own treasure," he added with a drunken chuckle.
It was a box-canyon, with lesser monuments, lower walls, pitted with caves. A tiny, crystal stream wandered through a grassy meadow, lost in the sands of the main canyon. The turf was starred with flowers. Hollister reined in the horses, dismounted, staggering towards her. He untied the leather thong from the horn and released her swollen wrists.
"If you'll promise not to run away from me, pretty, you can get a drink and wash up a bit in the creek. I'll have to tie you up again presently. I ain't worryin' about being followed and I'm dead on my feet for sleep. I'm going to put the horses in a hideout where I've got a cache of grub, an' then, after I've tucked you away in a spot I know, I'm goin' to turn in for a nap till supper time. Will you behave? I'll promise not to look. Not now."
She ignored his leer, she barely sensed anything he said save that he was going to give her a respite. She looked at him closely and marked the fact that sleep was threatening him with blinking eyes and wide yawns. He had been up all night and he was sodden with liquor. He might sleep for hours. Surely in that time she could devise something?
She nodded her parole and he let her go to the brook. The horses were already muzzling at the water until Hollister jerked them away, and they fell to grazing while she knelt and drank, swallowing painfully, intensely grateful for the cool water that gave her back some measure of strength. She rolled up her sleeves and turned down the collar of her
