It was night, but how it came to be so he
could not imagine. He was very stiff and sore and burned, and his hand
was very painful. He moved it, and discovered, to his vast surprise,
that it was bound tightly. When this bit of surgery had been performed
he could not have told.
He opened his eyes. Amy and Mrs. Morton were bending over cooking
utensils. Five motionless forms reposed in blankets. Bob counted them
carefully. After some moments it occurred to his dulled brain that the
number represented his companions. Some one on horseback seemed to be
arriving. A glitter of silver caught his eye. He recognized finally
California John. Then he dozed off again. The sound of voices rumbled
through the haze of his half-consciousness.
"Fifty hours of steady fire-fighting with only an hour's sleep!" he
caught Thorne's voice saying.
Bob took this statement into himself. He computed painfully over and
over. He could not make the figures. He counted the hours one after the
other. Finally he saw.
"Fifty hours for all but Pollock and me," he said suddenly; "forty for
us."
No one heard him. As a matter of fact, he had not spoken aloud; though
he thought he had done so.
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