“Hurry an' change here,” he said. “We'll make a pack of your outfit an' leave room for this bag.”
Then he stalked away and in a few strides disappeared.
Bo sat down to begin unlacing her shoes. Helen could just see her pale, pretty face and big, gleaming eyes by the light of the stars. It struck her then that Bo was going to make eminently more of a success of Western life than she was.
“Nell, those fellows are n-nice,” said Bo, reflectively. “Aren't you c-cold? Say, he said hurry!”
It was beyond Helen's comprehension how she ever began to disrobe out there in that open, windy desert, but after she had gotten launched on the task she found that it required more fortitude than courage. The cold wind pierced right through her. Almost she could have laughed at the way Bo made things fly.
“G-g-g-gee!” chattered Bo. “I n-never w-was so c-c-cold in all my life. Nell Rayner, m-may the g-good Lord forgive y-you!”
Helen was too intent on her own troubles to take breath to talk. She was a strong, healthy girl, swift and efficient with her hands, yet this, the hardest physical ordeal she had ever experienced, almost overcame her. Bo outdistanced her by moments, helped her with buttons, and laced one whole boot for her. Then, with hands that stung, Helen packed the traveling-suits in the bag.
“There! But what an awful mess!” exclaimed Helen. “Oh, Bo, our pretty traveling-dresses!”
“We'll press them t-to-morrow—on a l-log,” replied Bo, and she giggled.
They started for the road. Bo, strange to note, did not carry her share of the burden, and she seemed unsteady on her feet.