er seized. It was the Supervisor,
who twisted him round and, pointing to the little bridge across the
river which spanned the stream just above the mill, he shouted:

"Run!"

But the boy's spirit was too exhausted to respond, though he got into a
dog trot and started for the bridge. Perilous though every second's
delay was, Merritt would not go ahead of the boy, though he could have
outdistanced his shambling and footsore pace two to one, but kept beside
him urging and threatening him alternately. The fire was on their heels,
but they were in the clearing. On the bridge one of the miners was
standing, riding the fastest horse in the party, holding, and with great
difficulty holding, in hand the horse of the Supervisor and the boy's
mare, Kit. Their very clothes were smoking as they reached the bridge.

Suddenly, a huge, twisted tree, full of sap, which stood on the edge of
the clearing, exploded with a crash like a cannon, and a flaming branch,
twenty feet in length, hurtled itself over their heads and fell full on
the further side of the bridge, barring their way. Upon the narrow
bridge the horses reared in a sudden panic and tried to bolt, but the
miner was an old-time cowboy, and he held them in hand. Merritt helped
the lad into the saddle before mounting himself. But even in that moment
the bridge began to smoke, and in less than a minute the whole structure
would be ablaze. The miner dug his heels, spurred, into the sides of his
horse, and the animal in fear and desperation leaped over the hissing
branch that lay upon the bridge. The Supervisor's horse and Kit followed
suit. As they landed on the other side, however, the head of the forest
reined in for a moment, and looking round, shouted suddenly:

"The mill!"

Wilbur pulled in Kit. So far as could be seen, none of the forest fire
had reached the mill; the sparks which had fallen upon the roof had gone
out harmlessly, so thoroughly had the place been soaked, yet through the
door of the mill the flames could be seen on the inside. At first Wilbur
thought it must be some kind of a reflection. But as they watched,
Peavey Jo rode up. He had crossed the bridge earlier, and was on the
safe side of the river watching his mill.

Suddenly, from out the door of the mill, outlined clearly against the
fire within, came an ungainly, shambling figure. The features could not
be seen, but the gait was unmistakable. He came running in an odd,
loose-jointed fashion toward th