ker of the West."

There was no hesitating after this.

The two men moved swiftly away in the gloom that surrounded the
burning cabin.

A choking sensation caused the reclining man in the cabin to stir
uneasily.

Presently he opened his eyes.

The room was full of smoke, and red tongues of flame were licking at
the logs from every side.

Quickly Dyke Darrel came to his feet. A smell of burning garments
filled his nostrils. The bed on which Sibyl Osborne rested was on
fire!

"My soul! this is unfortunate," cried the detective. He was equal to
the emergency, however. Springing to the side of the still sleeping
girl, Dyke lifted her in his arms and strode to the door.

Quickly he slipped the rude bolt and grasped the latch. It refused to
yield.

The door was firmly secured on the outside.

CHAPTER XIII.

A SAD FATE.

For one instant, Dyke Darrel was paralyzed.

It was for a moment only, however. He shook the door furiously,
blinded by smoke, and almost strangled by hot air.

The door would not yield.

At this moment, the girl awoke and began to scream. Bits of burning
wood fell all about them.

Soon the roof would tumble in with a crash. When that moment came,
every living thing must perish within the house.

Dyke Darrel moved to the window, leading Sibyl. She staggered and
seemed ready to fall.

"Courage!" he cried, "we will soon be out of this."

Reaching the narrow window, the detective dashed out sash and glass
with a stool, and the air from outside seemed like a breath from fairy
land.

"You must go first?"

Dyke Darrel assisted his fair companion to the opening. An instant
later she had passed outside.

Then something occurred that quite startled the detective and filled
him with intense alarm.

A burning log fell from the side of the cabin with a thud that was
sickening. A horrible fear at once took possession of Darrel. With a
quick bound he gained the opening, and leaped clear of the burning
logs to the ground without.

Turning about he uttered a cry of horror.

Sibyl Osborne lay crushed beneath a black log that was yet smoking
with heat. With a herculean effort the detective lifted and flung the
log from the poor girl's breast, and then he lifted and carried her
beyond the reach of flame and heat, and laid her on a little mound
beneath a giant tree.

One glance into the mad girl's face satisfied him of the mournful
truth. The falling log had done fatal work, and with