THE BACK-FIRE
Target pounded over the scaly ground and thundered into the hard trail.
Then he stretched out. As we cleared the last obstructing pile of rocks I
looked back. There was a vast wave of fire rolling up the canyon and
spreading up the slopes. It was so close that I nearly fainted. With both
hands knotted and stiff I clung to the pommel in a cold horror, and I
looked back no more to see the flames reaching out for me. But I could
not keep the dreadful roar from filling my ears, and it weakened me so
that I all but dropped from the saddle. Only an unconscious instinct to
fight for life made me hold on.
Blue and white puffs of smoke swept by me. The trail was a dim, twisting
line. The slopes and pines, merged in a mass, flew backward in brown
sheets. Above the roar of the pursuing fire I heard the thunder of Target's
hoofs. I scarcely felt him or the saddle, only a motion and the splitting
of the wind.
The fear of death by fire, which had almost robbed me of strength, passed
from me. My brain cleared. Still I had no kind of hope, only a desperate
resolve not to give up.
The great bay horse was running to save his life and to save mine. It was a
race with fire. When I thought of the horse, and saw how fast he was going,
and realized that I must do my part, I was myself again.
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