Part 15

They were now above the swift army of flame and a little off the west flank of it. They could see into a red, smoky, luminous gulf, leagues long and wide, beneath the night-shadow. Ten thousand torches of balsam and spruce and pine and hemlock sent aloft their reeling towers of flame and flung their light through the long valley. It illumined a black, wind-driven cloud of smoke waving over the woodland like a dismal flag of destruction. A great wedge of flame was rending its way northward. Sparks leaped along the sides of it like fiery dust beneath the feet of the conqueror. They rose high and drifted over the lake chasm and fell in a sleet of fire on the lighted waves. The loose and tattered jacket of many an old stub was tom into glowing rags and scattered by the wind. Some hurtled off a mile or more from their source, and isolated fountains of flame were spreading here and there on balsam flats near the lake margin. Some of the tall firs, when first touched by the cinder-shower, were like great Christmas-trees hung with tinsel and lighted by many candles. New-caught flames, bending in the wind, had the look of horses at full gallop. Ropes and arrows and spears and lances of fire were flying and curveting over the doomed woods.

The travellers halted only for a moment. They could feel the heat on their faces. Black smoke had begun to roll over the heights around them.

"It'll go up the valley in an hour an' cut Silas off," Sinth whimpered as they went on.

"He must have crossed the valley before now," the young man assured her.

The woman ran ahead and called, loudly, "Silas! Silas!" She continued calling as they hurried on through thickening smoke. They halted for a word at Leonard's Trail, which left the main thoroughfare to Rainbow, and, going down the east side of the ridge, fared away some ten miles over hill and dale to the open country.

It was at right angles with the way of the wind and would soon lead them out of danger.

"Make for Benson Falls with the childem!" cried Sinth. "I'm goin' after Silas." She knew that her brother would surely be coming--that, seeing the fire, he would take any hazard to reach them.

Master knew not what to do. He had begun to worry about the people at Buckhom, but his work was nearer to his hand. It was there at the fork in the trail. He sent a loud, far-reaching cry down the wind, but heard no answer.

"He'll take care of himself--you'd better get away from this valley," he called.

An oily top had taken fire below and within a hundred yards of them.

"Go, go quick, an' save them childern!" she urged. Then she ran away from him.

She hurried along the top of the ridge, calling as she went. A dim, misty glow filled the cavern of the woods around her. Just ahead drops of fire seemed to be dripping through the forest roof. It failed to catch. It would let her go a little farther, and she pressed on. A fold of the great streamer of smoke was rent away and rolled up the side of the ridge and covered her. She sank upon her knees, nearly smothered, and put her skirt over her face. The cloud passed in a moment. Her sleeve caught fire and she put it out with her hand. She felt her peril more keenly and tried to run. She heard Zeb sniffing and coughing near. Master had let him go, thinking that he might help her in some way. She stooped and called to him and took hold of the dragging rope. The dog pressed on so eagerly that he carried part of her weight. A broken bough in a tree-top just ahead of her had caught fire and swung like a big lantern. She had no sooner passed than she heard the tree burst into flame with a sound like the frying of fat. She felt her hand stinging her and saw that a little flame was running up the side of her skirt. She cried, "Mercy!" and knelt and smothered it with her hands. Gasping for breath, she fell forward, her face upon the ground.

"Silas Strong," she moaned, "you got to come quick or I won't never see you again." The dog heard her and licked her face.

Down among the ferns and mosses she found a stratum of clear air, and in a moment rose and reeled a few steps farther. The flank of the invader had overrun the heights. Her seeking was near its end. Showers of fire were falling beyond and beside her. She lay down and covered her face to protect it from heat and smoke. She rose and staggered on, calling loudly. Then she heard a bark from Zeb and the familiar halloo of Silas Strong.

Through some subtle but sure intuition the two had known what to expect of each other and had clung to the trail. She saw him running out of the smoke-cloud and whipping his arms with his old felt hat. One side of his beard was burned away. He picked her up as if she had been a child and ran down the east side of the ridge with her, leaping over logs and crashing through fallen tops. Beyond the showering sparks he stopped and smothered a circle of creeping fire on her skirt. Sinth lay in his arms moaning and sobbing. He shook her and shouted, almost fiercely, "The leetle f-fawns--wh-where be they?"

"Gone with him on Leonard's Trail," Sinth answered, brokenly.

He entered a swamp in the dim-lighted forest, now running, now striding slowly through fallen timber and up to his knees in the damp earth. Every moment the air was growing clearer. He ran over a hard-wood hill and slackened pace while he made his way half across a wide flat.

When he struck the trail to Benson Falls the fire-glow was fainter. Now and then a great, rushing billow of light swept over them and vanished. He stopped and blew and put Sinth on her feet.

"Hard n-night, sis," said he, tenderly.

She stood and made no answer. In a flare of firelight he saw that she was holding out one of her hands. He struck a match and looked at it and made a rueful cluck. The fire of the match seemed to frighten her; she staggered backward and fell with a cry. He caught her up and strode slowly on. Soon she seemed to recover self-control and lay silent. He was in great pain; he was reeling under his burden, but he kept on. She put up a hand and felt his face.

"Why, Silas," she said, in a frightened voice, "you're crying."

It was then that he fell to the ground helpless.

XXXV

TERROR had begun to spread in the wilderness north of Rainbow. The smoky wind, the growing firelight had roused all the children of the forest. Chattering birds rose high and took the way of the wind to safety. One could see flying lines of wild-fowl in the lighted heavens; faintly, as they passed, one could hear their startled cries. Deer ran aimlessly through the woods like frightened sheep. From scores of camps on lake and pond and river--from Buckhorn, from Barsook, from Five Ponds, from Sabattis, from Big and Little Sandy, from Lost River--people, who had seen the fire coming, were on their way out of the woods.

Master ran at first down Leonard's Trail with the boy and girl in his arms. Soon his thoughts halted him. He had withstood the severest trial that may be set before a man. To be compelled to seek safety with the children, while a woman took the way of peril before his eyes, had made him falter a moment.

He hoped that Sinth had left the ridge, now overrun with flames, and fled down the slope. If so she would be looking for Leonard's Trail. He stopped every few paces and sent a loud halloo into the woods. Fire was crackling down the side of the ridge. As he looked back it seemed to him that the great lake of hell must be flooding into the world.

Soon the trail led him to Sinth, who was on her knees and sobbing beside her brother.

That wiry little woman had struggled there alone with energy past all belief. She thought only of the danger and forgot her pain. She had toiled with the heavy body of her brother, as the ant toils with a burden larger than itself, dragging it slowly, inch by inch, in the direction of Harris's. She had moved it a distance of some fifty feet before she heard the call of Master. Then she fell moaning and clinging to the hands of him she loved better, far better even, than she had ever permitted herself to know. It may well be doubted--O you who have probably lost patience with her long ago!--if anything in human history is more wonderful than the lonely struggle of hers in that dim, flaring, threatening hell-glow.

Master quickly knelt by the fallen Emperor. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"He's gi'n out--done fer me until he can't do no more," she wailed.

She put her arms around the great breast of the man and laid her cheek upon it tenderly. Then her heart, which had always hidden its fondness, spoke out in a broken cry:

"Silas Strong--speak t' me. I can't--I can't spare ye nohow--I can't spare ye."

The children knelt by her and called with frightened voices: "Uncle Silas! Uncle Silas!" Strong began to move. Those beloved voices had seemed to call him back. He put his hand on the head of Sinth and drew it close to him.

"B-better times!" he whispered. "B-better times, I tell ye, s-sis!"

He struggled to his knees.

"S-say," he said to Master, "I've been shot. T-tie yer han'kerchief r-round my arm quick." The young man tied his handkerchief as directed. Then Strong tried to rise, but his weight bore him down.

"Lie still," said Master. "I can carry you." He took the rope from Zeb's collar and looped it over the breast of the helpless man and drew its ends under his arms and knotted them. Then, while Sinth supported her brother, the young man reached backward over his shoulders and, grasping the rope, lifted his friend so their backs were against each other, and, leaning under his burden, struggled on with it, the others following.

It was a toilsome, painful journey to Harris's. But what is impossible when the strong heart of youth, warmed with dauntless courage, turns to its task? We that wonder as we look backward may venture to put the query, but dare not answer it.

Often Master fell to his knees and there steadied himself a moment with heaving breast, then tightened his thews again and rose and measured the way with slow, staggering feet.

An hour or so later a clear-voiced call rang through the noisy wind. They stopped and listened.

"Somebody coming," said Master.

He answered with, a loud halloo as they went on wearily. Soon they saw some one approaching in the dusky trail.

"Who's there?" the young man asked.

"Edith Dunmore," was the answer that trembled with gladness. "Oh, sir! I would have gone through the fire."

"I know," said he, "you would have gone through the fire."

"For--for you," she added, brokenly.

Master dared not lay down his burden. He toiled on, his heart so full that he could not answer. The girl walked beside him for a moment of solemn, suggestive silence. She could dimly see the prostrate body of Strong on the back of her lover, and understood. What a singular and noble restraint was in that meeting!

"I love you--I love you, and I want to help you," she said, as she walked beside him.

"Help Miss Strong," he answered. "She is badly burned."

Little Sue was overcome with weariness and fear, and could not be comforted.

The maiden carried her with one arm and with the other supported Sinth. So, slowly, they made their way over the rough trail.

"How came you here?" Master inquired, presently.

"We saw the fire coming and hurried to Slender Lake, and fled in boats and came down the river."

When, late in the night, the little band of lovers reeled across the dimlit clearing, it was in sore distress. Their feet dragged, their hearts and bodies stooped with heaviness. A company of woods-folk, who stood in front of Harris's looking off at the fire, ran to meet them. They lifted the dragging Emperor and helped the young man carry him in-doors. Master was no sooner relieved of his burden than he fell exhausted on the floor.

Edith Dunmore knelt by him and raised his hands to her lips. She helped him rise, and then for a moment they stood and trembled in each other's arms, and were like unto the oak and the vine that clings to it.

Dunmore and his mother stood looking at them. The white-haired man had taken the children in his arms.

"I thought she went to bed and to sleep long ago," he muttered.

"Without her we should have perished," said the old lady. .

"Yes, and she shall have her way," he answered. "One might as well try to keep the deer out of the lily-pads." He kissed the boy and girl, and added, with a sigh, "This world is for the young."

XXXVI

ALL stood aghast for a moment in the light of the lamps around the bed of Strong. His clothes were burned, bloody, and torn--they lay in rags upon him. His face and hands were swollen; part of his hair and beard had been shorn off in the storm of fire through which he had fought his way. He spoke not, but there was the grim record of his fight with the flames--of the terrible punishment they had put upon him while the sturdy old lover sought his friends. All hands made haste to do what they could for him and for the woman he had carried out of the fire of the pit.

He had told Master that Annette was waiting for him at the Falls. The young man sent Harris to bring her with horse and buckboard.

Strong lay like one dead while they gave him spirits and bathed his face and hands in oil. Soon he revived a little.

"It's Business," he muttered.

In a moment his thoughts began to wander in a curious delirium filled with suggestions of the old cheerfulness. He sang, feebly:

"The briers are above my head, the brakes above

my knee,

An' the bark is gettin' kind o' blue upon the ven'son-

tree."

Rain had begun falling and daylight was on the window-panes.

The dethroned Emperor continued to sing fragments of old songs so familiar to all who knew him.

"It was in the summer-time when I sailed, when I

sailed,"

he sang. Socky stood by the bed of his uncle with a sad face.

"Th-thumbs down," Strong demanded, faintly. Master went out on the little veranda and looked down the road. He could hear the voice of his friend singing:

"The green groves are gone from the hills, Maggie."

"It is true," thought the young man as he looked off at the smouldering woods. "They are gone and so are the green hearts."

Annette came presently and Strong rose on his elbow and looked at her.

"Ann," he called, as she knelt by his bedside. "To-day--to-day! It's n-no' some day any m-more. It's to-day."

He sank back on his pillow when he saw her tears, and whispered, almost doubtfully, "Better t-times!"

He leaned forward and put up his hands as if to relieve the pressure of his pack-straps, and in a moment he had gone out of hearing on a trail that leads to the "better times" he had hoped for, let us try to believe.

So ends the history of Silas Strong, guide, contriver, lover of the woods and streams, of honor and good-fellowship. He was never to bow his head before the dreaded tyrant of this world. We may be glad of that, and remember gratefully and with renewed thought of our own standing that Strong was ahead.

A curious procession made its way out of the woods that morning. Socky and Sue walked ahead. Master and Edith and her father followed. Then came the boat-jumper with Sinth and all that remained of Silas Strong in it; then the buckboard that carried Harris and old Mrs. Dunmore and the servants. Slowly they made their way towards the sown land.

"What ye cryin' fer?" a stranger asked the children as he passed them.

"Our Uncle Silas died," was the all-sufficient reply of Socky.

Soon they could hear the roar of the saws.

"Look!" said Dunmore to his daughter, as they came in sight of the mill chimney. "There's the edge of the great world."

He looked thoughtfully at the children a moment and added:

"It all reminds me of the words of a mighty teacher, 'A little child shall lead them.'"

And what of Migley and the rest? Word of his harshness in driving Sinth and the children out of their home had travelled over the land, and not all the king's money could have saved him. Master went to the Legislature--where God prosper him!--and the young lumberman was condemned to obscurity.

Master and Edith live at Clear Lake most of the year, and the cranes have brought them a young fairy regarded by Socky and Sue, who often visit there, with deep interest and affection. Sinth will spend the rest of her days, probably, in the home of Gordon at Benson Falls.

As to Annette, like many daughters of the Puritan, she lives with a memory, and her hope is still and all in that "some day," gone now into the land of faith and mystery.

The once beautiful valley of Rainbow was turned into black ruins that night of the fire. Soon a "game pirate," who had "blabbed" in a spree, was arrested for the crime of causing it. The authorities promised to let him go if he would tell the truth. He told how he had been with "Red" Macdonald that night and saw him fire the woods. They fled to the shore of Rainbow and crossed in a boat. Near the middle of the lake they broke an oar, and a mile of green tops had begun to "fry" before they landed. They ran eastward in a panic. They crossed Bushrod Creek on a big log that spanned the water. At the farther end of it Macdonald, who was in the lead, put his foot in one bear-trap and fell into another. His friend tried to release him, but soon had to give up and run for his life.

He went with an officer and found the heap of bones that lay between two rusty traps in the desolate valley.

"After all, he got exac'ly what was comin' to him," said he, looking down at the ghastly thing. "It was him shot the 'Emp'ror o' the Woods.'" Who was to pay Macdonald for his work? That probably will never be known.