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 Cæsar. 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' Cæsar, why, Cæsar'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 Cæsar'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 Cæsar.
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.