flight
through the trees; the sun shone soft; a cool breeze ruffled the
feathery tips of the tarweed.

At the top of the ridge Charley Morton called a halt.

"This is pretty easy country," said he. "We'll run the line square down
either side. Get busy."

"Have a cup of coffee first," urged Amy.

"Surely. Forgot that."

They drank the coffee, finding it good, and tucked away the lunches Amy,
with her unfailing forethought, had brought them.

"Good-bye!" she called gaily; "I've got to get back to camp before the
fire cuts me off. I won't see you again till the fire burns me out a way
to get to you."

"Take my horse, too," said Mrs. Morton, dismounting. "You don't need me
in camp."

Amy took the lead rein and rode away as a matter of course. She was
quite alone to guard the horses and camp equipage on the little knoll
while the fire spent its fury all around her. Everybody seemed to take
the matter for granted; but Bob looked after her with mingled feelings
of anxiety and astonishment. This Western breed of girl was still beyond
his comprehension.

The work was at once begun. In spite of the cruel throb of his injured
hand, Bob found the labour pleasant by sheer force of contrast. The air
was cool, the shade refreshing, the frantic necessity of struggle
absent. He raked carefully his broad path among the pine needles, laying
bare the brown earth; hoed and chopped in the tarweed and brush. Several
times Charley Morton passed him. Each time the ranger paused for a
moment to advise him.

"You ought to throw your line farther back," he told Bob. "See that
'dead-and-down' ahead? If you let that cross your fire line, it'll carry
the fire sooner or later, sure; and if you curve your line too quick to
go around it, the fire'll jump. You want to keep your eye out 'way
ahead."

Once Bob caught a glimpse of blue calico through the trees. As he came
nearer, he was surprised to see Mrs. Morton working away stoutly with a
hoe. Her skirts were turned back, her sleeves rolled up to display a
white and plump forearm, the neck of her gown loosened to show a round
and well-moulded neck. The strokes of her hoe were as vigorous as those
of any of the men. In watching the strong, free movements of her body,
Bob forgot for a moment what had been intruding itself on him with more
and more insistance--the throb of his broken hand.

In the course of an hour the fire line was well under way. But now wisps
of smoke began to drift do