On, on they tore; the smoke almost choked her. It was so terribly thick that Paul could not see Micmac, though his eyes burnt, and he kept them open with difficulty. Then the flames ran up a dead pine tree in front of him, and shed a lurid light through the smoke. The heat was intense; he shut his smarting eyes, and trusted Micmac would keep the road.
“Oh, if the bridge—a wooden bridge—were not down!” “Were not down!” repeated itself; “Were not down!”
They were in the midst of the fire now; the roaring was tremendous, and the trees were flaming and crackling on all sides. Paul covered his eyes with one hand, and used the whip with the other. It was like the finish of a race, a race for life, down the hill at a gallop. But the bridge? It had already caught, and the wood was smoking, when Micmac stopped with a jerk, and Paul jumped out and took hold of him.
“You must, old boy, you must,” he murmured. “Once over we are pretty safe. Good horse, good horse!”
The trembling Micmac refused again; the bridge was hot, and frightened him. Then he went at it with a rush, with Paul still at his head, half-running, half-dragged by the horse. The river was wide, and the wind was from the north, blowing the fire down on them over the road, but not across the stream in the direction in which they were going.
Paul got into the trap quickly, and Micmac galloped on and on and on until, though the smoke was still thick, they were safe. At last Paul pulled up, and looked back. The road along which they had come was a sheet of flame, and he shuddered as he thought of what might have happened. There were so many pine trees to burn, and to fall burning, while the side of the river on which they were was covered with alder bushes and rocks, and the wind, too, was blowing that way.
“Now!” he gasped hoarsely, for his throat was dry and parched. “Now!”
And Launa threw off her rug. Paul was black, his face was flaming and smutty, his cap had blown off, and his hair stood on end. Her rug was singed. Micmac had a burn, where a piece of wood had fallen on him, and he was trembling when Launa got out and patted him, talking while she did it.
“My darling,” murmured Paul, going up to her, “you are safe; you behaved like an angel.”
He looked at his hands and did not touch her.