“Bo, you're so—so—you jump at wild ideas so,” protested Helen, trying to believe in her own assurance. But inwardly she was trembling.
“Miss Helen, that ain't a wild idee,” said Roy, seriously. “I reckon your sister is pretty close on the trail. Las Vegas, don't you savvy it thet way?”
Carmichael's answer was to stalk out of the room.
“Call him back!” cried Helen, apprehensively.
“Hold on, boy!” called Roy, sharply.
Helen reached the door simultaneously with Roy. The cowboy picked up his sombrero, jammed it on his head, gave his belt a vicious hitch that made the gun-sheath jump, and then in one giant step he was astride Ranger.
“Carmichael! Stay!” cried Helen.
The cowboy spurred the black, and the stones rang under iron-shod hoofs.
“Bo! Call him back! Please call him back!” importuned Helen, in distress.
“I won't,” declared Bo Rayner. Her face shone whiter now and her eyes were like fiery flint. That was her answer to a loving, gentle-hearted sister; that was her answer to the call of the West.