It was as if he had come suddenly within
the blast of a hot furnace. North and east the forest lay under
him, and only the smoke obstructed his vision. But through this
smoke he could make out a thing that made him rub his eyes in a
fierce desire to see more clearly. A mile away, perhaps two, the
conflagration seemed to be splitting itself against the tip of a
mighty wedge. He could hear the roar of it to the right of him and
to the left, but dead ahead there was only a moaning whirlpool of
fire-heated wind and smoke. And out of this, as he looked, came
again the cry,
"Andre--Andre--Andre!"
Again he stared north and south through the smoke-gloom. Mountains
of resinous clouds, black as ink, were swirling skyward along the
two sides of the giant wedge. Under that death-pall the flames
were sweeping through the spruce and cedar tops like race-horses,
hidden from his eyes. If they closed in there could be no escape;
in fifteen minutes they would inundate him, and it would take him
half an hour to reach the safety of the clearing.
His heart thumped against his ribs as he hurried down the ridge in
the direction of Black Roger's voice.
Pages:
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329