the fear was there. From a spark it grew into a red-hot spot in
Jolly Roger's heart. Twice in his own life he had raced against death
in a forest fire. But never had he seen a fire like this must have
been. All at once he seemed to hear the roar of it in his ears, the
rolling thunder of the earth as it twisted in the cataclysm of flame,
the hissing shriek of the flaming pitch-tops as they leapt in lightning
fires against the smoke-smothered sky. A few hours ago he had stood
where Father John's Cabin had been and the place was a ruin of char and
ash. If the fire had hemmed them in and they had not escaped--

His voice cried out in sudden protest.

"It can't be, Peter. It can't be! They made the rail--or the lake--and
we'll find them in the settlements. It couldn't happen. God wouldn't
let her die like that!"

He stopped, and stared into the moon-broken gloom on his left.
Something was there, fifty feet away, that drew him down through the
muck which lay knee deep in the right-of-way ditch. It was what was
left of the cutter's cabin, a clutter of burned logs, a wind scattered
heap of ash. Even there, within arm's reach of the railroad, there had
been no salvation from the fire.

He waded again through the muck of the ditch, and went on. Mentally and
physically he was fighting the ogre that was striving to achieve
possession of his brain. Over and over he repeated his faith that Nada
and the Missioner had escaped and he would find them in the
settlements. Less than ever he thought of the law in these hours. What
happened to himself was of small importance now, if he could find Nada
alive before the menace caught up with him from behind, or ambushed him
ahead. Yet the necessity of caution impinged itself upon him even in
the recklessness of his determination to find her if he had to walk
into the arms of the law that was hunting him.

For an hour they went on, and as the moon sank westward it seemed to
turn its face to look at them; and behind them, when they looked back,
the world was transformed into a black pit, while ahead--with the glow
of it streaming over their shoulders--ghostly shapes took form, and
vision reached farther. Twice they caught the silvery gleam of lakes
through the tree-stubs, and again they walked with the rippling murmur
of a stream that kept for a mile within the sound of their ears. But
even here, with water crying out its invitation to life, there was no
life.

Another hour after that Joll