"I wouldn't climb down there for a million drinks," said Bob; "I'll sit down and wait for you." Pollock climbed down, found his water, drank. He filled the canteen and staggered back up the steep climb. "Here you be," said he. Bob seized the canteen and drank deep. When he took breath, he said: "Thank you, Jack. That was an awful climb back." "That's all right," nodded Jack shortly. "Well, come on," said Bob. "The hell!" muttered Jack, and fell over sound asleep. An hour later Bob felt himself being shaken violently. He stirred and advanced a little way toward the light, then dropped back like a plummet into the abysses of sleep. Afterward he recalled a vague, half-conscious impression of being lifted on a horse. Possibly he managed to hang on; possibly he was held in the saddle--that he never knew. The next thing he seemed conscious of was the flicker of a camp-fire, and the soft feel of blankets. It was night, but how it came to be so he could not imagine. He was very stiff and sore and burned, and his hand was very painful. He moved it, and discovered, to his vast surprise, that it was bound tightly. When this bit of surgery had been performed he could not have told. He opened his eyes. Amy and Mrs. Morton were bending over cooking utensils. Five motionless forms reposed in blankets. Bob counted them carefully. After some moments it occurred to his dulled brain that the number represented his companions. Some one on horseback seemed to be arriving. A glitter of silver caught his eye. He recognized finally California John. Then he dozed off again. The sound of voices rumbled through the haze of his half-consciousness. "Fifty hours of steady fire-fighting with only an hour's sleep!" he caught Thorne's voice saying. Bob took this statement into himself. He computed painfully over and over. He could not make the figures. He counted the hours one after the other. Finally he saw. "Fifty hours for all but Pollock and me," he said suddenly; "forty for us." No one heard him. As a matter of fact, he had not spoken aloud; though he thought he had done so. "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----"