TERROR had begun to spread in the wilderness north of Rainbow. The
smoky wind, the growing firelight had roused all the children of the
forest. Chattering birds rose high and took the way of the wind to
safety. One could see flying lines of wild-fowl in the lighted heavens;
faintly, as they passed, one could hear their startled cries. Deer ran
aimlessly through the woods like frightened sheep. From scores of camps
on lake and pond and river--from Buckhorn, from Barsook, from
Five Ponds, from Sabattis, from Big and Little Sandy, from Lost
River--people, who had seen the fire coming, were on their way out of
the woods.
Master ran at first down Leonard's Trail with the boy and girl in his
arms. Soon his thoughts halted him. He had withstood the severest trial
that may be set before a man. To be compelled to seek safety with the
children, while a woman took the way of peril before his eyes, had made
him falter a moment.
He hoped that Sinth had left the ridge, now overrun with flames, and
fled down the slope. If so she would be looking for Leonard's Trail. He
stopped every few paces and sent a loud halloo into the woods. Fire was
crackling down the side of the ridge. As he looked back it seemed to him
that the great lake of hell must be flooding into the world.
Soon the trail led him to Sinth, who was on her knees and sobbing beside
her brother.
That wiry little woman had struggled there alone with energy past all
belief. She thought only of the danger and forgot her pain. She had
toiled with the heavy body of her brother, as the ant toils with a
burden larger than itself, dragging it slowly, inch by inch, in the
direction of Harris's. She had moved it a distance of some fifty feet
before she heard the call of Master. Then she fell moaning and clinging
to the hands of him she loved better, far better even, than she had
ever permitted herself to know. It may well be doubted--O you who have
probably lost patience with her long ago!--if anything in human history
is more wonderful than the lonely struggle of hers in that dim, flaring,
threatening hell-glow.
Master quickly knelt by the fallen Emperor. "What's the matter?" he
asked.
"He's gi'n out--done fer me until he can't do no more," she wailed.
She put her arms around the great breast of the man and laid her cheek
upon it tenderly. Then her heart, which had always hidden its fondness,
spoke out in a broken cry:
"Silas Strong--speak t' me. I can't--I can't spare ye nohow--I can't
spare ye."
The children knelt by her and called with frightened voices: "Uncle
Silas! Uncle Silas!" Strong began to move. Those beloved voices had
seemed to call him back. He put his hand on the head of Sinth and drew
it close to him.
"B-better times!" he whispered. "B-better times, I tell ye, s-sis!"
He struggled to his knees.
"S-say," he said to Master, "I've been shot. T-tie yer
han'kerchief r-round my arm quick." The young man tied his handkerchief
as directed. Then Strong tried to rise, but his weight bore him down.
"Lie still," said Master. "I can carry you." He took the rope from Zeb's
collar and looped it over the breast of the helpless man and drew its
ends under his arms and knotted them. Then, while Sinth supported her
brother, the young man reached backward over his shoulders and, grasping
the rope, lifted his friend so their backs were against each other, and,
leaning under his burden, struggled on with it, the others following.
It was a toilsome, painful journey to Harris's. But what is impossible
when the strong heart of youth, warmed with dauntless courage, turns
to its task? We that wonder as we look backward may venture to put the
query, but dare not answer it.
Often Master fell to his knees and there steadied himself a moment with
heaving breast, then tightened his thews again and rose and measured the
way with slow, staggering feet.
An hour or so later a clear-voiced call rang through the noisy wind.
They stopped and listened.
"Somebody coming," said Master.
He answered with, a loud halloo as they went on wearily. Soon they saw
some one approaching in the dusky trail.
"Who's there?" the young man asked.
"Edith Dunmore," was the answer that trembled with gladness. "Oh, sir! I
would have gone through the fire."
"I know," said he, "you would have gone through the fire."
"For--for you," she added, brokenly.
Master dared not lay down his burden. He toiled on, his heart so full
that he could not answer. The girl walked beside him for a moment of
solemn, suggestive silence. She could dimly see the prostrate body of
Strong on the back of her lover, and understood. What a singular and
noble restraint was in that meeting!
"I love you--I love you, and I want to help you," she said, as she
walked beside him.
"Help Miss Strong," he answered. "She is badly burned."
Little Sue was overcome with weariness and fear, and could not be
comforted.
The maiden carried her with one arm and with the other supported Sinth.
So, slowly, they made their way over the rough trail.
"How came you here?" Master inquired, presently.
"We saw the fire coming and hurried to Slender Lake, and fled in boats
and came down the river."
When, late in the night, the little band of lovers reeled across the
dimlit clearing, it was in sore distress. Their feet dragged, their
hearts and bodies stooped with heaviness. A company of woods-folk, who
stood in front of Harris's looking off at the fire, ran to meet them.
They lifted the dragging Emperor and helped the young man carry him
in-doors. Master was no sooner relieved of his burden than he fell
exhausted on the floor.
Edith Dunmore knelt by him and raised his hands to her lips. She helped
him rise, and then for a moment they stood and trembled in each other's
arms, and were like unto the oak and the vine that clings to it.
Dunmore and his mother stood looking at them. The white-haired man had
taken the children in his arms.
"I thought she went to bed and to sleep long ago," he muttered.
"Without her we should have perished," said the old lady. .
"Yes, and she shall have her way," he answered. "One might as well try
to keep the deer out of the lily-pads." He kissed the boy and girl, and
added, with a sigh, "This world is for the young."