Janet and Helen sank back on the cushions of the rear seat. The trail was soft and sandy and although the bus lurched heavily at times, they had an opportunity to relax a little.
Helen slipped off her oxfords and rubbed her aching feet.
“Oh, for a good, hot bath,” she moaned. “My feet will never be the same again.”
“Mine ache a little even with my boots on,” admitted Janet. She would have liked to have slipped out of her boots and wriggled her toes but they were too hard to lace up again.
Curt was driving with a desperate intentness as the going became more difficult. The trail had faded into two thin tracks and it was rougher now.
Sharp rocks protruded and at any moment a tire might give way. But they kept on boring into the hills. The engine was working hard now as they ascended a grade and Janet looked back through the broad, rear window of the bus.
The valley they had just left was plainly visible and topping the ridge above the ranchhouse were the first racing tongues of flame. They had started just in time.
Helen turned around and together the girls watched the fire skip down the slope. When the scene was finally shut off by their own descent into another valley, the fire was almost to the ranchhouse and Janet felt sick at heart as she thought of the destruction which was inevitable for the friendly, rambling old structure.
The trail they had been following faded completely away and Curt brought the bus to a stop.
“Want to get out and walk or shall we go on in the bus?”