here! We shall be burned to
death!"

At that moment a flaming branch fell hissing into a little pool at the
bottom of the gully. It passed so near them that it singed a lock of
Gypsy's hair.

Joy crawled to her feet, fell, crawled up again, fell again.

Gypsy seized her in both arms, and dragged her across the gully. Joy was
taller than herself, and nearly as heavy. How she did it she never knew.
Terror gave her a flash of that sort of strength which we sometimes find
among the insane.

She laid Joy down in a corner of the ravine the furthest removed from
the fire; she could not have carried her another inch. Above and all
around towered and frowned the rocks; there was not so much as a crevice
opening between them; there was not a spot that Joy could climb. Across,
the great tongues of flame tossed themselves into the air, and glared
awfully against the sky, which was dark with hurrying clouds. The
underbrush was all on fire; two huge pine trees were ablaze, their
branches shooting off hotly now and then like rockets.

_When those trees fell they would fall into the ravine._

Gypsy sat down and covered her face.

Little did Mr. Francis Rowe think what he had done, when, strolling
along by the ravine at twilight, he threw down his half-burnt cigar:
threw it down and walked away whistling, and has probably never thought
of it from that day to this.

Gypsy sat there with her hands before her face, and she sat very still.
She understood in that moment what was coming to her and to Joy. Yes, to
her as well as to Joy; for she would not leave Joy to die alone. It
would be an easy thing for her to climb the cliffs; she was agile,
fearless, as used to the mountains as a young chamois, and the ascent,
as I said, though steep, was not high. Once out of that gully where
death was certain, she would have at least a chance of life. The fire if
not checked would spread rapidly, would chase her down the mountain. But
that she could escape it she thought was probable, if not sure. And life
was so sweet, so dear. And her mother--poor mother, waiting at home,
and looking and longing for her!

Gypsy gave a great gulp; there was such a pain in her throat it seemed
as if it would strangle her. But should she leave Joy, crippled and
helpless, to die alone in this horrible place? Should she do it? No, it
was through her careless fault that they had been brought into it. She
would stay with Joy.

"I don't see as we can do anything