He walked over to the corral where Jinny’s shaggy head showed over the barrier. There was keen joy in his swift stride, and in the new sense of power, and physical well-being, that filled him.
“Jinny,” he said, tweaking one of the long ears pricked forward to welcome him, “I guess the right place for me is here in the corral.”
He regarded the little burro thoughtfully.
“I hate to break it to you, old girl,” he went on, “But you’ve got to carry that load of dirt and poison down to the desert again. It’s the only way.”
He turned again and busied himself about the camp, clearing away the debris of Broome’s meal, and putting the place to rights. He brought out the largest of his willow baskets, one that he had made to fit Jinny’s back, and proceeded to fill it from his food-stores. Broome, within the shack, watched his movements whenever he came within range, but he had learned his lesson, and asked no questions. Later in the day Gard brought him food, and released his hands that he might eat, but neither man spoke, and when Broome had finished eating his captor bound him again.
Dusk was falling when Gard next came into the cabin. He had changed his buckskin garments for those he had worn two years before. He had been saving them for such a day of need.
“I’m going to untie your feet,” he said to Broome, “and you’re coming outside.”
He did as he had said, and Broome followed him out.
Jinny stood there, equipped with a home-made bridle and a sort of saddle of deer-skin. Leaning against a rock was a hamper closely packed. Gard had put out the big camp fire and the place already wore an air of desolation.
Inside the cabin, alone, Gard looked about with poignant regret.