The cowboy blushed scarlet. Helen as well as he got Bo's inference to that last audacious epithet he had boldly called out as the train was leaving Las Vegas. She also sensed something of the disaster in store for Mr. Carmichael. Just then the embarrassed young man was saved by Dale's call to the girls to come to breakfast.
That meal, the last for Helen in Paradise Park, gave rise to a strange and inexplicable restraint. She had little to say. Bo was in the highest spirits, teasing the pets, joking with her uncle and Roy, and even poking fun at Dale. The hunter seemed somewhat somber. Roy was his usual dry, genial self. And Auchincloss, who sat near by, was an interested spectator. When Tom put in an appearance, lounging with his feline grace into the camp, as if he knew he was a privileged pet, the rancher could scarcely contain himself.
“Dale, it's thet damn cougar!” he ejaculated.
“Sure, that's Tom.”
“He ought to be corralled or chained. I've no use for cougars,” protested Al.
“Tom is as tame an' safe as a kitten.”
“A-huh! Wal, you tell thet to the girls if you like. But not me! I'm an old hoss, I am.”
“Uncle Al, Tom sleeps curled up at the foot of my bed,” said Bo.
“Aw—what?”
“Honest Injun,” she responded. “Well, isn't it so?”