chairs, and, passing through the dining-room, went out
upon the porch.

Away to the westward, low down along the horizon, she saw leaping red
flames and wind-swept columns of smoke.

Stillwell appeared greatly perturbed.

"Al, I'm lookin' fer that ammunition to blow up," he said. "There was
enough of it to blow the roof off the rancho."

"Bill, surely the cowboys would get that stuff out the first thing,"
replied Alfred, anxiously.

"I reckon so. But all the same, I'm worryin'. Mebbe there wasn't time.
Supposin' thet powder went off as the boys was goin' fer it or carryin'
it out! We'll know soon. If the explosion doesn't come quick now we can
figger the boys got the boxes out."

For the next few moments there was a silence of sustained and painful
suspense. Florence gripped Madeline's arm. Madeline felt a fullness in
her throat and a rapid beating of her heart. Presently she was relieved
with the others when Stillwell declared the danger of an explosion
needed to be feared no longer.

"Sure you can gamble on Gene Stewart," he added.

The night happened to be partly cloudy, with broken rifts showing the
moon, and the wind blew unusually strong. The brightness of the fire
seemed subdued. It was like a huge bonfire smothered by some great
covering, penetrated by different, widely separated points of flame.
These corners of flame flew up, curling in the wind, and then died down.
Thus the scene was constantly changing from dull light to dark.
There came a moment when a blacker shade overspread the wide area of
flickering gleams and then obliterated them. Night enfolded the scene.
The moon peeped a curved yellow rim from under broken clouds. To all
appearances the fire had burned itself out. But suddenly a pinpoint of
light showed where all had been dense black. It grew and became long and
sharp. It moved. It had life. It leaped up. Its color warmed from white
to red. Then from all about it burst flame on flame, to leap into a
great changing pillar of fire that climbed high and higher. Huge funnels
of smoke, yellow, black, white, all tinged with the color of fire,
slanted skyward, drifting away on the wind.

"Wal, I reckon we won't hev the good of them two thousand tons of
alfalfa we was figgerin' on," remarked Stillwell.

"Ah! Then that last outbreak of fire was burning hay," said Madeline.
"I do not regret the rancho. But it's too bad to lose such a quantity of
good feed for the stock."

"It's lost, an' no mi