Van saw the look of surprise in her face, at beholding the man in this attire.  She recoiled, despite herself, then held forth her hand for his aid.  Bostwick took it, assisted her down, and they hastily made their escape.

CHAPTER XII

BOSTWICK LOSES GROUND

The one retreat for Beth was the house where she was lodging.  She went there at once, briefly explaining to Bostwick on the way how it chanced she had come the day before.  What had happened to himself she already knew.

Bostwick was a thoroughly angered man.  He had seen the horseman in the fight and had hoped to see him slain.  To find Beth safe and even cheerful here annoyed him exceedingly.

“Have you lodged a complaint—­done anything to have this fellow arrested?” he demanded, alluding to Van.  “Have you reported what was done to me?”

“Why, no,” said Beth.  “What’s the use?  He did it all in kindness, after all.”

“Kindness!”

“Of a sort—­a rough sort, perhaps, but genuine—­a kindness to me—­and Elsa,” she answered, flushing rosily.  “He saved me from——­” she looked at the convict garb upon him, “—­from a disagreeable experience, I’m sure, and secured me the very best accommodations in the town.”

They had almost come to her lodgings.  Bostwick halted in the road, his gun-metal jaw protruding formidably.

“You haven’t already begun to admire this ruffian—­glorify this outlaw?” he growled, “—­after what he did to me?”

“Don’t stop to discuss it here,” she answered, beholding Mrs. Dick at the front of the house.  “I haven’t had time to do anything.  You must manage to change your clothes.”

“I’ll have my reckoning with your friend,” he assured her angrily.  “Have you engaged a suite for me?”

They had come to the door of the house.  Beth beheld the look of amazement, suspicion, and repugnance on the face of Mrs. Dick, and her face burned red once more.

“Oh, Mrs. Dick,” she said, “this is Mr. Bostwick, of whom I spoke.”  She had told of Bostwick’s capture by the convicts.  “Do you think you could find him a room?”

“A room?  I want a suite—­two rooms at least,” said Bostwick aggressively.  “Is this a first-class place?”

“It ain’t no regular heaven, and I ain’t no regular Mrs. Saint Peter,” answered Mrs. Dick with considerable heat, irritated by Bostwick’s personality and recognizing in him Van’s “smoke-faced Easterner.”  She added crisply:  “So you might as well vamoose the ranch, fer I couldn’t even put you in the shed.”

“But I’ve got to have accommodations!” insisted Bostwick.  “I prefer them where my fiancee—­where Miss Kent is stopping.  I’m sure you can manage it someway—­let someone go.  The price is no object to me.”

“I don’t want you that bad,” said Mrs. Dick frankly.  “I said no and I’m too busy to say it again.”