Hester made no reply. She was winking the tears out of her eyes, and the pressure in her own lungs hurt.
“But there air a lot of folks goin’ to be caught similar over the ridge, if we can’t warn ’em.”
“What’s that?” she demanded, quickly, but without looking around at him.
“My name’s Billson. I live back in the bottoms yonder. I got an acre or two cleared around my cabin; but the bresh warn’t burned up. It is now, by jinks!” added Mr. Billson, with a grim cackle.
“When the wind veered thar so suddent, it caught me. I had to run through a wall of fire at one place. Then I got acrost the crick and that saved me for a while. But the fire would have caught me again if it hadn’t been for you. I am sure mighty much obleeged to ye.”
“I—I’m glad I was there with the car,” faltered Hester.
“And we’ve got to warn those other folks over the hill,” cried the man, coughing. “Gee! I guess I’ll never get this smoke out o’ my lungs.”
“But how can we get to those other farms?” gasped Hester.
“I’ll show ye. There’s a crossroad along here a spell. An automobile can git through it on a pinch. And there’s two families live on that road, too.”
“Do you s’pose they’ll be in danger?” asked Hester, slowly.