two women like a
cloud. As they swept along rapidly, young, fair, well-fed, beautifully
dressed, in the costly, shining car, their clouded faces might to a
country eye have been visible proofs of the country dictum that "rich
city folks don't seem to get no good out'n their money and their
automobiles: always layin' their ears back and lookin' 'bout as
cheerful as a balky horse."

But the country eyes which at this moment fell on them were anything
but conscious of class differences. It was a desperate need which
reached out a gaunt claw and plucked at them when, high on the flank
of the mountain, as they swung around the corner of a densely wooded
road, they saw a wild-eyed man in overalls leap down from the bushes
and yell at them.

Sylvia was startled and her first impression was the natural feminine
one of fear--a lonely road, a strange man, excited, perhaps drunk--But
Molly, without an instant's hesitation, ground the car to a stop in a
cloud of dust. "What's the matter?" she shouted as the man sprang up
on the running-board. He was gasping, purple, utterly spent, and for
an instant could only beat the air with his hands. Then he broke out
in a hoarse shout--the sound in that quiet sylvan spot was like a
tocsin: "Fire! An awful fire! Hewitt's pine woods--up that road!" He
waved a wild, bare arm--his shirt-sleeve was torn to the shoulder. "Go
and git help. They need all the men they can git!"

He dropped from the running-board and ran back up the hill through the
bushes. They saw him lurch from one side to the other; he was still
exhausted from his dash down the mountain to the road; they heard the
bushes crash, saw them close behind him. He was gone.

Sylvia's eyes were still on the spot where he had disappeared when she
was thrown violently back against the seat in a great leap forward of
the car. She caught at the side, at her hat, and saw Molly's face. It
was transfigured. The brooding restlessness was gone as acrid smoke
goes when the clear flame leaps up.

"What are you doing?" shouted Sylvia.

"To get help," answered Molly, opening the throttle another notch.
The first staggering plunge over, the car settled down to a terrific
speed, purring softly its puissant vibrant song of illimitable
strength. "Hear her sing! Hear her sing!" cried Molly. In three
minutes from the time the man had left them, they tore into the
nearest village, two miles from the woods. It seemed that in those
three minutes Molly