His feet intuitively turned back to the burned district. There might yet be more work for him to do.
He determined to pick his way across the ruins, and ascending the hill opposite make another desperate effort to find Gail. After a fatiguing climb over hot embers and around the twisted steel skeletons of burned-out buildings he finally stood on the rim of the hill above the saucer-shaped valley of flames. Only charred and smoking ruins were about him. The beautiful residential district had like the business sections below, been swept with the fires of destruction.
Where was Gail? Was she safe? Was she dead? Would he ever find her? These were some of the questions that kept him in agonizing incertitude.
There was a weird uncanny attraction about this great amphitheatre of flame—an attraction like that of a lodestone; and he feared lest Gail had left her refuge in a vain search for her father and met with another serious accident. Roderick had visited all the unburned hospitals, but no trace of General Holden had he been able to find. The quest for both must be resumed; so down the hill he trudged again.
Ashes and burning cinders were falling like huge flakes of snow. Once more Roderick was in the midst of a throng of people—gaunt and hollow-eyed, wearied and worn-out, just staggering along. At last he recognized the little park in front of the St. Francis Hotel. Yes, he would go there, stretch himself on the grass, and rest and sleep for at least a few hours. This would make him ill the fitter for his task of searching.
Just as he was about to cross the street a dozen people shouted for him to look out; but he did not turn quickly enough to discover nor escape a burning wooden rafter that fell from the upper story of a building and struck him an ugly glancing blow on the head. Roderick dropped to the ground unconscious.
At this very moment a Red Cross automobile was passing. It stopped abruptly at the sidewalk. Two men stepped quickly down and lifted the almost lifeless body into the machine. A moment later the auto glided away down a side street in the direction of Golden Gate Park.
That night there were many in the camps of refuge around the burning city who thought about the tall, strong-muscled, square-jawed young stranger in khaki garb, while their hearts welled up with gratitude for his timely assistance and chivalrous deeds of bravery. Had they but known of the fate that had at last befallen their nameless hero, grateful thoughts would have been turned into fervent prayers.