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Updated: May 12, 2025
Helen gathered that wonderful and dreadful events had hung over the bright head of this beloved little sister, but the bewilderment occasioned by Bo's fluent and remarkable utterance left only that last sentence clear. Presently Helen got a word in to inform Bo that Mrs. Cass had knocked twice for supper, and that welcome news checked Bo's flow of speech when nothing else seemed adequate.
From far up the slope came a faint, wild cry, high-pitched and sweet, to create strange echoes, floating away to die in the ravines. "She's after him!" declared Dale, grimly. "Bo's got your rifle," said Helen. "Oh, we must hurry." "You go back," ordered Dale, wheeling his horse. "No!" Helen felt that word leave her lips with the force of a bullet. Dale spurred Ranger and took to the open slope.
"Miss Helen, I found them 'way southeast of Pine up on the slope of the mountain. There were seven other horses makin' that trail when we run across it. On the way down we found a camp where men had waited. An' Bo's pony, led by a rider on a big horse, come into that camp from the east maybe north a little. An' that tells the story."
"I can feel it in my bones." "Bo, you're a little fool a sentimental, romancing, gushy little fool!" retorted Helen. "All you seem to hold in your head is some rot about love. To hear you talk one would think there's nothing else in the world but love." Bo's eyes were bright, shrewd, affectionate, and laughing as she bent their steady gaze upon Helen. "Nell, that's just it. There IS nothing else!"
To make a place for others to live comfortably some day! That might be Bo's meaning, embodied in her forceful hint. But Helen was too tired to think it out then. She found it interesting and vaguely pleasant to watch Dale. He hobbled the horses and turned them loose. Then with ax in hand he approached a short, dead tree, standing among a few white-barked aspens.
"Reckon I've been thet for a couple of hours," he replied, cheerfully. "Never did ride across here I had the direction, but I'm blamed now if I can tell which way thet was." Helen gazed at him in consternation. "Lost!" she echoed. A silence ensued, fraught with poignant fear for Helen, as she gazed into Bo's whitening face. She read her sister's mind.
Botolph was of the fenny shire of Lincoln, and the new comers to the Massachusetts Bay named their little peninsula Suffolk, the county of the "South-folk," we do not quarrel with them for calling their future city "Bo's or Botolph's town," out of hearts which did not wholly forget their birthplace with its grand old church, whose noble tower still looks for miles away over the broad levels toward the German Ocean.
It seemed to come on a breath of air that fanned her cheek and softly blew Bo's curls, and it was stronger. But it died out presently, only to come again, and still stronger. Helen realized then that the sound was that of an approaching storm. Her heavy eyelids almost refused to stay open, and she knew if she let them close she would instantly drop to sleep.
It's goin' to storm," explained Dale. "You'll hear somethin' worth while. But don't be scared. Reckon we'll be safe. Pines blow down often. But this fellow will stand any fall wind that ever was.... Better slip under the blankets so I can pull the tarp up." Helen slid down, just as she was, fully dressed except for boots, which she and Bo had removed; and she laid her head close to Bo's.
"Reckon I'll have to slit these," Dale had said, whipping out a huge knife. "What for?" had been Bo's feeble protest. "They wasn't made for ridin'. An' you'll get wet enough even if I do cut them. An' if I don't, you'll get soaked." "Go ahead," had been Helen's reluctant permission. So their long new coats were slit half-way up the back.
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