"Twisted up in a pothole. Tryin' to git to the hawsses, I reckon. I spotted two buzzards as we rode in. They'd lighted an' was squattin' on a rock above him. That's what give me my tip where to look. I covered him up with rocks pritty thorough. Not that I was wishful to be his sexton, but, if ennything should ever break, it might be as well to be able to show there ain't no gunshot or other wounds on him. Sabe? So I staved off the coyotes an' buzzards. Saved their lives, mebbe. I wouldn't describe him as a healthy meal, even for them."
Sheridan walked back thoughtfully. His hate died slowly, the intense desire to kill that he had not dreamed himself capable of possessing.
"Red has found him," he answered the girl's mute question. "The score is settled. We'll eat and get out of this place."
Food and water had done wonders for the mare. Her limp, after cold applications and bandaging by Sheridan, was much less pronounced. She was easily able to bear the girl's light weight.
Red, cinching up the horse he was to ride, watched Sheridan as he set Mary Burrows in the saddle. There was a humorous twinkle to his eyes, a quirk to his mouth.
"She's leadin' him into the home corral," he said, half to himself, half to the mount. "An' he's followin', close an willin'. Hawse, you was too good a piece of flesh to ever git mixed up with that Hollister. I told you that, time I borrowed you for Quong. I'm goin' to ride you from now on, you ol' son-of-a-gun. You're adopted in place of my roan. If you
