road chest was a
fiery blister, and yet he strode on straight into the face of still
greater heat and greater torture, uttering no sound that could be heard
above the steady roar of the flames. And Jan, limp and helpless on his
back, felt then the throb and pulse of a giant life under him, the
straining of thick neck, of massive shoulders and the grip of powerful
arms whose strength told him that at last he had found the comrade and
the man in Clarry O'Grady. "Right"--"left"--"left"--"right" he shouted,
and then he called for O'Grady to stop in a voice that was shrill with
warning.

"There's fire ahead," he yelled. "We can't follow the wall any longer.
There's an open space close to the chasm. We can make that, but there's
only about a yard to spare. Take short steps--one step each time I tell
you. Now--left--left--left--left--"

Like a soldier on drill, O'Grady kept time with his scorched feet until
Jan turned him again to face the storm of fire, while one of his own
broken legs dangled over the abyss into which Jackpine and the
Chippewayan had plunged to their death. Behind them, almost where they
had fought, there crashed down a third avalanche from the edge of the
mountain. Not a shiver ran through O'Grady's great body. Steadily and
unflinchingly--step--step--step--he went ahead, while the last threads
of his moccasins smoked and burned. Jan could no longer see half a
dozen yards in advance. A wall of black smoke rose in their faces, and
he pulled O'Grady's ear:

"We've got just one chance, Clarry. I can't see any more. Keep straight
ahead--and run for it, and may the good God help us now!"

And Clarry O'Grady, drawing one great breath that was half fire into
his lungs, ran straight into the face of what looked like death to Jan
Larose. In that one moment Jan closed his eyes and waited for the
plunge over the cliff. But in place of death a sweep of air that seemed
almost cold struck his face, and he opened his eyes to find the clear
and uncharred slope leading before them down to the edge of the lake.
He shouted the news into O'Grady's ear, and then there arose from
O'Grady's chest a great sobbing cry, partly of joy, partly of pain, and
more than all else of that terrible grief which came of the knowledge
that back in the pit of death from which he had escaped he had left
forever the vision of life itself. He dropped Jan in the edge of the
water, and, plunging in to his waist, he threw handful after handful of