“Scarcely any chance of its swooping down on us,” decided Mr. Stagg. “Reckon I won’t have to go home to plough fire furrows.”
At the usual hour he started for The Corners for dinner. Having remained in the store all the morning, he had not realised how much stronger the smell of smoke was than it had been at breakfast time. Quite involuntarily he quickened his pace.
The fog and smoke overcast the sky thickly and made it of a brassy colour, just as though a huge copper pot had been overturned over the earth. Women stood at their doors, talking back and forth together in low tones. There was a spirit of expectancy in the air. Every person he saw was affected by it.
There seemed scarcely any danger of a forest fire sweeping in upon Sunrise Cove, or even upon The Corners. There was too much cleared land surrounding the town. But what was happening on the other side of the mountain? The peril that other people were in moved his neighbours. Joseph Stagg was affected himself. And for another reason.
Down in the thick woods, ten miles away, were two women and a child in a cabin. Suppose the fire should cross the range?
The hardware merchant was striding along at a quick pace when he came to the Parlow place; but he was not going so fast that he did not hear the carpenter hailing him in his cracked voice.
“Hey, you, Joe Stagg! Hey, you!”
Amazed, Mr. Stagg turned to look. Parlow was hobbling from the rear premises, groaning at every step, scarcely able to walk.
“That sciatica’s got me ag’in,” he snarled. “I’m a’most doubled up. Couldn’t climb into a carriage to save my soul.”
“What d’you want to climb into a carriage for?” demanded Mr. Stagg.