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. I didn't fight fire to help you, let me tell you."
"What did you do it for?" asked Thorne, evidently amused.
"I knew I couldn't get Charley Morton home and in bed and resting until that pesky fire was out; that's why!" shot back Mrs. Morton.
"Well, Mrs. Morton," said Thorne composedly, "if you're ever fixed so sass will help you out, you'll find it a very valuable quality."
Then Bob fell into a deep sleep.
[a/]