A steady procession of small animals, driven from their homes, was racing through the underbrush and an occasional frightened rabbit would almost bump into them in its blind haste to find safety.
“Come on!” said Curt. He held out his hand and Janet grasped it. With the cowboy leading the way, they plunged down the slope. It was risky business, going at that speed, but speed was essential and they dared a twisted ankle to reach the bus with the least possible delay.
Janet dropped the stick she had been carrying and grasped Curt’s strong wrist with both of her own hands. They were fairly flying down the incline, Janet’s legs working mechanically as she followed the lead of the cowboy star.
They crashed through a low fringe of underbrush and reached the twisting roadway. Half a hundred feet away was the bus, its lights glowing, but no other sign of animation coming from the mechanical monster.
The smoke was not yet thick in this valley and for this Janet was thankful for the other members of the company obviously had not become panicky.
Billy Fenstow saw them first.
“What about the fire?” he asked.
“It’s bad. We’ve got to get out of here and without losing any time. How about the bus?”
“It won’t even cough,” moaned the director.