“That’s much better. Thanks a lot, Janet.”
Billy Fenstow took charge then.
“We’ll start for the ranch and go as far as we can,” he decided. “There may be some shelter there and we’re in no condition to stay out any longer than necessary.”
With the director in the van, the singed and tired band started back for the ranch. After a short distance they struck the trail. It was faint, but they managed to follow it without too much difficulty.
Hot blasts of air seemed to sweep down from all sides and breathing became a painful exercise again. Janet wished that she might have just one cool, sweet breath of air—just one.
Helen stumbled and Janet reached out and caught her companion before she fell.
“All right?” asked Janet anxiously, for Helen was not of as sturdy stock as she.
“I’ll make it,” replied Helen, the words coming from tight-set lips.
But Janet was not so sure that Helen could do it. They fell further and further behind the others, but at last they topped the final ridge and looked down in the valley where the ranch had been, where they had filmed so many scenes of “Water Hole,” the new picture.
It was too dark to see the outlines of the ranchhouse but Janet could discern several large, glowing piles of embers and she knew that even the buildings at the ranch had been destroyed by the fire. Perhaps the well was still filled with pure sweet water. Her throat seemed drier at the thought and she turned her full attention to Helen, who needed a supporting arm for the final, down hill lap of their journey.