as she had never done
before.

Now it seemed as though they were racing in the heart of a furnace.
The whole country was in flames, and the roar and crashing of falling
timber was incessant, and the yellow glow was everywhere--even ahead.

Blinded, dazed, the girl was borne on by the faithful Kitty. She no
longer thought of what was so near behind her. What little reason was
left to her she centred upon keeping her seat in the saddle. An awful
faintness was upon her, and everything about her seemed distant.

Kitty alone fought out the battle of that ride; her mistress was
beyond all but keeping upon the faithful animal's back. Had she been
less exhausted, the girl would have seen what the mare saw. She would
have seen the broad stream of the Rosy river ahead, and less than a
quarter of a mile away. But she saw nothing; she felt nothing; she
cared for nothing but her hold upon the saddle. Thus it was that when
she came to the riverside, and the mare plunged from the steep bank
into the deep, quick-flowing stream, she knew not what had happened,
but, with a strange tenacity, she held to the pummels of her saddle,
while her loyal friend breasted the waters.

How they got out of the river Prudence never knew, nor did she fully
realize all that had happened when at last the horse and rider again
stood on firm ground. And the tough little broncho had covered another
mile or more before the girl awoke to the fact that they were now in
an open prairie country, and skirting the brink of the great southern
muskeg. Then it all came back to her, and, as Kitty kept steadily on,
she looked fearfully about her. She saw away in the distance the awful
pall, the lurid gleam of the flames; and a heartfelt prayer of
thanksgiving went up from that lonely trail for the merciful escape
which had been hers. The girl leant over her mare's shoulder and
caressed the foaming neck.

"Good Kitty, faithful little mare," she exclaimed emotionally. Then
she looked ahead and she remembered all. "But on, girl, on. There is
more to do yet."

* * * * *

The telegraph operator at Damside was closing up his little shack. He
had just disconnected his instrument and was standing in his doorway
gazing out across the prairie to the east, watching the vast clouds of
smoke belching from the direction of the woods. All about him was a
heavy haze, and a nasty taste of smoke was in his mouth. He looked
across to the