"Only hope so," said Guy. "Now, good-by, Rufe. Remember all I've told you."
Master and man shook hands, and Guy, slinging a small bag across his shoulder on a stick, walked away from the shanty which had been his only home for four long years of hard work and happiness, and disappeared into the forest.
He had not gone far before a flickering glow gleamed redly on the serried ranks of tall, straight trunks.
He turned. Half a dozen pin points of fire were visible on the far side of the clearing. They grew rapidly, and presently the night sky was all aglow with leaping tongues of flame.
The soft breeze which soughed through the tops of the pines sent the flames sweeping down upon the little house, which stood a squat, black mass between the watcher and the blaze behind.
Fascinated by the sight, Guy stood motionless, watching the destruction sweep upon his home.
The many little fires joined forces, and Guy could plainly hear the roar and crackle as the tall, dry grass burst into hissing sparks. There was little chance of any one interfering to save the house. Now that Blissett was dead Guy had no neighbor within a mile, and in the spring of the year fires are too frequent in the Florida woods for any one to pay attention. The cattlemen are always busy burning off the old grass to get fresh pasture for their herds.
Now the whole sky was alight, and the blaze illuminated the sleeping woods far and near. Red-hot sparks were falling like rain upon the shingle roof of the cabin.
Another minute, and little streaks of red fire were winding like snakes about the eaves.