Now, however, there was no thought in Joseph Stagg’s mind regarding what Mr. Parlow might say or think. He had to get over that blazing bridge! Cherry took the platform in great leaps. The bridge swung, sank, fire spurted through the planks almost under the horse’s heels, and then, just as the wheels left the shaking structure, the rear end of the bridge slipped off the abutments. The fire must have been eating out the heart of the timbers for two hours. Cherry ran madly. The smoke, the smarting of several small burns, the loud crash of the falling bridge maddened the horse to such a degree that Joseph Stagg could scarcely hold him. Ten minutes later they rattled down into the straight road, and then, very soon, indeed, were at the abandoned camp. The fire was near, but it had not reached this place. There was no sign of life about. The man knew which was Judy’s cabin. He leaped from the vehicle, leaving the panting Cherry unhitched, and ran to the hut. The door swung open. The poor furniture was in place. Even the bedclothing was rumpled in the old woman’s bunk. But neither she nor Amanda Parlow nor little Carolyn May was there. CHAPTER XXVI—THE LAUREL TO THE BRAVE The heart of the man was like a weight in his bosom. With so many hundred acres of forest on fire, and that, too, between the abandoned camp and The Corners and Sunrise Cove, how would Amanda Parlow and Carolyn May know where to go? In what direction would they run? There was no stream of any size near this camp. Water had been obtained from easily driven wells. Mr. Stagg could not imagine in that first few minutes of alarm how the fugitives could have got away from the camp. Smoke hung in a heavy cloud over the clearing. The smell of burning wood was very strong. To go was, perhaps, the wisest thing Amanda and her charges could have done, for once the fire got into this opening the place would soon become a raging furnace. The great heaps of sawdust and rubbish, as dry as tinder, offered fuel for the flames unsurpassed elsewhere in the forest. This clearing, three or four acres in extent, would be the hottest part of the fire, if once the wind rose and blew the conflagration in its direction. Mr. Stagg climbed to the roof of the cabin to look over the open space. He shouted at the top of his voice. But he neither saw nor heard anything. His voice came back in a flat echo from the forest wall across the clearing—that was all. There was no way of trailing the fugitives—he knew that well enough. Of course, there were plenty of cartwheel tracks; but they told nothing of interest to the troubled hardware dealer. He slid down from the roof and went again into the cabin. Certainly the place must have been deserted in haste. There was Carolyn May’s coat. The man caught it up and stared around, as though expecting the child to be within sight.