“Mr. Riggs, I'll carry my bag,” she said.
“Let me lug this. You help Bo with hers,” he replied, familiarly.
“But I want it,” she rejoined, quietly, with sharp determination. No little force was needed to pull the bag away from Riggs.
“See here, Helen, you ain't goin' any farther with that joke, are you?” he queried, deprecatingly, and he still spoke quite loud.
“It's no joke to me,” replied Helen. “I told you I didn't want your attention.”
“Sure. But that was temper. I'm your friend--from your home town. An' I ain't goin' to let a quarrel keep me from lookin' after you till you're safe at your uncle's.”
Helen turned her back upon him. The tall hunter had just helped Bo off the car. Then Helen looked up into a smooth bronzed face and piercing gray eyes.
“Ah! My uncle sent you?” added Helen, in quick relief.
“No; I can't say Al sent me,” began the man, “but I reckon--”
He was interrupted by Riggs, who, grasping Helen by the arm, pulled her back a step.
“Say, mister, did Auchincloss send you to meet my young friends here?” he demanded, arrogantly.
Dale's glance turned from Helen to Riggs. She could not read this quiet gray gaze, but it thrilled her.
“No. I come on my own hook,” he answered.
“You'll understand, then--they're in my charge,” added Riggs.
This time the steady light-gray eyes met Helen's, and if there was not a smile in them or behind them she was still further baffled.
“Helen, I reckon you said you didn't want this fellow's attention.”
“I certainly said that,” replied Helen, quickly. Just then Bo slipped close to her and gave her arm a little squeeze. Probably Bo's thought was like hers--here was a real Western man. That was her first impression, and following swiftly upon it was a sensation of eased nerves.
“You're wastin' our time an' we've need to hurry,” interrupted Dale. His tone seemed friendly. “An' if you ever lived long in Texas you wouldn't pester a lady an' you sure wouldn't talk like you do.”
“What!” shouted Riggs, hotly. He dropped his right hand significantly to his hip.
“Don't throw your gun. It might go off,” said Dale.
Whatever Riggs's intention had been--and it was probably just what Dale evidently had read it--he now flushed an angry red and jerked at his gun.