"The flour is burning!" the chief cried.
"This was what he expected," thought Ambrose.
As he struggled to get out, Ambrose's hand was seized and pressed by a small warm one.
He had a momentary impression of the wistful girl beside him. Then she was swept away.
CHAPTER XXIII.
FIRE AND RAPINE.
The Kakisas ran down the trail like a heap of dry leaves propelled by a squall of wind. To Ambrose it all seemed as senseless and unreal as a nightmare.
The alarm had been given at a moment of extreme emotional excitement, and restraint was thrown to the winds. It was like a rout after battle.
The men shouted; the women wailed and forgot their children. The throng was full of lost children; they fell by the road and lay shrieking.
Ambrose never forgot the picture as he ran, of an old crone, crazed by excitement, whirling like a dervish, rocking her skinny arms and twisting her neck into attitudes as grotesque as gargoyles.