CHAPTER XV
A FLASH OF LIGHTNING
As the photograph wagon was halted at the gate which led to the ranch house grounds Lucy Davison spoke to Justin, from the rear of the wagon. Her tones were solicitous, and anxious:
“Justin,” she said, “it’s too bad to have to ask you to do it in this storm, but I wish you would go back to Mr. Jasper’s and get Ben’s pony, which he left there in the stable. I have a horse there, too, which I rode out from town. Get both of them, and put them in the stable here. You won’t mind the extra trip? I ought to have spoken to you of it before.”
Justin was about to assure her that he would go willingly; when she continued, in lower tones:
“And Justin! Don’t say anything about getting the horses from there, please. I will tell you why later. And I will explain everything to Uncle Philip.”
She had lifted the closed flap that protected the rear end of the wagon, and in the flame of the lightning which still burned across the skies he saw her pale and anxious face. She had always been beautiful in his eyes, but never more so than at that moment, while making this distressed appeal, even though her clothing exuded moisture and her hair was plastered to her head by the rain. Her pleading look haunted him for hours afterward.
“I’ll go,” he said promptly, “and I will have the horses here in a little while.”
“Thank you, Justin,” she said, in a way she had never spoken to him before. “And say nothing to anybody! I think you will not find Mr. Jasper at home; but you know where the stable is, and how to get into it.”
The wagon rolled on into the ranch house grounds, where Ben was helped out and into the house; and Justin galloped back along the trail to Sloan Jasper’s, having been given another surprise and further food for thought.
When he returned with Ben’s pony and the horse Lucy had hired in the town, and had put them in the stable with his own dripping animal, he entered the ranch house. Pearl opened the door for him; and as he removed his wet slicker he heard Philip Davison explaining to Steve Harkness that the farmers’ dam had been torn out by the storm. Then Fogg came toward him, and in the light at the farther end of the long hall he saw Lucy, who had changed her clothing and descended from her room. Ben Davison was not to be seen.
“I reckon you’re as wet as they make ’em,” said Fogg, “but, just the same, if you’ll step in here we’ll see what I’ve got on this plate.”
He was on his way to the dark room he had fitted up in the house for his photographic work.
Lucy came up to Justin, as Fogg walked on to this room. She looked him anxiously in the face.
“Yes, I brought the horses?” he said, interpreting the look.
“And said nothing to any one?”
“I have spoken to no one.”
She thanked him with her eyes.
“You are just soaked,” she said, “and you ought to go out to the bunk rooms and get dry clothing at once. I don’t want to have you get sick because of that.”
“A little wetting won’t hurt me, and I’m going in here before I change my clothes. Fogg wants to show me his picture, if he got one.”
He followed Fogg, and she went with him, without invitation.
“What sort of picture did he take? I heard him saying something about it.”
“He was trying to photograph a flash of lightning. I don’t know how he succeeded.”
He stopped at the doorway and might have said more, if Fogg had not requested him to come on in and close the door.
“This is the last plate I exposed, and I’m going to try it first,” said Fogg, as he made his preparations.
Fogg was an enthusiast on the subject of photography, and had long desired to catch a lightning flash with his camera.
“If I haven’t got it now I’ll never have a better chance. That flash, just before the dam broke—wasn’t it great? The whole sky flamed in a way to blind a fellow. For a second or so I couldn’t see a thing. I had the camera focussed and pointed just right to get that in great shape, it seems to me. Now we’ll see the result.”
He placed the plate in the tray and turned the developer on it. Justin and Lucy were standing together, with heads almost touching, watching with interest to see the picture appear.
“I’ve got something, anyhow,” said Fogg, when he saw the streak which the lightning had printed stand out, as it were, on the plate. “I think I’ve got a picture of the dam, too. The camera was trained on the mountain, right across the top of the dam; I thought if I got the lightning I might have a great combination, with the dam and other things showing.”
“You’ve got the lightning flash all right,” said Justin, bending forward.
“Yes, that’s coming out great; see the image develop!”
He stopped, with a whistle of astonishment.
“Hello!” he exclaimed. “What’s this?”
A remarkable picture was coming—had come—into view. Fogg stared, with rounded eyes; Lucy uttered a little cry of dismay and fright; Justin caught his breath with a gasp of astonishment.
Small wonder. On the end of the dam nearest the trail two human figures were shown—a man standing on the dam with axe descending and a woman rushing toward him over the slippery logs. The figures were not large, but they were portrayed clearly. They were the figures of Ben and Lucy Davison, caught there by the camera, in the mad turmoil of the lashing storm.
For a moment not a word was spoken, while the figures seemed to swim more clearly into view. Lucy broke the dead silence.
“May I see that plate, Mr. Fogg?”
Her voice was repressed and hard, as if she struggled with some violent emotion.
“I—don’t—why, yes, of course, look at it all you want to. But I don’t—”
The sentence was broken by a crash of falling glass. Lucy had either dashed the plate to the floor, or had let it fall in her agitation.
Justin almost leaped when he heard that sound. Lucy looked at him, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry out. But again she spoke, turning to Fogg.
“Well, I’m glad it’s broken!” she declared, nervously. “You saw what you saw, Mr. Fogg; but there is no reason why you should remember it. I hope you won’t. Perhaps one of the other plates will show a lightning flash. You couldn’t have used this, anyway.”
“Well, may I be—” Fogg caught himself. “Lucy, you broke that intentionally!”
She turned on him with flashing eyes.
“Mr. Fogg, I did. You saw what was in that picture. You know what it told, or you will know when you think it over. I broke it so that it could never be used or seen by anybody. I’m glad I saw it just when I did. I beg your pardon, but I had to do it.”
Was this the Lucy Justin fancied he knew so well? He was astonished beyond measure.
“Yes, I guess you’re right,” Fogg admitted, as soon as he was able to say anything. “That dam went out, and—yes, I guess you’re right! It wouldn’t do for that picture to be seen. I’ve been wondering how you happened to be where we found you, and what you and Ben were doing there.”
“Mr. Fogg,” her tones were sharp, “don’t accuse me even in your mind; I had nothing to do with it, but tried to stop it.” She hesitated. “And—whatever you think, please don’t say anything to Uncle Philip; not now, at any rate; and don’t tell him about the picture.”
She turned to the door.
“Justin,” she said, and her tones altered, “I’ll see you to-morrow; or this evening, if you like.”
“This evening,” he begged; and following her from the room, he hurried out to the bunk house to shift into dry clothing.
When he saw her again, in the little parlor, she was pale, and he thought she had been crying, but her agitation and her strange manner were both gone. He came to the window where she stood, and with her looked out into the stormy night. The white glare of the lightning illuminated the whole valley at times. About the top of the mountain it burned continually. The cottonwoods and willows were writhing by the stream. On the roof and the sides of the house the dashing rain pounded furiously.
“Justin,” she said, as he stood beside her, “I must explain that to you. You know what that picture meant?”
He wanted to fold her in his arms and comfort her, when he heard her voice break, but he checked the desire.
“I could guess,” he said.
“I came down from Denver on the late train, having missed the earlier one.”
“I was in town when the earlier one came in,” he informed her, regretting for the moment that his too speedy return had kept him from meeting her there. “If I had known you were coming!”
She looked at him fondly, as in the old days. How beautiful she was, though now very pale! He felt that he had not been mistaken in thinking her the most beautiful girl in the world. The East had certainly been kind to her.
“It was to be a surprise for you—you great boy, and for Uncle Philip. I had no idea how it would turn out. In the town I got a horse. The storm was threatening, but I thought I could get home. Just before I reached Jasper’s I overtook Ben on his pony. I’m telling you this, Justin, because I know you will never mention it!”
“I will never speak of it,” he promised.
“I knew you wouldn’t. Now, you must never mention this, either—but Ben had been drinking.”
Justin understood now the meaning of Ben’s white face and glittering eyes.
“I never knew him to drink before,” she went on, “and I shouldn’t have known it this evening but for the way he talked. Politics, and that man Arkwright, caused it, I’m sure. He was raging, Justin—that is the word, raging—against you and the farmers, and particularly against Mr. Jasper and Mr. Sanders. He claimed they had tried to get you to run against him for the legislature. He talked like a crazy man, and made such wild threats that he frightened me.”
Justin wanted to express his mind somewhat emphatically. It seemed best to say nothing; yet that picture of Ben Davison raging against him and frightening Lucy gave him a suffocating sense of wrath.
“The storm struck us just before we reached Mr. Jasper’s house, and we turned in there for shelter. Jasper wasn’t at home, but the door wasn’t locked and we went in.”
“Jasper was in town,” said Justin.
“Ben put the horses in the stable,” she went on, without noticing the interruption. “When he had done that, and had come into the house out of the rain, he began to rave again. After awhile he said he would go out and see how the horses were doing and give them some hay; but I saw him pick up an axe in the yard and start toward the dam. Though the storm was so bad, I followed him, for he had been swearing vengeance against the farmers, and from some things he had said I guessed what he meant to do. When I reached him he was on the dam, chopping at one of the key logs, and had cut it almost in two.”
She trembled, as that memory swept over her.
“I rushed out upon the dam, when I saw what he was doing, and begged him to stop. He tried to push me away, and I came near falling into the water; but I clung to him, and then the axe slipped out of his hands and fell into the stream. The logs began to crack; and that, with the loss of the axe, made him willing to go back with me. We ran, and had just reached the shore when the dam gave way. The ground was slippery, and he fell as we ran toward the house through the storm; and when he lay there like a log, and I couldn’t get him up, my nerves gave way, and I screamed. Then you heard me. That is all; except the photograph.”
The calm she had maintained with difficulty forsook her as she finished, her voice broke, and her tears fell like rain.
Justin slipped his arm about her.
“You were brave, Lucy!” was all he could find to say.
He had never realized how brave she could be.
“And, Justin, nothing must ever be said about it! It would ruin Ben; it might even put him in prison. I needn’t have told you; but I wanted to, and I know you won’t say anything about it.”
Justin did not stop to think whether this were right or wrong. He gave the promise instantly.
They began to talk of other things. She seemed not to want to say anything more on the disagreeable subject; and Justin was glad to have her talk of herself, of her school life, and her Eastern experiences. Somehow the old sense of intimacy had in a measure departed. He withdrew his hand from about her waist, that was still slender and girlish. She had been removed to a great distance from him, it seemed. Yet, outwardly, she had not changed, except for the better. She was more womanly, more gracious, now that her tears had been shed and her thoughts had turned into other channels, even than in the old days. Nevertheless, Justin could not at once summon courage to say to her the old sweet nothings in which both had delighted.
“You are still my sweetheart?” he ventured timidly, by and by. “The East hasn’t changed you any in that respect, I hope?”
She looked at him earnestly, and her eyes grew luminous.
“No, Justin, not in the least; but there is one thing, which has come to me while I was away. We aren’t children any longer.”
“I am well aware of that fact,” he said; “I have been painfully aware of it, all evening.”
She knew what he meant.
“We aren’t children any longer; you are a man now, and I am a woman. I heard a sermon the other Sunday, from those verses in which Paul said he had put away childish things and no longer acted or thought as a child. Long ago I told you that I loved you, and promised to marry you some time; I haven’t forgot that.”
“I shall never forget it!”
“But now that we’re no longer children, I think it is your duty to speak to Uncle Philip.”
The thought of facing Philip Davison on such a mission flushed Justin’s face. Yet he did not hesitate.
“I will do so,” he promised; “I ought to have been courageous enough to do it long ago, and without you telling me to.”
Instantly he felt taller, stronger, more manly. He knew he was deliriously happy. To feel the soft pressure of her body against his, the electric touch of her hand, and to hear her say that she loved him, and would some time marry him, thrilled him. He looked down into her face, with the love light strong in his eyes. He recalled how he had loved her during her long absence.
“You didn’t see any one while you were gone that you thought you could love better?”
He believed he knew what the answer would be, but he awaited it breathlessly.
“I oughtn’t to say so, Justin, until after you have spoken to Uncle Philip; but I saw no one I could love half as much as you—no one.”
“Yet you saw many men?”
She laughed lightly; it was like sunshine after rain.
“Not so very many as you might think. Mrs. Lassell’s Finishing School for Young Ladies is a very exclusive and select place, you must remember. She holds a very tight rein over the girls placed in her charge.”
“Is it so bad as that? It’s a good thing for me, I guess, that she is so careful; you might get to see someone you could like better than me.”
She laughed again, seeing the anxiety he strove to cover.
“If you’ve been accumulating wrinkles and gray hairs on account of that you’ve been very foolish.”
“Your last letter didn’t seem quite as genial as some others!”
“I didn’t underscore the important words, or write them in red ink?”
She became suddenly grave. The events of the evening haunted her like a bad dream.
He stooped low above her bended head.
“I love you,” he whispered; “and I’m going to ask you again if you love me, just to hear you say it!”
She looked up at him, tremulously.
“Justin, I love you, and I love you! There, don’t ask me again, until after you have spoken to Uncle Philip.”
His blue eyes were shining into the depths of her brown ones; and with a quick motion he stooped and kissed her.
“No one was looking, and no one could see us in here,” he said, as she gave a start and her pale face flushed rosy red.
“I will speak to Mr. Davison to-morrow,” he promised, as if to make amends.
CHAPTER XVI
BEN DAVISON’S TRIUMPH
Justin made that call on Philip Davison in much trepidation, and broached the subject with stammering hesitation and flushed face. Davison was non-committal, until he had heard him through. Yet, looking earnestly at this youth, he saw how prepossessing Justin was in appearance, how clear-cut, frank and intelligent was his face, with its expressive blue eyes, how shapely the head under its heavy, dark-brown hair. Justin’s costume was that of a cowboy, but it became him. There was a not unkindly light in Davison’s florid face and he stroked his beard thoughtfully, as Justin made his plea. But his words were not precisely what Justin hoped to hear.
“I don’t blame you for thinking well of Lucy,” he said; “she is a rare girl; and the man who takes her for his wife with my consent must show some qualities that will make me think he is worthy of her. I’ve thought well of you, Justin, and I think well of you now. That you’re a cowboy isn’t anything that I would hold against you; a cowboy can become a cattle king, if he’s got the right kind of stuff in him. Everything depends on that.”
“I intend to do something, to become something, make something of myself,” Justin urged, his face very hot and uncomfortable. “I haven’t had time to do much yet, and my opportunities haven’t been very good. I’ve succeeded in getting a pretty fair education.”
“But would you have done even that, if Clayton hadn’t driven you on to it? You’ve got brains, and he coaxed you to study, and of course you learned. But in other things you’re not doing nearly so well as Ben, for instance. Ben will go into the state legislature this fall, and he’s not so very much older than you.”
The flush deepened on Justin’s face.
“I shall try to make the most of myself,” he declared, somewhat stiffly. That reference to Ben was not pleasing.
“See that you do. Then you can come to me later. I shall speak to Lucy about this. There isn’t any hurry in the matter, for she has two more years in that school.”
He dismissed the matter abruptly, with an inquiry about the line fences and a mention of the destroyed dam.
“I told those farmers their dam wouldn’t hold,” he declared, with something akin to satisfaction in his tone. “I knew it couldn’t, the way they put it together. They wouldn’t believe me, for they thought I had some axe to grind in saying it; but now they see for themselves.”
Justin wondered what Philip Davison would say if he knew the truth. He did not even comment on Davison’s statement, but left the room as soon as he could do so without brusqueness.
Sloan Jasper, representing the opposition to Ben Davison, came to him the next day, which was Thursday.
“How about that, Justin?” he asked, anxious yet hopeful.
Justin had been given time to think, and his answer was ready.
“It wouldn’t be possible for me to run against Ben—it wouldn’t be right.”
“He ain’t fit fer the place, and you know it!”
“I can’t run against him, Mr. Jasper.”
Jasper was almost angry.
“Well, we’ll git somebody that will. You could split the cowboy vote.”
“Perhaps I could, but I can’t make the race.”
“Maybe Davison thinks we’re done fer, jist because that dam went out; but he’ll soon know better. We’ll put in a new dam, and we’ll have our rights hyer in the valley; and we’re goin’ to beat Ben Davison fer the legislature, if talk and votes and hard work can do it.”
Sloan Jasper and the farmers were very much in earnest. They found a man who was willing to stand in opposition to Ben Davison, and the campaign which followed was heated and bitter. With sealed lips Justin continued his round of work on the ranch. A word from him, from Fogg, or from Lucy Davison, would not only have wrecked Ben’s political prospects, but would have landed him in prison. That word was not spoken. The opposition exerted its entire strength, but Ben Davison was elected triumphantly.
The day Ben drove away from the ranch on his way to Denver, to become one of the legislators of the state, Philip Davison spoke again to Justin.
“There goes Ben, a member of the legislature! He’s not so very much older than you, Justin; yet see what he has accomplished, young as he is.”
“Yes, I see!” said Justin, quietly.
BOOK TWO—THE BATTLE
CHAPTER I
COWARDICE AND HEROISM
Though Justin Wingate was no longer connected with the Davison ranch he was not the less concerned when he beheld the sudden flare of flame near the head of the cañon and the cloud of smoke which now concealed it. A fire starting there in the tall grass and sedge might destroy much of the Davison range, and would endanger the unharvested crops and the homes of the valley farmers. Forest fires were ravaging the mountains, and for days the air had been filled with a haze of smoke through which the sun shone like a ball of copper. The drought of late summer had made mountain and mesa a tinder box. Hence Justin turned from the trail and rode rapidly toward the fire.
There had been many changes in Paradise Valley; but except that it had grown more bitter with the passage of time, there had been none in the attitude of the farmers and cattlemen toward each other. William Sanders was still vindictively hostile to the people of the ranch, and they disliked him with equal intensity of feeling. As for Justin, he had developed rather than changed. He was stronger mentally and physically, better poised, more self-reliant and resourceful. He had come to maturity.
He was on his way to Borden’s ranch, with some medicines for one of Clayton’s patients there. The distance was long, and he had a pair of blankets and a slicker tied together in a roll behind his saddle. Lucy Davison was in the town, making a call on an acquaintance, and he was journeying by the valley trail, hoping to meet her, or see her, as he passed that way. But thoughts of Lucy fled when he saw that fire. As he rode toward it and passed through the strong gate into the fenced land, he wondered uneasily if any plum gatherers were in the sand-plum thickets by the cañon.
Justin had not proceeded far when he heard a pounding of hoofs, and looking back he beheld Steve Harkness riding toward him at top speed. He drew rein to let Harkness approach.
“Seen Pearl and Helen anywhere?” Harkness bellowed at him.
Helen was the child of Steve and Pearl Harkness, and was now nearly two years old.
“No,” said Justin, thinking of the plum bushes. “Are they out this way?”
“I dunno where they air; but they said at the house Pearl come this way with Helen. That was more’n an hour ago. They was on horseback, she carryin’ Helen in front of her; and she had a tin bucket. So she must have been goin’ after plums. That fire made me worried about ’em.”
He rode on toward the plum bushes, and Justin followed him, through the smoke that now filled the air and obscured the sun. Harkness’s horse was the speedier, and he disappeared quickly. As he vanished, Ben Davison dashed out of the smoke and rode across the mesa. In the roar and crackle of the fire Justin heard Harkness shout at Ben, but he could not distinguish the words. Justin called to Ben, repeating what he believed had been Harkness’s question, asking if he had seen Pearl and Helen; but Ben did not hear him, or did not wish to answer. He rode right on, as if frightened. And indeed that fire, which pursued him even as he fled, was not a thing to be regarded lightly. Yet Justin wondered at Ben’s action, his wonder changing to bewilderment when he saw that a woman’s saddle was on the horse Ben rode.
A horrible suspicion was forced upon him. He knew that Ben had deteriorated; had become little better than a loafer about the stores of the little town, consorting with Clem Arkwright and kindred spirits. Arkwright had also changed for the worse. He had lost his position as justice-of-the-peace, and was now often seedy and much given to drinking. He was said to be an inveterate gambler, gaining an uncertain livelihood by the gambler’s arts. Ben Davison was never seedy. Whether he obtained his money from Davison or secured it in other ways Justin did not know, but Ben was always well dressed and had an air of prosperity.
Ben was again the candidate of the ranch interests for the legislature. Lemuel Fogg, also representing the ranch interests, had secured for himself a nomination to the state senate; for which purpose he had become temporarily a resident of the town of Cliveden, some miles away, where he had established a branch of his Denver store.
Justin’s desire for justice made him put aside the conclusion almost inevitably forced upon him by that sight of Ben Davison riding wildly away from the fire in a woman’s saddle.
Following Harkness toward the plum thickets, where the roar of the fire was loudest, he heard a woman’s scream. It was off at one side, away from the fire. Justin pulled his horse about and galloped toward the fire through the pall of smoke. In a few moments he beheld the plump form of Pearl Harkness. Helen was not with her. Seeing Justin, she ran toward him, screaming frantically.
“Helen! Helen!”
Justin stopped his horse.
“What is it? Where is she?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know! I’ve lost her! She was right here a while ago. The fire started, and I left her to get the horse; but the horse was gone, and when I tried to find her I couldn’t, the smoke was so thick. I must have got turned round.” She started on again, wildly. “Helen! Helen!”
“Can you stay here just a minute? I’ll find her, and I’ll bring her to you. Stay right here. The fire can’t get here for at least ten minutes. Stay right here.”
He feared to leave her, yet felt that he must if he hoped to save the child. Pearl Harkness seemed not to hear him. Calling the name of her child she ran on, in an agony of apprehension, choking and gasping. Lifted high above her by his horse, Justin found breathing difficult. His mind was in a puzzled whirl, when he heard the fog-horn bellow of Harkness’s heavy voice. Pearl heard it also, and ran toward Harkness with hysterical cries. Justin rode after her. Harkness appeared out of the smoke like a spectre, his horse at a dead run. When he saw Pearl he drew rein and jumped to the ground.
“Helen! Helen!” she screamed at him, stretching out her hands.
Then, before either Harkness or Justin could reach her, she pitched forward, overcome by excitement and the thick smoke. Harkness lifted her in his strong arms, clinging to his bridle rein as he did so. The bronchos were snorting and uneasy.
“I’ve got to git her out of here,” said Harkness, with tender solicitude. “Where’s Helen?”
“She must be right here somewhere; over that way, your wife said. I’ll find her.”
Harkness glared at the smoke.
“Yes, find her, and find her quick! That fire will be right on top of this place in another minute.”
He swung Pearl toward the saddle. Justin assisted him to hoist the heavy woman to the back of the horse, and held her there while he mounted. Harkness took the limp form in his arms.
“We ain’t got any time to lose!” he gasped. “Find Helen! For God’s sake, save Helen! It will kill Pearl, and me too, if you don’t. The fire is right here. For God’s sake, save her; I know you’ll do it if anybody can.”
Justin was in the saddle.
“Save your wife!” he cried. “Save your wife! I’ll find Helen! I’ll find her!”
“You’ve got to find her! Don’t stop till you find her! I reckon I’d better help you look for her.”
He could not abandon Helen; and holding his wife in his arms he rode toward the fire.
“Save your wife!” Justin shouted to him.
He was already moving off, forcing the broncho toward the point where the smoke lay heaviest. Again he shouted to Harkness, begging him to save his wife. Then a moving wall of smoke swept between them.
“Helen! Helen!” Justin began to call, circling swiftly about the spot where Pearl Harkness believed she had left her child.
The heat and smoke were becoming unbearable.
“I must find her!” was his thought, as he recalled Pearl’s hysterical screams and the anguished face of Steve Harkness.
Then, as if in a fire-framed picture, he saw her, well up toward the head of the cañon, whither she had fled in a panic of fright. The strong upward pull of the heated air, lifting the smoke for an instant, revealed her, clad in her short dress of striped calico, her yellow head bare.
As the flames flared thus on high, their angry red blending and tangling with the thick black smoke on the rim of the cañon, Justin’s broncho became almost unmanageable. He struck it now, pounding his fist against its body, kicking it mercilessly, and jerking like a madman at the sharp bit. Fighting with the scared broncho, he drove it toward the child.
She heard him call to her; and seeing him, she began to run toward him. She stumbled and fell, and rose crying. Her small face was smeared with soot and tears, with charred plum leaves and with sand. All about her, as the flames and the smoke lifted and fell under the force of the wind, flakes of soot, plum leaves, and burning grass, floated and flew. It was a wonder to Justin that her striped dress was not already ablaze. In a few moments he was at her side.
“I want my mamma!” she wailed, as he leaped down by her. “Where is my mamma?”
She pushed back the tangle of yellow hair that the wind tumbled into her face, and coughed violently. Her chubby hands were stained with tears and soot. She doubled one of them and gouged it into her eyes.
“I want my mamma!”
“I will take you to her,” Justin promised, as he tore the blankets and slicker from behind the saddle.
One of the blankets he wrapped about her; the other he threw over his shoulders and secured in place with a pin. The slicker he cast away, fearing its coating of oil would make it inflammable. Having done this, he clambered into the saddle, with the child in his arms.
But the fire had been as busy. A long red prong thrown in the direction of the ranch buildings had widened and was drawing back toward the cañon. It lapped across the open grassy space toward which he rode before he could gallop a dozen rods, thus hemming them in.
As Justin dashed furiously at this wall of flame, he drew the hood of the blanket well over his head; and while still holding the child closely wrapped, and clinging to the rein, he sought protection for his hands in the folds of the blanket. There was no protection for the horse. Yet he drove it to the plunge, which it took with blind and maddened energy.