"Which way?" I asked Jim, when we reached the foot of the hill.
"Up the mountains, of course," was his command.
"Where are the Apaches?" I questioned.
"Ask of the winds that far around with fragments strew the sea. They have skedaddled," he continued, lapsing into prose.
"I wonder if the captain and Tom have been caught in this fire," I cried.
A fear struck to my heart. It did not seem possible that anyone could escape the devouring march of the fire. Not many would be likely to find the refuge we had.
"You may be sure of one thing," replied Jim, "and that is this, the captain will take good care of himself and Tom too."
There was ground for Jim's confidence. For the captain was a man of unlimited resource, backed by a remarkable experience and he was, no doubt, far more worried about us than we were about them.
For us it was a trying and difficult journey over this burnt section. It was hard on the horses, and must have burnt their feet cruelly. We picked our way as carefully as we could, following the gravelly stretches where it was possible so to do.
Then again, where we could do so, we would take the line of the creek that ran down the middle of the valley. There was no water in it, for it had been either choked or dried up. After all that rain of the previous day this seemed remarkable.