“Gracious, child! You don't want to see hostile Indians, do you?” queried Helen.
“I do, you bet,” was the frank rejoinder.
“Well, I'LL bet that I'll be sorry I didn't leave you with mother.”
“Nell—you never will!”
They reached Albuquerque about noon, and this important station, where they had to change trains, had been the first dreaded anticipation of the journey. It certainly was a busy place—full of jabbering Mexicans, stalking, red-faced, wicked-looking cowboys, lolling Indians. In the confusion Helen would have been hard put to it to preserve calmness, with Bo to watch, and all that baggage to carry, and the other train to find; but the kindly brakeman who had been attentive to them now helped them off the train into the other—a service for which Helen was very grateful.
“Albuquerque's a hard place,” confided the trainman. “Better stay in the car—and don't hang out the windows.... Good luck to you!”
Only a few passengers were in the car and they were Mexicans at the forward end. This branch train consisted of one passenger-coach, with a baggage-car, attached to a string of freight-cars. Helen told herself, somewhat grimly, that soon she would know surely whether or not her suspicions of Harve Riggs had warrant. If he was going on to Magdalena on that day he must go in this coach. Presently Bo, who was not obeying admonitions, drew her head out of the window. Her eyes were wide in amaze, her mouth open.
“Nell! I saw that man Riggs!” she whispered. “He's going to get on this train.”
“Bo, I saw him yesterday,” replied Helen, soberly.
“He's followed you—the—the—”