“Never mind that, Murphy. Miss Elliott, are they to dig it out?”
She nodded.
The men, ranged in an uneven line, stood stupidly staring at the long vistas of haze. The slim fire-warden wheeled her mare to face them, speaking very quietly, explaining how deep to dig, how far a margin might be left in safety, how many men were to begin there, and at what distances apart.
Then she picked ten men and bade them follow her.
Burleson rode in the rear, motioning Rolfe to his stirrup.
“What do you think of it?” he asked, in a low voice.
“I think, sir, that one of those damned Storms did it—”
“I mean, what do you think about the chances? Is it serious?”
“That young lady ahead knows better than I do. I’ve seen two of these here underground fires: one was easy killed; the other cleaned out three thousand acres.”
Burleson nodded. “I think,” he said, “that you had better go back to the lodge and get every spare man. Tell Rudolf to rig up a wagon and bring rations and water for the men. Put in something nice for Miss Elliott—see to that, Rolfe; do you hear?”