but promising a way through where the fire would not come, because it had already worked its will there.
It was a way through, with men like Carruthers and Leigh and Dick to make that way. But it was done principally on foot and altogether in torment. The smouldering earth burnt their boots and caused the horses to rear and snort. Charred logs were white-hot to the touch, and acrid thick smoke tormented their labouring chests. But they won through it to the width of fresh-ploughed land beyond, and here Dick spoke a consecutive sentence for the first time in two hours.
"Good man, Halliday," he said. "I should think he had saved the house. We'll be out of it across this."
And then, like men passing out of Purgatory with its marks upon them, they rode up to the house. On the east the furrows had belted it in to safety; but down in the oatfield flames were running with the crackling of thorns under a pot, and below the pouring smoke the fighting-line of little figures swayed back and forth, taking a little here to lose it elsewhere. Dick spoke again as the men flocked round a tub of water by the kitchen door; sluicing throats and faces, and gasping with relief and with the sting of the water on their burns.
"Where's Slicker?" he said sharply. "And Grange?"
The men looked at each other. Smeared, blackened, with blood-shot eyes and drawn faces they were hideous enough. But they turned from the more hideous fear which each read in his neighbour's eyes. Dick swung himself back to the saddle.
"I hope you'll have luck with Halliday's oats," he said. "Come up, you old devil."
His big gelding staggered, and Leigh caught at the bridle.
"What are you going to do, Heriot?" he said.
"Oh—just going for a ride," said Dick lightly; and he jerked his bridle free and disappeared into the smoke that rolled above the plough-line.
"There goes a man," said Leigh, and rubbed his eyes. "But I wouldn't quite like to name the figures of the chances he's taking of finding them."
"He's taking more chances than that," said Carruthers.
