His attention now became divided between the fire and Cæsar. The horse was evidently laboring. He was moving without his accustomed freedom of gait, and yet he did not seem to be tiring.
Half the distance to the foot of the hill had been covered. The fire was nearing rapidly, so near indeed was it that the air was alive with a perfect hail of glowing sparks, swept ahead of it by the terrific wind. The scorching air was becoming unendurable, and the mental strain made the trail seem endless, and their efforts almost hopeless. Buck looked down at the girl’s patient face.
“It’s hot—hot as hell,” he said with another meaningless laugh.
The girl read through his words and the laugh—read through them to the thought behind them, and promptly protested.
“Don’t worry for me. I can stand—anything now.”
The added squeeze of her arm upon his shoulders set Buck’s teeth gritting.
Suddenly he reined Cæsar in.
“I must know ’bout that—shakin’,” he said.
For a second the horse stood with heaving body. It was only a moment, but in that moment he spread out his feet as though to save himself from falling. Then in answer to the spur he sped on.
“It’s the earth, sure,” cried Buck. And had there been another escape he would have turned from the barren hill now rising amidst the banking smoke-clouds ahead of him.