“Riggs! Oh, Bo, I've seen him myself—riding around. He does not mean well. You must be careful.”
“If I ketch him again,” went on Carmichael, with his mouth lining hard, “I'm goin' after him.”
He gave her a cool, intent, piercing look, then he dropped his head and turned away, to stride back toward the corrals.
Helen could make little of the manner in which her sister watched the cowboy pass out of sight.
“A month back—when I changed sudden-like,” mused Bo. “I wonder what he meant by that.... Nell, did I change—right after the talk you had with me—about him?”
“Indeed you did, Bo,” replied Helen. “But it was for the better. Only he can't see it. How proud and sensitive he is! You wouldn't guess it at first. Bo, your reserve has wounded him more than your flirting. He thinks it's indifference.”
“Maybe that 'll be good for him,” declared Bo. “Does he expect me to fall on his neck? He's that thick-headed! Why, he's the locoed one, not me.”
“I'd like to ask you, Bo, if you've seen how he has changed?” queried Helen, earnestly. “He's older. He's worried. Either his heart is breaking for you or else he fears trouble for us. I fear it's both. How he watches you! Bo, he knows all you do—where you go. That about Riggs sickens me.”
“If Riggs follows me and tries any of his four-flush desperado games he'll have his hands full,” said Bo, grimly. “And that without my cowboy protector! But I just wish Riggs would do something. Then we'll see what Las Vegas Tom Carmichael cares. Then we'll see!”
Bo bit out the last words passionately and jealously, then she lifted her bridle to the spirited mustang.