"We found the two of them curled up together," he next heard Thorne say.
"Orde was coiled around a sharp root--and didn't know it, and Pollock
was on top of him. They were out in the full sun, and a procession of
red ants was disappearing up Orde's pants leg and coming out at his
collar. Fact!"
"They're a good lot," admitted California John. "Best unbroke lot I ever
saw."
"We found Orde's finger broken and badly swelled. Heaven knows when he
did it, but he never peeped. Morton says he noticed his hand done up in
a handkerchief yesterday morning."
Bob dozed again. From time to time he caught fragments--"Four
fire-lines--think of it--only one old-timer in the lot--I'm proud of my
boys----"
He came next to full consciousness to hear Thorne saying:
"Mrs. Morton fought fire with the best of them. That's the ranger spirit
I like--when as of old the women and children----"
"Don't praise me," broke in Mrs. Morton tartly. "I don't give a red cent
for all your forests, and your pesky rangering. I've got no use for
them. If Charley Morton would quit you and tend to his cattle, I'd be
pleased.
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