CHAPTER XVIII
MARY BURROWS
The fire blazed and crackled lustily in the throat of Bonanza Canyon. A scattering of pinyon and cedar, that had practically given up all fight for existence, but which furnished more solid fuel than greasebrush and sage, had been hauled in by Bill in the afternoon. Over this Quong, for all his new-found riches, still only half retrieved, had quietly insisted upon preparing pots of fragrant coffee and broiling steaks. The wounded and the bruised had been looked to, and, with no serious casualties, rescued and rescuers gathered round the fire. Sage cushions, covered with Navajo blankets from the Sheriff's car, made springy couches for those who most needed them. With food and tobacco there came content.
Sheridan's arm was badly bruised but he forgot it. Mary Burrows was beside him as he handled his pipe with his left hand. She was on his right. Since her first rush to him with its unspoken declaration she had insensibly retreated, but he felt that the way was still open and held a welcome at the end. On the other hand, Thora openly appropriated Red with a quaint mixture of materialism and worship of "her man" that might have once embarrassed Red, now too stiff in the neck and shoulders
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