A wind gust rent the smoke for an instant and showed the pursuers the spread of the growing destruction. It already was sprinkled over acres.
“She’s started fair, and the devil’s helpin’ her!” mourned the old man.
At that moment the huge bulk of a man went lurching past them. It was Abe, the foolish giant of the Skeets. In the glimpse they caught before the smoke swallowed him, in his hairy nakedness, he seemed a gigantic satyr; he leaped here and there to avoid the blazing patches in the leaf litter and humus, and his movements seemed like a grotesque dance.
“The old woman has sent him after the girl,” explained Christopher, with quick comprehension. “Come on!”
Dodging, choking, crouching for air, they followed him. At last they overtook the author of all the mischief. She threw away her torch when they came upon her, and faced them without shame. She was panting in utter exhaustion, and clung to a tree for support.
“Bring her, Abe!” commanded Christopher, in a tone that the giant understood, and he took her up in his brawny arms despite her angry struggles. “No, not that way!” shouted the old man, when Abe whirled to make his way back through the fire zone. “It’s spread too far,” he explained to Wade; “we’ve got to keep ahead of it.” With a blow to emphasize his order, he drove Abe ahead of him, and they hurried towards the north, the conflagration at their heels.
Far ahead of them Jerusalem Mountain lifted the poll of its gray ledge. It blocked the broad valley to the north. For those in the van of that fire it was the rock of refuge. The tote road led that way. The fugitives crashed through the undergrowth into the road. The fire had already crossed it to the south of them. They took their way to the north, their eyes on Jerusalem Mountain.