That night the stars were hid, but off to the southeast the sky was an orange curtain of fire. Its lurid glow lit up the horizon, a ghastly and awesome sight, giving the impression that the earth itself was being devastated, devoured by the ruthless monster of flame.
On and on the boys hurried in an effort to pass safely around the terrible conflagration. Worry and apprehension shadowed the faces of the three as they paused for their evening meal. Little was said. Their eyes were smarting and their throats burned. In spite of their weariness, the ponies grew restless and frightened, pawing and stamping the ground, sometimes raising their heads and, with distended nostrils, neighing plaintively.
Again the boys pushed on. Dick took the lead, wondering how much longer he and his two companions could bear up under the strain. Fortunately the coming of night did not interfere materially with their progress. The forest was illuminated. The ghostly reflection of the fire was cast across their path.
Every hour was taking them closer and closer to the northern end of the great conflagration. Not far ahead they could see the flaming blood-red sheet. Its close proximity struck terror in their hearts. It was a race with death. Their only advantage was the help of the wind, from the northwest, whose chill, unabating blasts contrived to keep the oncoming fury somewhat in check. If the wind fell, their only hope of escape lay in a precipitous retreat to the north.
“We’ll make it,” said Sandy, moistening his parched lips, “if that northwester continues to hold. But it may die down before midnight. Sometimes I think that it doesn’t blow as hard as it did a few hours ago.”
“We must get through, Sandy,” Dick declared grimly. “If necessary, we’ll ride our horses until they drop. Think of the lives that hang in the balance.”
Shortly after midnight they approached so close to the fire that the stillness through which they had been travelling gave place to a rumbling, crackling roar. A withering, scorching heat came out to them. The ponies seemed to stagger under their burdens. Dick, who was in the lead, waved his arm encouragingly.
“A few more miles,” he called.
“No can make!” Toma’s voice suddenly rose above the deafening roar about them. “My pony him no walk any farther.”
Dick and Sandy dismounted quickly and went back to where the young guide’s horse stood quivering and panting. Toma loosened the cinches and drew off the saddle just as the exhausted beast sank to the ground. Each one of the boys knew what was about to happen—what ought to be done—but each waited for the others to move.