Here and there upon the hillside were spots where the rains of many summers had so washed away the thin surface-soil as to lay bare the rock beneath and leave little or no roothold for vegetation. As he paused for a brief breathing space in one of these clearings, Don's attention was drawn to a dull red glare, which, though but a short distance in advance of the spot where he stood, had up to that moment been quite concealed by the intervening jungle.
“Say, Pug, what do you make of that light?”
The black boy knuckled his eyes vigorously, as if to assure himself they were playing him no trick.
“Me linking there one fire got, sa'b,” said he, after a long look at the mysterious light.
“In that case we'd better stir our stumps. The breeze seems to be freshening, and once the fire gets a hold on this tindery jungle, why, there's no knowing——”
“There another got, sa'b!” broke in Puggles, pointing excitedly to the right.
“Phew! And, by Jove, there's a third beyond that again! And the wind's blowing straight for the camp, too! Now I understand why the captain fired those shots! The hill's on fire! Point, Pug!”
Up the hillside they bounded, panting, stumbling. There was light enough now and to spare, for the fire towards which they were advancing had made more headway than at first sight appeared. The wonder was that they had not observed it sooner; but this perhaps was sufficiently accounted for by the fact that the thoughts of both had lagged behind in the burning village.
The point of danger was soon reached. The fire had not yet crossed the path, but only a few yards of tindery underbrush separated the swaying wall of flame-shot smoke from the narrow trail, while every instant the margin grew perceptibly less.
“Now for it, Pug!”