"It's got us beat to the eastward," said Buck, without a moment's hesitation.
"Yes. The fire's right across the trail. It's impassable."
The Padre's eyes were troubled. The eastward trail led to the open plains.
"We must make the other," Buck said sharply, gathering up his reins.
"Yes. That means----"
"Devil's Hill, if the fire ain't ahead of us."
"And if it is?" Curiously enough the Padre, even, seemed to seek guidance from Buck.
"It sure will be if we waste time--talkin'."
Cæsar leapt at his bit in response to the sharp stroke of the spur.
Now Buck had no thought for anything but the swift traveling fire on his left. It was the pace of his horse against the pace at which the gale was driving this furnace. It was the great heart of his horse against endurance. Would it stand the test with its double burden? If they could reach that bald, black hill, there was safety and rest. If not--but they must reach it. They must reach it if it was the last service he ever claimed from his faithful servant. For once in his life the mystery of the hill afforded Buck hope and comfort. For once it was a goal to be yearned for, and he could think of no greater delight than to rest upon its black summit far from the reach of the hungry flames, that now, like an invading army, were seeking by every means to envelop him.
Could they make it?
A hundred thoughts and sensations were passing through the man's body and mind. He was sub-consciously estimating Cæsar's power by the gait at which he was traveling. He was guessing at the rate of the racing fire. He was calculating the direction of the wind to an absurd fraction. He was observing without interest the racing of a strangely assorted commingling of forest creatures down the trail, seeking safety in flight from the speeding fire. He cared nothing for them. He had no feelings of pity for anything or any one but Joan. Every hope in his heart, every atom of power in his body, every thought was for her well-being and ultimate safety. Oh, for the rain; oh, for such a rain as he had seen that time before.
But the storming heavens were dry-eyed and merciless. That freakish phenomenon of a raging thunder-storm without the usual deluge of rain was abroad with all its deadly danger. It was extraordinary. It was so extraordinary that Buck was utterly at a loss. Why, why? And his impatient questioning remained without answer. There had been every indication of rain and yet none had come----What was that?