But her hopes were doomed to disappointment. The bus was a glowing mass of steel. Fire had swept over it, igniting the upholstery and burning out the entire interior of the bus. It was a hollow shell with gaping windows.
Curt Newsom stood up.
“There’s no use sitting around here wondering what we’ll do,” he said. “If a couple of the boys will come along, I’ll start back to the trail and we’ll keep going until we find someone or can reach a telephone.”
Two other cowboys joined Curt.
“The rest of you might follow us and get back as far as the ranch. Maybe there’ll be a little drinking water left in that well,” advised Curt as he started up the trail, hobbling painfully on his twisted boots.
Helen looked at her oxfords. They were in even worse shape than Curt’s boots.
“I guess I’ll have to stay here,” she said, half to herself and half to Janet. “I’d never make it back to the ranch.”
Janet picked up the water soaked piece of cloth she had used as a mask to shield her face.
“Wrap this around one foot and use your piece for your other foot. Then slip your oxford on loosely. That ought to ease the pain.”
Helen looked grateful and tried the suggestion at once. She wrapped the damp cloth around as tightly as possible and then pulled on her shoes. It was a snug fit, but there was a soft cushion for her bruised feet to rest upon. She stood up and tried walking.