le. Then, with the headlights vainly
trying to bore through the almost stifling smoke, they raced back down
the road.

It was dangerous going, for Curt's vision was cut down to less than
three rods, but speed was essential now and they plunged through the
smoky night at a reckless pace.

Chapter Eight

THE LINE GOES DEAD

Lights in the interior of the bus were out now for Curt didn't dare run
the risk that they might interfere with his vision. The heavy vehicle
swayed from side to side as they bounced over the winding road and Janet
and Helen clung to each other for protection.

Smoke was swirling across the road and the acrid fumes swept through the
open windows of the bus, but there was no time now to close them.

They raced out of the valley they had been in, shot up over a slight
rise, and descended into another valley, the glare of the flames being
lost to view for the time.

"Think we'll make it?" gasped Helen, clinging tightly to Janet's right
arm.

"We've got to," replied Janet. "The last shots for the picture are in
the bus."

"I'm not worrying about the picture; it's us," retorted Helen. "My eyes
hurt; so do my feet."

Janet couldn't help smiling for Helen was very much matter of fact.

There was a sharp report under the bus, like a gunshot or the backfire
of the exhaust. But it was neither and the girls were thrown heavily
against the side of the bus as the left rear tire let go.

The heavy machine swayed dangerously with Curt fighting for control. The
brakes screamed as they ground to a stop and Curt leaped out to survey
the damage. The driver followed him and then Billy Fenstow followed.

The driver turned on his flashlight and Janet could hear Curt's muttered
exclamation of disgust.

"We can change; we've got a spare," the driver said.

"We've got to and we'll have to work fast," snapped Curt.

Under the lashing directions of the cowboy star, other members of the
company turned to and lent a hand. Tools were taken out, a big jack was
placed under the rear axle, and the work started.

From somewhere behind came the ominous roar of the fire and the sky
behind the ridge they had just topped crimsoned. Helen, her thin oxfords
badly cut, shifted miserably from one foot to another and longed for a
hot bath in which to soak her aching feet.

While Curt and several assistants wrestled with the task of getting the
flat tire off, the driver managed to get the spare wheel down from its