ation and ruin in its path.

Out of the prospect hole a man crawled over Dave's prostrate body. He
drew a breath of sweet, delicious air. A cool wind lifted the hair from
his forehead. He tried to give a cowpuncher's yell of joy. From out of
his throat came only a cracked and raucous rumble. The man was Shorty.

He crept back into the tunnel and whispered hoarsely the good news. Men
came out on all fours over the bodies of those who could not move. Shorty
dragged Dave into the open. He was a sorry sight. The shirt had been
almost literally burned from his body.

In the fresh air the men revived quickly. They went back into the cavern
and dragged out those of their companions not yet able to help
themselves. Three out of the twenty-nine would never help themselves
again. They had perished in the tunnel.

CHAPTER XL

A MESSAGE

The women of Malapi responded generously to the call Joyce made upon them
to back their men in the fight against the fire in the chaparral. They
were simple folk of a generation not far removed from the pioneer one
which had settled the country. Some of them had come across the plains in
white-topped movers' wagons. Others had lain awake in anxiety on account
of raiding Indians on the war-path. All had lived lives of frugal
usefulness. It is characteristic of the frontier that its inhabitants
help each other without stint when the need for service arises. Now they
cooked and baked cheerfully to supply the wants of the fire-fighters.

Joyce was in command of the commissary department. She ordered and issued
supplies, checked up the cooked food, and arranged for its transportation
to the field of battle. The first shipment went out about the middle of
the afternoon of the first day of the fire. A second one left town just
after midnight. A third was being packed during the forenoon of the
second day.

Though Joyce had been up most of the night, she showed no signs of
fatigue. In spite of her slenderness, the girl was possessed of a fine
animal vigor. There was vitality in her crisp tread. She was a decisive
young woman who got results competently.

A bustling old lady with the glow of winter apples in her wrinkled cheeks
remonstrated with her.

"You can't do it all, dearie. If I was you I'd go home and rest now. Take
a nice long nap and you'll feel real fresh," she said.

"I'm not tired," replied Joyce. "Not a bit. Think of those poor men out
there fighting the fire day and night