Almost all of them knew the Angel by sight from
her trips with the Bird Woman to their leases. They all knew her father,
her position, and the luxuries of her home. Whatever course she had
chosen with them they scarcely would have resented it, but the Angel
never had been known to choose a course. Her spirit of friendliness was
inborn and inbred. She loved everyone, so she sympathized with everyone.
Her generosity was only limited by what was in her power to give.
She came down the trail, hand in hand with the red-haired, freckled
timber guard whom she had worn herself past the limit of endurance to
save only a few weeks before, racing in her eagerness to reach them,
and laughing her "Good morning, gentlemen," right and left. When she was
ensconced on the wagonload of tenting, she sat on a roll of canvas as a
queen on her throne. There was not a man of the gang who did not respect
her. She was a living exponent of universal brotherhood. There was no
man among them who needed her exquisite face or dainty clothing to teach
him that the deference due a gentlewoman should be paid her.
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