linking into a peril
from which he would not know how to escape. He had gone to save life.
He had gone to prevent crime. If he stayed in the road she could find
him and lead him out to the north and probably to safety. If he did
not stay in the road, well, at least, she could only make the
attempt.

Brom Bones went flying along the slope of the road towards his home.
For the first time in his life, he felt the cut of a whip on his
flanks--to make him go faster. He did not know what it meant. Nothing
like that had ever been a part of Brom Bones' scheme of life, for he
had always gone as fast as he was let go. But it did not need the
stroke of the whip to madden him.

Down across the slope of the hill in front of him he saw a great, red
terror racing towards the road which he travelled. If he could not
understand the girl's words, he could feel the thrill of rising
excitement in her voice as she urged him on, saying over and over:

"You can make it, Brom! I know you can! I never struck you this way
before, did I? But it's for life--a good man's life! You can make it.
I know you can make it. I wouldn't ask you to if I didn't know. You
can make it! It won't hurt us a bit. It _can't_ hurt us! Bromie, dear,
I tell you it can't hurt us. It just can't!"

She crouched out over the horse's shoulder, laying her weight upon her
hands to even it for the horse. She stopped striking him, for she saw
that neither terror nor punishment could drive him faster than he was
going. He was giving her the best of his willing heart and fleet
body.

But would it be enough? Fast as she raced along the road she saw that
red death whirling down the hillside, to cross the road at a point
just above her home. Could she pass that point before the fire came?
She did not know. And when she came to within a hundred yards of where
the fire would strike the road she still did not know whether she
could pass it. Already she could feel the hot breath of it panting
down upon her. Already showers of burning leaves and branches were
whirling down upon her head and shoulders. If her horse should
hesitate or bolt sidewise now they would both be burned to death. The
girl knew it. And, crouching low, talking into his mane, she told him
so. Perhaps he, too, knew it. He did not falter. Head down, he plunged
straight into the blinding blast that swept across the road.

A wave of heavy, choking smoke struck him in the face. He reeled and
reared a little, and a