hey've got Powell, too!"

There was no doubt about it--the town of Powell was also in flames. We sat
down together then at the side of the road. We didn't quite know what else
to do. We were both faint. Our situation seemed every moment to be getting
worse; we appeared further from even comparative safety now than when we
left our plane at dawn.

There seemed nothing else to do now but go ahead into Garland, a distance
of only half a mile. There we might find food and water; and, thus
refreshed, we could start back north to cover the fifteen miles to
Frannie.

Garland, a few days before, was a town of about five hundred inhabitants;
but I do not suppose that, at the time of its destruction, there were more
than a score or two of people remaining in it.

We started off again, and within twenty minutes were among the smoldering
houses of the town. It consisted practically of only one street--the road
we were on--with the houses strung along it. The houses had been, most of
them, small frame structures. They were nothing now but smoldering heaps
of ashes with the chimneys left standing, like gaunt, silent sentinels. As
we passed on down the road we saw several twisted forms that we took for
the remains of human beings. It is unnecessary for me to describe them. We
hurried on, shuddering.

Our objective was the lower end of the town, for there, perhaps a quarter
of a mile off to one side with a branch road leading to it, we saw a
single house and out-buildings left standing. We turned down this road and
approached the house. It was a rather good-looking building of the
bungalow type with a wide-spreading porch. Beside it stood a long, low,
rectangular building we took to be a garage. There was an automobile
standing in the doorway, and behind it we caught the white gleam of an
airplane wing.

"We're all right now," cried Mercer. "There's a car, and there's a plane
inside. One of them ought to run."

At this unexpected good fortune we were jubilant. We could get back to
Billings now in short order.

We climbed up the porch steps and entered the house. We did not call out,
for it seemed obvious that no one would be there after what had occurred
in Garland so near by.

"There must be something to eat here," I said. "Let's find out--and then
get back to Billings."

The big living room was empty, but there was no sign of disorder. A closed
door stood near at hand.

"That might be the way to the kitchen," I suggeste