“Wal, indeed I can. I've married more 'n one couple whose religion wasn't mine.”
“B-b-before—d-d-din-ner!” burst out Las Vegas, like a stuttering idiot.
“I reckon. Come on, now, an' make yourself pre-senttible,” said Roy. “Miss Helen, you tell Bo thet it's all settled.”
He picked up the halter on the blue mustang and turned away toward the corrals. Las Vegas put the bridle of his horse over his arm, and seemed to be following in a trance, with his dazed, rapt face held high.
“Bring Dale,” called Helen, softly after them.
So it came about as naturally as it was wonderful that Bo rode the blue mustang before the afternoon ended.
Las Vegas disobeyed his first orders from Mrs. Tom Carmichael and rode out after her toward the green-rising range. Helen seemed impelled to follow. She did not need to ask Dale the second time. They rode swiftly, but never caught up with Bo and Las Vegas, whose riding resembled their happiness.
Dale read Helen's mind, or else his own thoughts were in harmony with hers, for he always seemed to speak what she was thinking. And as they rode homeward he asked her in his quiet way if they could not spare a few days to visit his old camp.
“And take Bo—and Tom? Oh, of all things I'd like to'” she replied.
“Yes—an' Roy, too,” added Dale, significantly.