The roaring of the fire increased. Through the more open woods which bordered this path they saw the smoke advancing in a thicker wall—and one as high as the tree tops. Through the curtain of this smoke cloud red tongues of flame leaped forward to lick up hungrily patches of underbrush or to fasten on certain trees.
“You’ve got to make it, old boy,” muttered Joseph Stagg, and he lashed the horse again.
The spirited Cherry leaped forward, both the woman and the child screaming.
“Hang on,” advised Mr. Stagg. “The road makes a turn just ahead, and that’s mighty lucky for us.”
For he knew that the fire was roaring down toward them, the wind having risen to a gale. The crash of falling trees and the snapping of the fire was like the sound from a battlefront. The noise was almost deafening.
“Is it far? Is it far?” gasped Amanda in his ear.
“Too far for comfort. But keep your heart up.”
As the man spoke, a blazing brand swung through the air and came down, right on Amanda’s shoulders. Carolyn May shrieked. Joseph Stagg brushed off the burning stick.
Cherry mounted another small ridge and then they clattered down into a little hollow where there was a slough beside the road. The water was green and stagnant, but it was water.
The man pulled in the hard-pressed horse and leaped down, passing the reins to Amanda. He whipped off his coat and dipped it in the mudhole. He drew it out dripping with water and slime.