with complete disregard for all but
its precious warmth.

Those in the gap were staring out at the north-east with eyes held
fascinated by the wonder of it all. It was the Spire, the amazing Spire
of Unaga rearing its mighty crest out of the far-off distance. Even the
child was awed to silence by the spell of the inspiring vision.

They were gazing upon a world of fire and smoke. And the fire was
belching out of the bowels of the earth and lighting up the whole
skyline far and wide. It was a scene no words could adequately describe.
It was a scene to awe the stoutest heart. The whole country in the
distant north seemed to lie prostrate at the mercy of a world of
devouring flame.

CHAPTER X

THE RUSH OUTFIT

"Curse 'em!"

Ian Ross raised a hand and swept it across the back of his muscular
neck. Then he wiped his palm on his cord breeches leaving there the
stain of his own blood, and the crushed remains of hundreds of
mosquitoes.

"Get a look at that," he cried, in genial disgust.

The man riding at his side turned and laughed without mirth. His eyes
remained serious.

"Sure," he said indifferently. "We've got to get 'em, this time of year,
Doc. We need a head breeze."

"Got to get? What we're getting is hell--plumb hell," exploded the
Scotsman.

The other nodded.

"Sure. But there's worse hell on the trail, and it isn't us who's got
it."

The rebuke was without offence. But it was sufficient. In a moment Ross
was flung headlong back to the haunting thoughts of the great effort he
and his companion were engaged upon.

"Another day--and no sign," he said.

"No."

There was no great display, yet the doctor's words, and the monosyllabic
reply, were deeply significant.

Jack Belton--Inspector Jack Belton--and the doctor were on a "rush
outfit" of rescue. They were riding back to camp after a long day of
search along the banks of the Theton River. Their search was systematic.
Each day they rode out and followed the intricate course of the smiling
river with its endless chain of lakes. Each day their camp broke up and
followed a similar course, but taking the direct and shortest route down
the river. Then, at nightfall, the two men rejoined their outfit, only
to follow a similar procedure next day. Thus they had left the
headwaters far behind, and were steadily working their way down the
river. Somewhere along that river was Steve Allenwood, alive or dead.
They could not guess which. They could