Jess of the Rebel Trail

by H. A. Cody

The four men of the relief party looked curiously upon Randall, who presented a wretched appearance with his blackened face and rain-soaked clothes.

"D'ye think he'll get over this?" Jim Shaw asked, turning to John.

"Not if he stays here," was the emphatic reply. "You men must take him out of this at once. I've got to go to the island. Mother's there."

"Your mother's on the island!" Jim fairly shouted the words. "Why, no one could live on the island before that fire. Good Lord, man! She must be burned alive!"

For a few seconds the five men stood and stared at one another. The horror of the situation silenced their tongues. John was the first to speak.

"You look after Randall," he ordered. "I must get to the island and find out the worst. Perhaps the rain checked the fire in time."

He then turned and hurried across the blackened waste. He tried to keep calm, but his heart beat fast, and a great dread possessed him. What if his mother and Jess were both dead! The thought was appalling. It drove him forward like a hound. He leaped over sticks and stones in his headlong speed, dashed through the burned trees, and sprang out upon the shore of the lake. Here he stopped, and as his eyes rested upon the island a cry of despair burst from his lips. The fire had reached the place and swept it from end to end! But what of his mother and Jess! Were they alive? or were their charred bodies now lying exposed to the pelting rain? He called again and again at the top of his voice, but received no reply. The silence was ominous, for from where he was standing anyone, even in the middle of the small island, should be able to hear.

The one thing now for him to do was to cross that narrow strip of water and find out just what had happened. The only way to get there was to swim, for his boat which he had left that morning at the upper end of the lake could not have escaped the devouring flames. He could see that the fire had passed over the very place, close to the water's edge.

Tearing off his shoes and vest, in another minute he was into the lake, and headed for the island. He was a good swimmer and under ordinary circumstances the swim would have been mere child's play. But he was weak after his fearful exertions, and his clothes impeded his progress. But still he struggled forward, and at length, wearied almost to the point of exhaustion, his feet touched bottom, and he staggered heavily out of the water, and fell upon the shore. Again he called, but received no reply.

After a few minutes' rest, he regained his feet and groped his way along the shore until he reached the spot where he had landed the women the night before. Fearfully he turned his eyes up the path leading to the house, and as he looked, his heart sank within him. Nothing remained of the building but a few black sticks, from which small wreaths of smoke were issuing. He walked slowly up the path like one in a dream, and stopped before the ruins. But no charred bodies did he find.