Roy Beeman's low laugh was significant. He took off his sombrero and stood silent. The old driver smothered a loud guffaw.
“Veehicle! Wal, I'll be doggoned! Joe, did you hear thet? All the spunky gurls ain't born out West.”
As Helen followed with cloak and bag Roy assisted her, and she encountered keen eyes upon her face. He seemed both gentle and respectful, and she felt his solicitude. His heavy gun, swinging low, struck her as she stepped down.
Dale reached into the stage and hauled out baskets and bags. These he set down on the ground.
“Turn around, Bill, an' go along with you. John an' Hal will follow presently,” ordered Dale.
“Wal, gurls,” said Bill, looking down upon them, “I was shore powerful glad to meet you-all. An' I'm ashamed of my country—offerin' two sich purty gurls insults an' low-down tricks. But shore you'll go through safe now. You couldn't be in better company fer ridin' or huntin' or marryin' or gittin' religion—”
“Shut up, you old grizzly!” broke in Dale, sharply.
“Haw! Haw! Good-by, gurls, an' good luck!” ended Bill, as he began to whip the reins.
Bo said good-by quite distinctly, but Helen could only murmur hers. The old driver seemed a friend.
Then the horses wheeled and stamped, the stage careened and creaked, presently to roll out of sight in the gloom.