She left them. She dashed across the short intervening space. She ran around the corner of the burning building. A prayer was in her heart that Alan and Nanette and I were inside and still safe.
She came to the door. It stood open. The room was full of smoke. Its candles gleamed dully; but she saw that the room was empty. And saw a door across it.
She rushed in. The smoke choked her. She held her breath.
The door between the rooms was not fastened. She flung it open. Saw, in the yellow glare of the burning roof—saw Alan and me lying bound and helpless.
We called: "Lea!"
She came—saw the ropes binding us. She dashed back to get a knife lying on the table by the candles. We rolled so that she might cut our ropes. We were all gasping in the smoke. She helped us up; we could barely stand at first, but with her help we staggered out into the blessed cool air of the night.
The building was blazing all over its side and roof. To the south, by the city stockade, the Dutchmen were shouting, but none of them advanced. We ran back to Lea's waiting Indians. There seemed still a chance that Turber's aero might still be there. The Indians led us to the spot. But it was gone, and the camp was deserted.
Then we crossed swiftly east to the tower. It was daylight when we left the braves, prostrate before the tower as it melted into a phantom and vanished.
We were safe—all but Nanette. Of what use to me, this safety? Nanette, to me of all the world most dear, was gone. And this time I had a premonition that she was lost to me forever.