Dale trembled under the clasp of her hands. Loosing his own from her clinging hold, he stepped out on the porch. At that moment John appeared on Ranger, coming at a gallop.
“Nell, I'll never come back without her,” said Dale. “I reckon you can hope—only be prepared. That's all. It's hard. But these damned deals are common out here in the West.”
“Suppose Beasley comes—here!” exclaimed Helen, and again her hand went out toward him.
“If he does, you refuse to get off,” replied Dale. “But don't let him or his greasers put a dirty hand on you. Should he threaten force—why, pack some clothes—an' your valuables—an' go down to Mrs. Cass's. An' wait till I come back!”
“Wait—till you—come back!” she faltered, slowly turning white again. Her dark eyes dilated. “Milt—you're like Las Vegas. You'll kill Beasley!”
Dale heard his own laugh, very cold and strange, foreign to his ears. A grim, deadly hate of Beasley vied with the tenderness and pity he felt for this distressed girl. It was a sore trial to see her leaning there against the door—to be compelled to leave her alone. Abruptly be stalked off the porch. Tom followed him. The black horse whinnied his recognition of Dale and snorted at sight of the cougar. Just then the Mexican boy returned with a bag. Dale tied this, with the small pack, behind the saddle.
“John, you stay here with Miss Helen,” said Dale. “An' if Carmichael comes back, keep him, too! An' to-night, if any one rides into Pine from the way we come, you be sure to spot him.”
“I'll do thet, Milt,” responded John.
Dale mounted, and, turning for a last word to Helen, he felt the words of cheer halted on his lips as he saw her standing white and broken-hearted, with her hands to her bosom. He could not look twice.
“Come on there, you Tom,” he called to the cougar. “Reckon on this track you'll pay me for all my trainin' of you.”