Redmond was at his elbow.

"I'm going, too, Dick," cried Beatrice, who always seemed to hear
anything that promised excitement. "I never saw a prairie-fire in my
life."

"It's ten miles off," said Dick shortly, taking the steps at a jump.

"I don't care if it's twenty--I'm going. Sir Redmond, wait for me!"

"Be-atrice!" cried her mother detainingly; but Beatrice was gone to get
ready. A quick job she made of it; she threw a dark skirt over her
thin, white one, slipped into the nearest jacket, snatched her
riding-gauntlets off a chair where she had thrown them, and then
couldn't find her hat. That, however, did not trouble her. Down in the
hall she appropriated one of Dick's, off the hall tree, and announced
herself ready. Sir Redmond laughed, caught her hand, and they raced
together down to the stables before her mother had fully grasped the
situation.

"Isn't Rex saddled, Dick?"

Dick, his foot in the stirrup, stopped long enough to glance over his
shoulder at her. "You ready so soon? Jim, saddle Rex for Miss Lansell."
He swung up into the saddle.

"Aren't you going to wait, Dick?"

"Can't. Milord can bring you." And Dick was away on the run.

Men were hurrying here and there, every move counting something done.
While she stood there a wagon rattled out from the shadow of a haystack,
with empty water-barrels dancing a mad jig behind the high seat, where
the driver perched with feet braced and a whip in his hand. After him
dashed four or five riders, silent and businesslike. In a moment they
were mere fantastic shadows galloping up the hill through the smothery
gloom.

Then came Jim, leading Rex and a horse for himself; Sir Redmond had
saddled his gray and was waiting. Beatrice sprang into the saddle and
took the lead, with nerves a-tingle. The wind that rushed against her
face was hot and reeking with smoke. Her nostrils drank greedily the
tang it carried.

"You gipsy!" cried Sir Redmond, peering at her through the murky gloom.

"This--is living!" she laughed, and urged Rex faster.

So they raced recklessly over the hills, toward where the night was
aglow. Before them the wagon pounded over untrailed prairie sod, with
shadowy figures fleeing always before.

Here, wild cattle rushed off at either side, to stop and eye them
curiously as they whirled past. There, a coyote, squatting unseen upon
a distant pinnacle, howled, long-drawn and quavering, his weird protest
against the solitudes in which he wande