s with the bridle reins and lay down in the
open to wait for morning. Neither had any thought of sleep. But the
softness of the night, the pungent odour of the tamarack trees
floating up to them from below, and their long ride, soon began to
tell on them. Jeffrey saw that they must set a watch.

"Curl up and go to sleep, 'My,'" he said, shaking himself. "You might
as well. I'll wake you in an hour."

A ready snore was the only answer.

Morning coming over the higher eastern hills found them stiff and
weary, but alert. The woods below them were still banked in darkness
as they ate their dry food and caught their horses for the day that
was before them. There was no water to be had up here, and they knew
their horses must be gotten down to some water course before night.

A half circle of open country belted by heavy woods lay just below
them. Eagerly, as the light crept down the hill, they scanned the area
for sign of man or horse. Nothing moved. Apparently they had the world
to themselves. A fresh morning breeze came down over the mountain and
watching they could see the ripple of it in the tops of the distant
trees. The same thought made both men grip their rifles and search
more carefully the ground below them, for that innocent breeze blowing
straight down towards their homes and loved ones was a potential
enemy more to be feared than all the doings of men.

Down to the right, two miles or more away, a man came out of the
shadow of the woods. They could only see that he was a big man and
stout. There was nothing about him to tell them whether he was friend
or foe, of the hills or a stranger. Without waiting to see who he was
or what he did, the two dove for their saddles and started their
horses pell-mell down the hill towards him.

He saw them at once against the bare brow of the hill, and ran back
into the wood.

In another instant they knew what he was and what was his business.

They saw a light moving swiftly along the fringe of the woods. Behind
the light rose a trail of white smoke. And behind the smoke ran a line
of living fire. The man was running, dragging a flaming torch through
the long dried grass and brush!

The two, riding break-neck down over the rocks, regardless of paths or
horses' legs, would gladly have killed the man as he ran. But it was
too far for even a random shot. They could only ride on in reckless
rage, mad to be at the fire, to beat it to death with their hands, to
stamp it in