“An', whatever he says, I reckon he won't pull through.”
“O Heaven, how terrible!” burst out Helen. “He was so good—such a man! What a pity! Oh, he must have met that in my behalf. Tell me, what happened? Who shot him?”
“Wal, I don't know. An' thet's what's made me hoppin' mad. I wasn't there when it come off. An' he won't tell me.”
“Why not?”
“I don't know thet, either. I reckoned first it was because he wanted to get even. But, after thinkin' it over, I guess he doesn't want me lookin' up any one right now for fear I might get hurt. An' you're goin' to need your friends. Thet's all I can make of Roy.”
Then Helen hurriedly related the event of Beasley's call on her that afternoon and all that had occurred.
“Wal, the half-breed son-of-a-greaser!” ejaculated Carmichael, in utter confoundment. “He wanted you to marry him!”
“He certainly did. I must say it was a—a rather abrupt proposal.”
Carmichael appeared to be laboring with speech that had to be smothered behind his teeth. At last he let out an explosive breath.
“Miss Nell, I've shore felt in my bones thet I'm the boy slated to brand thet big bull.”