“Some religious fanatic did it,” said Jan, “someone who doesn’t like the Buddhists.”
“Nothing of the sort!” Gale sprang forward. “It’s a signal fire for those planes. See! The cross points toward the temple. It’s the Woman in Purple!
“Look!” She sprang to one side of the trail where some ancient pine trees stood. “This mass of moss and pine needles is damp from recent rains. Grab a big armful and come on! Quick!”
Thirty seconds later they were hovering over the flames, burying them under sodden masses of debris. “That fire is made of pine cones. How it burns!” Jan exclaimed.
“It’s half out. Bring more!” Gale exploded. “They may come back. I—I’ll stand guard.” She drew out her small automatic.
Jan raced away to return again and yet again. The fire was almost out when Gale heard a sound in the brush. Like a flash she fired a shot.
Jan came running. “Did—did you see someone?” she panted.
“No. But I heard them,” was Gale’s steady reply. “After I fired there was a sound like a low cry.”
“I’ll have a look!” Before Gale could stop her Jan sprang into the brush.
She was gone a long time. Gale was about to despair when suddenly she reappeared.