gloating grin that faded gradually, giving place to fury, as she absolutely disregarded him, his taunts, his threats. The glance she occasionally gave him seared him with its steady flame of purity and disdain.
For Mary Burrows steadily fought down the terror that occasionally rose in a wave that threatened to overwhelm her spirit. Where Hollister had inherited to his disadvantage she had been bequeathed the attributes of clean-minded, clean-living ancestors. She was as different from him as a shining shield differs from a tarnished sheet of base metal. She knew what might lie at her journey's end, faced it and dismissed it, knowing that way lay panic and disaster. She meant to use her wits and, to that end, she managed to retreat within herself, deaf and blind to her captor while she revolved possibilities of escape.
She believed that Thora would ultimately free herself from her bonds but she realized also that by the time she was able to signal to the Circle S interpreting the last glance that had passed between them, Sheridan and his outfit might be well away on outdoor duties. But she would not allow herself to see the hopelessness of her case.
Once Hollister turned aside from his direct trail at the brackish spring. He refilled the canteens and offered her a drink from a small cup. He cringed before her look of utter loathing though he tried to turn it into a shrug and then bathed his overheated face before watering both horses.
As they advanced into the desert portion of the
