He heard the fierce crackling of the burning grass as the fiery tide swept towards him, devouring all in its way. He saw the wild creatures of the prairie bunched together in a moving mass—elks and antelopes first, then a host of the smaller fry—all bounding along, friend and foe alike, in a frantic stampede.
He was cool, as he always was, in the face of danger; but he knew the value of every moment now, and he ran back to his prisoner.
"Quick! Quick!" he cried, awakening him with a rough shake as he began to untie the rope with which the half-breed was bound. "The prairie's on fire! Look at the smoke! Quick; get to your feet. We've no time to lose. There's only one horse—my mare. The other's done for, see? You killed it—as you meant to kill me."
"Holy!" exclaimed Pierre Roche. His bronzed face had become suddenly livid. His dark eyes showed the abject terror that had come over him. "Only one horse? Yours? Den you will abandon me? You will tek your revenge so?"
A ghost of a smile played about the lips of Sergeant Silk. He turned away without answering, and the crackle of the advancing flames grew louder, the hot breath of the burning prairie grew hotter and hotter, the smoke more dense and choking. He went up to his mare, caressed her as he loosened her halter from the bit ring.
"All right, my beauty," he said very tenderly. "Be brave, keep cool. It all depends upon you. But you can do it, eh? At least you'll try."
He flung the saddle over her back and fastened the cinches. Then he led her to where Pierre Roche stood, with a foot across the two revolvers, while he frantically tried to squeeze his wrists from the handcuffs.
"Steady there! Steady!" cried Silk. "What's your game?" He gave him a shove backward, took up his own revolver, slipped it into his holster, and then flung the other away.