coffee and doughnuts, and violin music of no rare order. It might sweep them off their feet. The ride would have toned down their liquor, if they had not brought too much along. He knew the type. Such a girl would check them intuitively. Except Hollister. There would have to be some opening for the rest to display their crudity. And he was certain no such opening would be made. Mary Burrows was the sort who could render herself sexless in certain environments. Her charm would manifest itself in other ways, the lure of her as purely woman would close like a sensitive blossom. Thora was not the kind to readily capitulate. A man would think twice before he tackled her. These two could handle the situation. But it had done no harm for them to supplement the defence. Unless—the thought hit him for the first time—a wrong interpretation might be placed upon the fact of their presence. Hollister, foiled, might well think of that. And Sheridan's jaw jutted as he made up his mind to nip anything of that sort in the bud.
Thora came back with Jackson, staggering under a load of wood that lacked a log or two of the pyramid the woman handled with ease. As he straightened up from depositing his burden he winked at Sheridan.
"Samson," he said, "was a joke along this lady."
Thora took the tribute calmly.
"You can git me them doughnuts, if you want," she said to Red. "I tank yore arms are longer than mine, anyway." If this was meant as a softening of the evident truth of the superior strength of her own, Red did not seem entirely to appreciate it. But he
