The speed of the fire, as it now pursued him, admonished Clayton that safety demanded he should not hold to the straight-ahead line. The fire would run on indefinitely, but the horse could not do so. The Indians were in the hills when last he heard them; and for that reason chiefly he turned the horse toward the distant fringe of timber.
“We can make those trees without trouble, I think,” he said, encouraging the girl, whose terrified backward glances he had observed.
“But the fire is coming very fast!” she said.
“And we are riding fast!”
“But it is gaining on us. The horse has lost speed in the last mile. The poor thing is exhausted.”
“Still, I think we can reach those trees. We’ve got to do that.”
The horse stumbled, bringing a cry from the girl; but righted, and galloped heavily on. Soon it stumbled again.
Then before them they beheld a yawning rent in the earth, like a large and deep ditch. It was in fact a dry waterway, cut by rains that came in some torrential storm down from the hills. It was impossible to go round this gap in the earth.
Driven by spur, whip, and voice, the tired horse tried to leap it. It rose in the air, making a gallant effort, but lacked strength to carry it across, and went falling down, down, into the great gully.
Lena Forest screamed as the horse took that plunge.