nner had only time to bundle these valuables together when the fire
reached them. Heavily loaded they managed to regain the others keeping
along the edge of the torrent.

Alice Thayor presented a strange appearance; a pair of lumberjack's
trousers, a mackinaw shirt, rough woollen socks, a pair of brogans
and one of the teamster's overcoats, its collar turned up against her
dishevelled hair, had transformed her into a vagabond. She was still
weak from shock, but she went to work with Margaret and Annette,
brewing a pail of tea, while Thayor, Holcomb and the rest straightened
out their weird bivouac in the acrid opal haze. The Clown was again
busy with his fry-pan, the old dog watching him with bloodshot eyes.

There was little or no conversation during the preparation of that
hurried meal. When at last it was ready Blakeman started to serve it.
Thayor caught his butler's eye and motioned him to a seat beside him.

"You are as hungry as the rest of us," he said with an effort;
"there's no need of formality here, Blakeman." He glanced with
a peculiar, weary smile from one to another of the little group
squatting around the improvised meal, and his voice faltered.

"Big Shanty is gone," he resumed; "but I thank God it was no worse.
Whatever is in store for us we must share. What that will be nobody
can tell, but it's going to be a hard experience and we must meet it.
It would be sheer folly to attempt to get clear of all this by way of
Morrison's; that road is completely cut off--am I right, Holt?"--and
he turned to the trapper.

The old man, who had eaten sparingly and in silence, raised his head.

"Yes, ye'r right, Mr. Thayor, but it won't do for us to stay whar we
be no longer 'n we're obleeged to, that's sartain. Them hell-hounds
ain't done yit. Yer life ain't safe," he added slowly.

Alice Thayor gave a little gasp, riveting her frightened gaze on the
speaker. Margaret turned and looked at her mother with trembling lips;
then she patted Alice's hand affectionately. Annette began to cry.

"It's hard to tell ye the truth, friend," continued the old man, "but
I might as well tell ye _now_. There ain't nothin' left for us to do
but to git out o' this hell-hole as quick as God'll let us. We got
plenty of things in our favour----No, sir, it ain't as bad as it might
be with them woods full of smoke. Thar's a railroad over thar"--he
continued, nodding to the wilderness beyond them. "I cal'late we could
make the railroa