the progress of the
fire. The men retreated, staggering with exhaustion, hands and faces
flayed, eyes inflamed and blinded by the black smoke that rolled over
them.

A stiff wind was blowing, but it was no longer a steady one. Sometimes it
bore from the northeast; again in a cross-current almost directly from
the east. The smoke poured in, swirling round them till they scarce knew
one direction from another.

The dense cloud lifted for a moment, swept away by an air current. To the
fire-fighters that glimpse of the landscape told an appalling fact. The
demon had escaped below from San Jacinto Canon and been swept westward by
a slant of wind with the speed of an express train. They were trapped by
the back-fire in a labyrinth from which there appeared no escape. Every
path of exit was blocked. The flames had leaped from hilltop to hilltop.

The men gathered together to consult. Many of them were on the verge of
panic.

Dave spoke quietly. "We've got a chance if we keep our heads. There's an
old mining tunnel hereabouts. Follow me, and stay together."

He plunged into the heavy smoke that had fallen about them again, working
his way by instinct rather than by sight. Twice he stopped, to make sure
that his men were all at heel. Several times he left them, diving into
the smoke to determine which way they must go.

The dry, salt crackle of a dead pine close at hand would have told him,
even if the oppressive heat had not, that the fire would presently sweep
over the ground where they stood. He drew the men steadily toward Cattle
Canon.

In that furious, murk-filled world he could not be sure he was moving in
the right direction, though the slope of the ground led him to think so.
Falling trees crashed about them. The men staggered on in the uncanny
light which tinged even the smoke.

Dave stopped and gave sharp, crisp orders. His voice was even and steady.
"Must be close to it now. Lie back of these down trees with your faces
close to the ground. I'll be back in a minute. Shorty, you're boss of the
crew while I'm away."

"You're gonna leave us to roast," a man accused, in a voice that was half
a scream.

Sanders did not stop to answer him, but Shorty took the hysterical man in
hand. "Git down by that log pronto or I'll bore a hole in you. Ain't you
got sense enough to see he'll save us if there's a chance?"

The man fell trembling to the ground.

"Two men behind each log," ordered Shorty. "If yore clothes git