on lit
his steady eyes. The scent of the air, its sickly sweetness, had
entirely passed as he breathed under the mask.

He returned to his pack and fastened it up. Then he reslung it upon his
shoulders. When he passed from the summit of the hill the mask that was
to serve him when the danger line was reached had been removed.

* * * * *

Steve laboured on sweatily. He had halved the weight of his pack. He had
even removed his buckskin shirt. The heat was amazing. It nearly stifled
him.

With each mile gained the spectacle of Unaga's fires grew in intensity
and sublime fury. The whole of the western world looked to be engulfed
in a caldron of fire; while the belching source of it all flamed at the
summit of its earthly column, amidst a churning, rose-tinted froth of
cloud banks.

Changes came in swift succession. Perhaps the most significant of all
was the complete change in the aspect of the heavens, and in the
sulphurous grit with which the air was laden. The stars had vanished.
The flood of northern light had lost its clearness; now only a ghostly
shadow of its glory remained. There was only one moon. Its manifold
reflections were lost in the mist, and the shining silver of its own
light was painfully tarnished.

For all this, however, the light in the valley was no less. Its
character had changed. That was all. The rosy twilight was growing to an
angry gleaming.

Steve knew his journey's end was near. How near he could not tell. He
reminded himself that there must be a barrier, a dividing line, beyond
which no life could endure. But he also knew that the field of Adresol
must lie on the hither side of it. If that were not so, what of the
Indians to whom it yielded supplies for the pleasant calm of their
winter's sleep?

Steve knew he was by no means witnessing a simple volcanic eruption. It
was something far greater. The suggestion of it all was so colossal that
he could find no concrete form in which to express his belief. In his
mind there had formed an idea that here was a whole wide territory
forming one great vent to the subterranean fires demanding outlet. It
seemed to him that those fires had been lit just where they now burned.
Maybe they had been lit on the day that dry land was first born upon the
earth, and throughout the ages had never been permitted to die out.

Fascination held him enthralled as he laboured over the weary miles of
the valley. Every swamp became