was, but as she turned to run Hawk Kennedy espied her.

"Ho there, kid! Got loose, hey? Just in time. Did ye think I was goin'
to let ye be burned to death?"

* * * * *

With Brierly leading them to the machine and listening to Peter's story
as they went, Peter made his way across the foot of the lawn to the road
where the machine was waiting for them. As they climbed into it, the
glow to the south had turned a lurid red, staining the dusky sky to the
zenith. Brierly drove and for precaution's sake Peter sat in the tonneau
with Shad. But the lumberman, if he had ever been considered formidable
even in his own estimation, showed no evidence of any self-confidence.
Peter had given him signs of mettle which were not to be denied and like
all bullies Shad knew that he was beaten. The one vestige of his
decency,--his honorable affection for Beth, which had blinded him to
reason and all sense of duty, was now dedicated to the task of saving
her. And though the dull hatred of Peter still burned in his breast, the
instinct of self-preservation, and the chance of retrieving himself at
the last, made it necessary for him to put his pride in his pocket and
accept the inevitable.

"Ye'll keep yer word, Mister?" he inquired of Peter, after a moment. "I
didn't have nothin' to do with settin' them woods afire. Ye'll get me
out o' this scrape?"

"Yes," said Peter shortly. "I will."

But he watched him nevertheless.

The ex-soldier drove the car at a furious pace over the rough road,
rejoicing in the open cut-out and the rush of the wind past his ears. He
had been, for a time, a chauffeur of a staff car on the other side, and
the present conditions were full of promise of the kind of excitement
that appealed to his youthful spirit. Shad shouted instructions over
his shoulder but Brierly only nodded and sent the car on over the
corduroy to which they had come, with the throttle wide. Night had
nearly fallen but the road was a crimson track picked out with long
pencilings of shadow. The wind was still tossing the tree tops and
leaves and twigs cut sharply across their faces. There was no mistaking
the danger to the whole of the Lower Reserve unless the wind fell--a
"crown" fire after two weeks of drought was not a subject for jest.

But Peter was not thinking of the damage to McGuire's property. He
roared questions eagerly at Wells as to the location of the cabin with
reference to the probable cour