The fire's coming--it's
awful--we must fly!"
"You thought of us?" Herky's voice sounded queer and strangled. "Bud!
Bill! Did you hear thet? Wal, wal!"
While he muttered on I cut Bill's bonds. He rose without a word. Bud was
almost unconscious. He had struggled terribly. His heels had dug a hole
in the hard clay floor; his wrists were skinned; his mouth and chin covered
with earth, probably from his having bitten the ground in his agony. Herky
helped him up and gave him a drink from a little pocket-flask.
"Herky, if you think you've rid some in your day, look at thet hoss," said
Bill, coolly, from the door. He eyed me coolly; in fact, he was as cool as
if there were no fire on Penetier. But Bud was white and sick, and Herky
flaming with excitement.
"We hain't got a chance. Listen! Thet roar! She's hummin'."
"It's runnin' up the draw. We don't stand no showdown in hyar. Grab a hoss
now, an' we'll try to head acrost the ridge."
I remounted Target, and the three men caught horses and climbed up
bareback. Bill led the way across the glade, up the slope, into the level
forest. There we broke into a gallop. The air upon this higher ground was
dark and thick, but not so hard to breathe as that lower down. We pressed
on. For a while the roar receded, and almost deadened.
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