FROM OUT OF THE ABYSS
Joan swayed where she stood. She stumbled and fell; and the fall went
on, and on, and on. It seemed to her that she was rushing down through
endless space toward terrors beyond all believing. It seemed to her
that a terrific wind was beating on her, and driving her downward
toward a fiercely storm-swept ocean, whose black, hideous waves were
ever reaching up to engulf her.
She cried out. She knew she cried out, and she knew she cried out in
vain. Some one, it seemed to her, was far, far up above her, watching,
seeking to aid her, but powerless to respond to her heart-broken
cries. Still she called, and she knew she must go on calling, till the
dark seas below drowned the voice in her throat.
Now shadows arose about her, mocking, cruel shadows. They were
definite figures, but she could not give them definite form in her
mind. She reached out toward them, clutching vainly at fluttering
shapes, but ever missing them in her headlong career. She sped on,
buffeted and hurtling, and torn; on, on, making that hideous journey
through space.
Her despairing thoughts flashed at lightning speed through her
whirling brain. Faster they came, faster and faster, till she had no
time to recognize, no power to hold them. She could see them, yes, she
could literally see them sweep by, vanishing like shadows in that
black space of terror.
Then came a sudden accession of sharp stabbing pain. It seemed to tick
through her body as might a clock, and each stab came as with the sway
of the pendulum, and with a regularity that was exquisite torture. The
stabs of pain came quicker, the pendulum was working faster. Faster
and faster it swung, and so the torture was ever increasing. Now the
pain was in her head, her eyes, her ears, her brain. The agony was
excruciating. Her head was bursting. She cried louder and louder, and,
with every cry, the pain increased until she felt she was going mad.
Then suddenly the pendulum stopped swinging and her cries and her
agony ceased, and all was still, silent and dark.
It might have been a moment, or it might have been ages. Suddenly this
wonderful peace was disturbed. It was as though she had just awakened
from a deep refreshing sleep in some strange, unfamiliar world. The
darkness remained, but it was the darkness of peace. The beating wind
had gone, and she only heard it sighing afar off. She was calling
again, but no longer in despair. She was calling to that some one far
above her with the certain knowledge that she would be answered. The
darkness was passing, too. Yes, and she was no longer falling, but
soaring up, up, winging her way above, without effort, without pain.
The savage waves were receding, their voices had died to a low murmur,
like the voice of a still, summer sea on a low foreshore. Now, too,
between every cry she waited for that answer which she knew must be
forthcoming. It was some man's voice she was awaiting, some man,
whose name ever eluded her searching brain. She strained to hear till
the pulses of her ear-drums throbbed, for she knew when she heard the
voice she would recognize the speaker.
Hark, there it was, far, far away. Yes, she could hear it, but how far
she must have fallen. There it was again. It was louder, and--nearer.
Again and again it came. It was quite plain. It was a voice that set
her brain and heart afire with longing. It was a voice she loved more
than all the world. Hark! What was that it said? Yes, there it was
again.
"Pore little gal, pore little Joan."
Now she knew, and a flood of thankfulness welled up in her heart. A
great love thrilled through her veins, and tears flooded her eyes,
tears of thankfulness and joy. Tears for herself, for him, for all the
world. It was Buck's voice full of pity and a tender love.
In a moment she was awake. She knew she was awake to a sort of dazed
consciousness, because instantly her brain was flooded with all the
horror of memory. Memory of the storm, the fire, of the devastation of
her home.
For long minutes she had no understanding of anything else. She was
consumed by the tortures of that memory. Yes, it was still storming,
she could hear the howling of the wind, the roar of thunder, and the
hiss and crackling of fire. Where was she? Ah, she knew. She was
outside, with the fire before and behind her. And her aunt was at her
side. She reached out a hand to reassure herself, and touched
something soft and warm. But what was that? Surely it was Buck's voice
again?
"Thank God, little gal, I tho't you was sure dead."
In desperate haste she struggled to rise to her feet, but everything
seemed to rock and sway under her. And then, as Buck spoke again, she
abandoned her efforts.
"Quiet, little gal, lie you still, or I can't hold you. You're dead
safe fer the moment. I've got you. We're tryin' to git out o' this
hell, Caesar an' me. An' Caesar's sure doin' his best. Don't you worrit.
The Padre's behind, an' he's got your auntie safe."
Joan's mind had suddenly become quite clear. There was no longer any
doubt in it. Now she understood where she was. Buck had come to save
her. She was in his arms, on Caesar's back--and she knew she would be
saved.
With an effort she opened her eyes and found herself looking into the
dark face of the man she loved, and a great sigh of contentment
escaped her. She closed them again, but it was only to open them
almost immediately. Again she remembered, and looked about her.
Everywhere was the lurid glow of fire, and she became aware of intense
heat. Above her head was the roar of tempest, and the vivid, hellish
light of the storm. Buck had called it "hell."
"The whole world seems to be afire," she said suddenly.
Buck looked down into her pale face.
"Well nigh," he said. Then he added, "Yes, it's afire, sure. It's
afire that bad the Almighty alone guesses if we'll git out."
But his doubt inspired no apprehension. Somehow Joan's confidence was
the effect of his strong supporting arm.
She stirred again in his arms. But it was very gently.
"Buck," she said, "let me sit up. It will ease you--and help poor
Caesar. I'm--I'm not afraid now."
Buck gave a deep-throated laugh. He felt he wanted to laugh, now he
was sure that Joan was alive.
"You don't need. Say, you don't weigh nuthin'. An' Caesar, why, Caesar's
mighty proud I'm lettin' him carry you."
But the girl had her way, and, in a moment, was sitting up with one
arm about the man's broad shoulders. It brought her face near to his,
and Buck bent his head toward her, and kissed the wonderful ripe lips
so temptingly adjacent.
For a moment Joan abandoned herself to the joy of that kiss. Then the
rhythmic sway of Caesar's body under her reminded her that there were
other things. She wanted to ask Buck how they had known and come to
her help. She wanted to ask a dozen woman's questions. But she
refrained. Buck had spoken of "hell," and she gazed about her seeking
the reason of his doubt.
In a few minutes she was aware of it all. In a few minutes she
realized that he had well named the country through which they were
riding. In a few minutes she knew that it was a race for life, and
that their hope was in the great heart of Caesar.
Far as the eye could see in that ruddy light, tortured and distorted
by the flashes of storm above, was an ocean of fire spread out. The
crowning billows of smoke, like titanic foam-crests, rolled away
upward and onward before them. They, too, were ruddy-tinted by the
reflection from below. They crowded in every direction. They swept
along abreast of them, they rose up behind them, and the distance was
lost in their choking midst. The scorching air was laden to
suffocation by the odors of burning resin. She knew they were on a
trail, a narrow, confined trail, which was lined by unburnt woods. And
the marvel of it filled her.
"These woods are untouched," she said.
Again Buck laughed. It was a grim laugh which had no mirth, but yet
was it dashed by a wonderful recklessness.
"So far," he said. Then he added, with a quick look up at the belching
smoke, "If they weren't I don't guess we'd be here now. Say, it's
God's mercy sure this trail heads from the farm southeast. Further on
it swings away at a fork. One trail goes due east, an' the other
sou'west. One of 'em's sure cut by the fire. An' the other--wal, it's
a gamble with luck."
"It's the only way out?" The girl's eyes were wide with her question
and the knowledge of the meaning of a reply in the affirmative.
"That's so."
"We're like--rats in a trap."
A sharp oath escaped the man's lips.
"We ain't beat yet," he cried fiercely.
The reply was the heart of the man speaking. Joan understood it. And
from it she understood more. She understood the actual peril in the
midst of which they were.
There was nothing more to be said. Buck's whole attention was upon the
billows of smoke and the lurid reflections thereon. The thunders above
them, the blinding lightnings, left him undisturbed. The wind, the
smoke and the fire were his only concern now. Already, ahead, he could
see in the vague light where the trail gave to the left. Beyond that
was the fork.
Joan gave no thought to these things. She had no right understanding
of how best they could be served. She was studying the face of the
man, the dark, brave face that was now her whole world. She was aware
of the horseman behind, with his burden, she was aware of the horrors
surrounding them, but the face of the man held her, held her without a
qualm of fear--now. If death lay before them she was in his arms.
Buck's thoughts were far enough from death. He had snatched the woman
he loved from its very jaws, and he had no idea of yielding. There was
no comfort for him in the thought of their dying together. Living,
yes. Life was more sweet to him just then than ever it had been
before. And he meant that they two should live on, and on.
They passed the bend and the forking trail loomed up amidst the
shadows. The crisis had come. And as they reached the vital spot Buck
took hold of the horse and reined him up. In a moment the Padre was at
his side with his inanimate burden.
Joan stared at the still form of her relative while the men talked.
"It's got us beat to the eastward," said Buck, without a moment's
hesitation.
"Yes. The fire's right across the trail. It's impassable."
The Padre's eyes were troubled. The eastward trail led to the open
plains.
"We must make the other," Buck said sharply, gathering up his reins.
"Yes. That means----"
"Devil's Hill, if the fire ain't ahead of us."
"And if it is?" Curiously enough the Padre, even, seemed to seek
guidance from Buck.
"It sure will be if we waste time--talkin'."
Caesar leapt at his bit in response to the sharp stroke of the spur.
Now Buck had no thought for anything but the swift traveling fire on
his left. It was the pace of his horse against the pace at which the
gale was driving this furnace. It was the great heart of his horse
against endurance. Would it stand the test with its double burden? If
they could reach that bald, black hill, there was safety and rest. If
not--but they must reach it. They must reach it if it was the last
service he ever claimed from his faithful servant. For once in his
life the mystery of the hill afforded Buck hope and comfort. For once
it was a goal to be yearned for, and he could think of no greater
delight than to rest upon its black summit far from the reach of the
hungry flames, that now, like an invading army, were seeking by every
means to envelop him.
Could they make it?
A hundred thoughts and sensations were passing through the man's body
and mind. He was sub-consciously estimating Caesar's power by the gait
at which he was traveling. He was guessing at the rate of the racing
fire. He was calculating the direction of the wind to an absurd
fraction. He was observing without interest the racing of a strangely
assorted commingling of forest creatures down the trail, seeking
safety in flight from the speeding fire. He cared nothing for them. He
had no feelings of pity for anything or any one but Joan. Every hope
in his heart, every atom of power in his body, every thought was for
her well-being and ultimate safety. Oh, for the rain; oh, for such a
rain as he had seen that time before.
But the storming heavens were dry-eyed and merciless. That freakish
phenomenon of a raging thunder-storm without the usual deluge of rain
was abroad with all its deadly danger. It was extraordinary. It was so
extraordinary that Buck was utterly at a loss. Why, why? And his
impatient questioning remained without answer. There had been every
indication of rain and yet none had come----What was that?
Caesar suddenly seemed to sway drunkenly. He shook his head in the
manner of a horse irritated, and alarm set his ears flat back in his
head, and he stretched his neck, and, of his own accord, increased his
pace. Buck saw nothing to cause this sudden disturbance other than
that which had been with them all the time, and yet his horse's alarm
was very evident.
A moment later occurred something still more unusual. Caesar stumbled.
He did not fall. It was a mere false step, and, as he recovered, Buck
felt the poor beast trembling under him. Was it the end of his
endurance? No. The horse was traveling even faster than before, and he
found it necessary to check the faithful creature, an attention that
quickly aroused its opposition.
Buck's puzzled eyes lifted from his horse to the rapidly nearing fire.
It must be that Caesar must have realized its proximity, and, in his
effort to outstrip it, had brought about his own floundering. So he no
longer checked the willing creature, and the race went on at the very
limit of the horse's pace. Then, in a moment, again came that absurd
reeling and uncertainty. And Buck's added puzzlement found expression
in words, while his eyes watched closely for some definite cause.
"Ther's suthin' amiss with Caesar," he said, with an unconcern of
manner which his words belied.
"What do you mean?" Joan's eyes lifted to his in sudden alarm. Then
she added, "I seemed to notice something."
"Seems like he's--drunk." Buck laughed.
"Perhaps--the earth's shaking. I shouldn't wonder, with this--this
storm."
"Shaking?"
Buck echoed her word, but his mind had suddenly seized upon it with a
different thought from hers. If the earth were shaking, it would not
be with the storm above. His eyes peered ahead. Devil's Hill lay less
than a mile away, and that was where he reckoned the fire would strike
the trail. Devil's Hill. A sudden uncomfortable repulsion at the
thought of its barren dome took hold of him. For some subtle reason it
no longer became the haven to be yearned for that it had been. Rather
was it a resting-place to be sought only in extremity--if the earth
were shaking.
His attention now became divided between the fire and Caesar. The horse
was evidently laboring. He was moving without his accustomed freedom
of gait, and yet he did not seem to be tiring.
Half the distance to the foot of the hill had been covered. The fire
was nearing rapidly, so near indeed was it that the air was alive with
a perfect hail of glowing sparks, swept ahead of it by the terrific
wind. The scorching air was becoming unendurable, and the mental
strain made the trail seem endless, and their efforts almost hopeless.
Buck looked down at the girl's patient face.
"It's hot--hot as hell," he said with another meaningless laugh.
The girl read through his words and the laugh--read through them to
the thought behind them, and promptly protested.
"Don't worry for me. I can stand--anything now."
The added squeeze of her arm upon his shoulders set Buck's teeth
gritting.
Suddenly he reined Caesar in.
"I must know 'bout that--shakin'," he said.
For a second the horse stood with heaving body. It was only a moment,
but in that moment he spread out his feet as though to save himself
from falling. Then in answer to the spur he sped on.
"It's the earth, sure," cried Buck. And had there been another escape
he would have turned from the barren hill now rising amidst the
banking smoke-clouds ahead of him.
"Earthquake!" said the girl.
"Yes."
Nothing more was said. The air scorched their flesh, and Joan was
fearful lest the falling sparks should fire her clothing. With every
passing moment Caesar was nearing their forbidding goal. The fire was
so adjacent that the roar and crackle of it shrieked in their ears,
and through the trees shone the hideous gleam of flame. It was neck
and neck, and their hope lay beneath them. Buck raked the creature's
flanks again with his spurs, and the gallant beast responded. On, on
they sped at a gait that Buck knew well could not last for long. But
with every stride the hill was coming nearer, and it almost seemed as
if Caesar understood their necessity, and his own. Once Joan looked
back. That sturdy horse of the Padre was doggedly pursuing. Step for
step he hugged his stable companion's trail, but he was far, far
behind.
"The Padre," cried Joan. "They are a long way back."
"God help him!" cried Buck, through clenched teeth. "I can't. To wait
fer him sure means riskin' you."
"But----" Joan broke off and turned her face up to the canopy of smoke
driving across them. "Rain!" she cried, with a wild thrill of hope.
"Rain--and in a deluge."
In a moment the very heavens seemed to be emptying their reservoirs.
It came, not in drops, but in streams that smote the earth, the fire,
themselves with an almost crushing force. In less than half a minute
they were drenched to the skin, and the water was pouring in streams
from their extremities.
"We've won out," cried Buck, with a great laugh.
"Thank God," cried Joan, as she turned her scorched face up to receive
the grateful water.
Buck eased the laboring Caesar.
"That fire won't travel now, an'--ther's the hill," the man nodded.
They had steadied to a rapid gallop. The hill, as Buck indicated, was
just ahead. Joan's anxious eyes looked for the beginning of the slope.
Yes, it was there. Less than two hundred yards ahead.
The air filled with steam as the angry fire strove to battle with its
arch-enemy. But the rain was as merciless in its onslaught as had been
the storm, and the fire itself. The latter had been given full scope
to work its mischief, and now it was being called to its account.
Heavier and heavier the deluge fell, and the miracle of its
irresistible power was in the rapid fading of the ruddy glow in the
smoke-laden atmosphere. The fire was beaten from the outset and its
retreat before the opposing element was like a panic flight.
In five minutes Caesar was clawing his way up over the boulder-strewn
slopes of the hill, and Joan knew that, for the time at least, they
were safe. She knew, too, if the rain held for a couple of hours, the
blazing woods would be left a cold waste of charred wreckage.
* * * * *
But the rain did not hold. It lasted something less than a quarter of
an hour. It was like a merciful act of Providence that came at the one
moment when it could serve the fugitives. The chances had been all
against them. Buck had known it. The fire must have met them at the
foot of the hill and so barred their ultimate escape. The Padre behind
had been inevitably doomed.