“Great God, Shep!” the man cried. “Have you come back to see it through with me?”
And a light that had no kinship with the dreadful glare of the fire flashed to the man’s face. Shep was returning to his flocks. He had kept faith, after all. He was only a dog, yet to Hugh his fidelity was a clear, bright shaft of light in an impenetrable darkness. No scales of earth could measure the difference that it made to him.
Yet Shep did not come to nestle in his strong arms. Memories were flashing over him, and he remembered a morning, months ago, when one of his wards had been in danger and he himself had been powerless to save. A lamb had fallen into the torrent, and his master had gone quickly to his aid. When he was within a few feet of Hugh he paused, barking, then ran a little way back.
“What is it, Shep?” the man asked. “What do you want me to do?”
The dog barked louder, running forward again and pausing to see if his master followed. Hugh gazed at him with widening eyes. At first it did not even occur to him that Alice was in distress. He supposed that she had fled to safety long since. Yet the dog was frenzied in his eagerness, just as in times past when some beast of prey had menaced one of the sheep. And Hugh remembered that never once had the dog urged him forward without cause.
“What is it, old man?” he cried. “There’s no way out. Let’s stay with the sheep—and see it through.”
But still the animal entreated. The fire raged and roared, burning slowly on the descents, leaping with incredible fury as it mounted the ridges, advancing steadily down the floor of the valley. East, west, south and north—everywhere a wall of flame. There was no way out. Yet he could not doubt the urgency of this appeal. And all at once the instinct came to answer it.
Perhaps it was because of his abiding faith in the animal’s intelligence, perhaps just that in this final hour he knew that any miracle might come to pass. He sprang up, and he didn’t try to keep up with the dog at a walking pace. He ran from the first step.
The dead logs across the trail, the hills and steeps, the narrow passes between the walls of brush did not check his pace at all. The air surged into his lungs in great sobs, his muscles ached and burned as if the flames had already reached them. He knew—by token of a clear voice within himself—that he was running for a life—one that was very dear to him and must be saved at all cost.
Her arms still pinioned, Alice sat waiting for the end. It was hard to be brave in the ever-nearing presence of the flames. If there had been a cheering word from one she loved, one touch of a friendly hand, the moments would not seem so terrible and long. But she was helpless and alone, and all hope of aid was gone.
The way out of the fire trap was irremediably closed. True, there was a territory of large extent behind her not yet burned over, and she knew that if Hugh and his flock still lived they were in that space. In all directions raged the fire, and now the flames had stretched their terrible barrier clear across the little canyon in which she was a prisoner. Even if by some miracle her arms should be freed she could not escape. No human being could pass that flaming wall in front and yet live. Because she was in the deepest part of the canyon, its shadowed mouth where it met the broader canyon of Silver Creek, the fire had not yet burned down to her, but by no thousandth chance could this last little space of forest be spared. A few moments or many: the issue was unmistakable in the end. If the fire continued its present slow advance, perhaps the fevered cycle of her blood might be repeated many times; but at any instant a falling pine top from the flaming forest above might catch the tree against which she was bound and bring the end. There was only one thing left to pray for, now. There was still the fond wish that by some miracle the passing might come swiftly, that her soul might wing its way swift and free, not struggling from a pain-racked body, out of this dreadful land of glaring sky and glaring fire. Perhaps the out trail might be level and easy, after all.
Her thoughts no longer held quite true. Strange fancies swept her; and back of them was the clear, rational, unconfused voice of hope that perhaps these portended an unconsciousness that would spare her the cruelty of the end. The night must be far advanced by now, she thought. Uncounted centuries had come and dragged away since Hugh had pressed his lips to hers and she had ridden into the greenwood. The heat of the fire above her grew steadily fiercer, and she saw with a strange sorrow that the little mountain flowers—hardy, lovely things that had weathered the drought—were withered and dying. The smoke poured in billowing storms across the mouth of the canyon. The bark of the tree felt scorching hot against her bare arms. And still the frightful glare of the sky lighted up, as if in dreadful enchantment, the little space of unburned forest where she was confined.
And now the jaws of the flame were closing behind her. Only a little island was left, and any instant the faint night wind would blow the red tongues into the
