Again and again he dipped beneath the surface to cool his aching temples; then as he felt the intense heat, the falling particles of the reeds and rushes, Boone knew that the fire-fiend was upon him, and inhaling a long breath, he sunk beneath the surface, his head touching the cool, muddy bottom. Clinging to the slimy roots, he lay there until it seemed as though his lungs would burst. Then the long-pent-up breath came forth. For a few moments longer he resisted, then rose to the surface. Though the breath he inhaled seemed blistering his throat, Boone gasped with delight. It was renewed life. But then the heat seemed melting his very brain, scorching the woolen garment that now steamed like a furnace, and again the hunter sunk to the bottom.
Twice was this repeated, then as a cooler current of air struck the shrouded head, he tore the bandage free and glared around. A broad wall of flame was gradually receding. The surface of the pond seemed one living coal. A second glance showed him this was the water-soaked part of the growth, too green to blaze up.
The fiendish yells of the savages came indistinctly to his ears above the crackling roar. He started and bent his ear keenly. Then his face lighted up. From one side there came no yells. It seemed as though the savages had deemed it impossible for the pale-face to live through the fiery ordeal, and had all flocked to cut off his retreat to the opposite side to that on which the fire had been started.
Without reflecting that, notwithstanding the silence, some might have been left to guard this point too, Boone plunged forward, thrusting the glowing stalks down into the water as he proceeded, feeling that this was his only chance of escape. To wait until the fire was out and the smoke-cloud raised from the surface, he knew would be fatal. Then the keen-eyed savages would espy him, when captivity or death must follow; for he was too greatly exhausted to flee for life now.
Hurriedly he pressed forward, too hardly bestead for time to think of using much caution, for he must gain the undergrowth beyond before the flames died out, or be discovered. Gaining the shallow water, he crept forward, crouching low down, with drawn knife, ready to sell his life dearly. But no alarm was raised as he gained the edge of the pond. That side seemed deserted.
With a muttered prayer of thanksgiving, the Wood King pressed on with as much speed as he could extract from his weary, sorely-tasked limbs. At length he sunk down behind the first line of bushes, and glanced back.
The flames had swept the pond clear to the further shore, and were now rapidly dying out. Flitting here and there, he could just discern several human forms. They were the Indian, and he knew, by their actions, that his flight had not been discovered. Still, knowing that his trail would eventually be found and followed, Boone dared not give way to the drowsiness that was stealing over him, and so arose, pressing steadily on until the rock-bed was gained. Here his trail would be lost. Knowing this, he felt that he was saved, and kneeling, rendered thanks to the One who had so wonderfully preserved him.
Yet he dare not halt here for the rest he so greatly needed. He knew that his trail would be followed to the rock-bed, and that thoroughly searched by the savages before they would allow such an enemy to escape. So he wearily pressed on, through the gray light of coming dawn, shaping his course by the knowledge that Lightfoot must be impatiently awaiting his coming at the cave by the Osage.
Clearing the rock-bed, he struck a direct course for the rendezvous. The cool morning breeze greatly revived him, and partially dispelled the drowsiness. Once he paused. There came to his ears the faint sound of yelling, from the far right. Though he knew it not, it was the discovery of Abel Dare by the Osages under Seth Grable.
Half an hour later Boone discovered two smokes: the nearest light and fleecy, the other dark and heavy, arising, as he calculated with a peculiar thrill, from the vicinity of the cave. Was it a signal kindled by Lightfoot to hasten his coming? This interpretation did not satisfy him, though he could think of none other.