“Folks, I was jest a-goin' to say thet Roy's got fever an' he oughtn't t' talk too much,” said the old woman. Then she and Carmichael went into the kitchen and closed the door.
Roy looked up at Helen with his keen eyes, more kindly piercing than ever.
“My brother John was here. He'd just left when you come. He rode home to tell my folks I'm not so bad hurt, an' then he's goin' to ride a bee-line into the mountains.”
Helen's eyes asked what her lips refused to utter.
“He's goin' after Dale. I sent him. I reckoned we-all sorta needed sight of thet doggone hunter.”
Roy had averted his gaze quickly to Bo.
“Don't you agree with me, lass?”
“I sure do,” replied Bo, heartily.
All within Helen had been stilled for the moment of her realization; and then came swell and beat of heart, and inconceivable chafing of a tide at its restraint.
“Can John—fetch Dale out—when the snow's so deep?” she asked, unsteadily.