laughter came from the listening group. Carmichael shifted from side to side.
“He—he looks as if he might ride a horse well,” ventured Bo.
“Best hossman I ever seen,” agreed Al, heartily.
“And—and shoot?” added Bo, hopefully.
“Bo, he packs thet gun low, like Jim Wilson an' all them Texas gun-fighters. Reckon thet ain't no good word.”
“Then—I'll vouch for him,” said Bo, with finality.
“Thet settles it.” Auchincloss turned to the cowboy. “Las Vegas, you're a stranger to us. But you're welcome to a place in the outfit an' I hope you won't never disappoint us.”
Auchincloss's tone, passing from jest to earnest, betrayed to Helen the old rancher's need of new and true men, and hinted of trying days to come.
Carmichael stood before Bo, sombrero in hand, rolling it round and round, manifestly bursting with words he could not speak. And the girl looked very young and sweet with her flushed face and shining eyes. Helen saw in the moment more than that little by-play of confusion.