Hugh couldn’t have told why he kept his eyes upon the old bear with such entranced attention. For an instant he forgot his task, the dreadful beauty of the fire-lighted forest, and even Alice, riding back and forth on her horse. He seemed to know that from this shaggy forest creature he was to receive a sign that must not be ignored or missed. “The wild folk show the way,” is one of the oldest maxims of the forest, and Hugh had learned his lesson. He was the shepherd, but also he was the forester. And the simple faith, the humbleness, the sure and inner knowledge of the Indian had come to him at last.
The bear seemed distressed. For a moment he stood quite still, then turned his great head this way and that. And then he turned back, running at top speed, toward the fire.
Even before his senses made verification, Hugh knew beyond all question what the sign betokened. While he took one breath he stood strangely silent and bowed, the lines of his face graven deep, his eyes darkened with shadows. Then he straightened. The eyes cleared and looked out straight. The lips set, the muscles seemed to gather and bunch beneath his brown skin—as if for some crucial test.
Strength was upon him. The dog circled by, seemed to sense it, and paused for an instant at his feet. Hugh listened. The air was charged full with the roar of the fire behind, but there was a new sound too. And far ahead a gray haze lay over the trees.
He signaled to the girl, then motioned toward it. He watched her face, and a great weight came upon his heart when he read in her expression the fact that she also had discerned the truth.
“We can’t go on,” he said simply. “There’s a fire in front, too.”
XXV
In the glow of the fire, and speaking just loud enough to be heard above its roar, Alice and Hugh made swift appraisal of their situation. It was not easy to be calm, to hold the body in subjugation to the brain in that death valley, between two walls of flame. Yet the calm strength of the wilderness itself seemed to be in their thews.
“Wait, wait,” the girl whispered. “Every second is precious—but give me time to think. I know this country, and I’ve got to remember how the canyons lie.”
Hugh stood silent, and endless hours seemed to go by before the girl had marshalled all her memories of the geographical nature of Smoky Land. In reality, her thoughts came quickly and surely.
“There’s only one way,” she told him at last, “and that’s only a chance. It depends on how far the fire has advanced behind us. We might ride out through the old Dark Canyon, back from the camp at Two Pines.”
“Alice, the fire has already swept it—”
“I don’t think so. The canyon is deep, and the fire hasn’t got down into it. We must run for it—and if we get through to safety we can ride to a phone on the old Lost River road. Then we can phone to the ranger station, and they may be able to rush men in time to save some of the forest.”
“But that wouldn’t save the flock—”
“No. We can’t think of that, Hugh—any more. We’ve done what we could. We’ll try to get the dog to follow us, and save him—”
“Then don’t wait any longer,” he urged her. “And kill the horse if need be.” His hands, a single instant, groped toward hers. “Goodbye—”
“Goodbye?” she questioned; and for the first time a sob caught at her throat. “What do you mean? Get up behind me. It’s the only chance—”
Her eyes leaped to his face—for the sight of a little weakness, a little sign of breaking strength. It was pale, even under the angry glow of the fire, but it seemed graven of white stone. “No,” he answered clearly. “No, Alice—just one of us must go—”
“Then I’ll stay too. I won’t go alone.”
“Listen!” His voice, ringing out in command above the roar of the flames, held her and silenced her. “You’re wasting precious seconds. The only way you can help is to ride—fast as the horse can run—and try to send rangers to make a last stand in the canyon, and maybe help me out with the sheep. The horse couldn’t make good time with both of us; it would just mean that both of us would die, caught between those two fires. One of us has got to stay here and try the best he can to head the sheep back in the direction that we’ve come—to follow you through the canyon. The wind might change—the fire might not be able to work down at once to the canyon floor—and we might all get through.”
“There’s no hope of that. It means death for you—that’s all it means. And there’s plenty of time for both of us if you’d just leave the sheep. Oh, please—”
She looked down in desperate appeal, and she knew her answer when she found a strange little ghost of a smile at his white lips. “But a good herder—doesn’t leave his sheep,” he told her soberly. The tone was perfectly simple, wholly sincere, utterly free from emotionalism or self-pity. Yet it thrilled and moved her to the depths of her being.
She understood. At last she knew this man who stood before her. Perhaps with this knowledge there came an understanding of the whole great race of men—the breed that has waged war with the powers of the wilderness, who have driven back the beast and plowed the fields, established a protectorate over the wild creatures, and followed the flocks at the
