Dale's  hand  flashed  too  swiftly  for  Helen's  eye  to  fol-
low it.  But  she  heard  the  thud  as  it  struck.  The  gun
went  flving  to  the  platform  and  scattered  a  group  of
Indians  and  Mexicans.
"You'll  hurt  yourself  some  day,"  said  Dale.
Helen  had  never  heard  a  slow,  cool  voice  like  this
hunter's.  Without  excitement  or  emotion  or  hurry,  it
yet  seemed  full  and  significant  of  thing  the  words  did
not  mean.  Bo  uttered  a  strange  little  exultant  cry.
Riggs's  arm  had  dropped  limp.  No  doubt  it  was  numb.
He  stared,  and  his  predominating  expression  was  surprise.
As  the  shuffling  crowd  began  to  snicker  and  whisper,
Riggs  gave  Dale  a  malignant  glance,  shifted  it  to
Helen,  and  then  lurched  away  in  the  direction  of  his  gun.
Dale  did  not  pay  any  more  attention  to  him.  Gather-
ing up  Helen's  baggage,  he  said,  "Come  on,"  and  shoul-
dered a  lane  through  the  gaping  crowd.  The  girls  fol-
lowed close  at  his  heels.
"Nell!  what'd  I  tell  you?"  whispered  Bo.  "Oh,
you're  all  atremble!"

Helen  was  aware  of  her  unsteadiness;  anger  and  fear
and  relief  in  quick  succession  had  left  her  rather  weak.
Once  through  the  motley  crowd  of  loungers,  she  saw  an
old  gray  stage-coach  and  four  lean  horses.  A  grizzled,
sunburned  man  sat  on  the  driver's  seat,  whip  and  reins  in
hand.  Beside  him  was  a  younger  man  with  rifle  across
his  knees.  Another  man,  young,  tall,  lean,  dark,  stood
holding  the  coach  door  open.  He  touched  his  sombrero
to  the  girls.  His  eyes  were  sharp  as  he  addressed  Dale.
