The old woman’s clothing was scattered about, too. It did not look as though anything had been removed from the hut. Coming out, he found another article on the threshold—one of Amanda’s gloves. Joseph Stagg picked it up eagerly and stood for a moment or two holding it in his hand as he gazed from the doorway upon the empty prospect. Then he lifted the crumpled glove to his lips. “Oh, God, spare her!” he burst forth. “Spare them both!” Then he kissed the glove again and hid it away in the inner pocket of his vest. The hardware dealer tried to think of just what the fugitives might have done when they escaped from the cabin. Surely, they would not start for The Corners by the main road—that would take them directly towards the fire. Joseph Stagg had too good an opinion of Amanda Parlow’s common sense to believe that. And what would they do with the sick woman—how take her with them? She was crippled and could travel neither far nor fast. This disappearance suggested to the man’s mind one certain fact: Something had already happened to the fugitives; some accident had befallen them. The thought almost overpowered him. He was chilled to the heart. Despair made him helpless for the moment. He could think of nothing further to do. He seemed to have come to an impassable barrier. The sight of poor Cherry, standing with heaving sides and hanging head, awoke him. He started into action once more and hurried to the horse. Taking him out of the harness, he rubbed him down with a coarse sack. Then he found a pail at the cabin and brought the animal a drink. Once more he put him back into the shafts and prepared to move on. If it were true that Amanda would not run towards the fire, then she more than likely had taken the opposite direction on leaving the cabin. Therefore, Joseph Stagg went that way—setting off down the tote road, leading Cherry by his bridle. Suddenly he remembered calling Prince the day Carolyn May had been lost on the ice. He raised his voice in a mighty shout for the dog now. “Prince! Princey, old boy! where are you?” Again and again he called, but there was no reply. The smoke was more stifling and the heat more intense every minute. As he reached the far edge of the clearing he looked back to see a huge tree break into flame on the opposite side of the open space. The camp would soon be a furnace of flame! Joseph Stagg was not fearful for himself. He knew a dozen paths out of this part of the forest. But he could not leave without finding the fugitives or learning the way of their departure. The forest here was like a jungle on both sides of the tote road. Once let the fire get into it, it would burn with the intense heat of a blast furnace. Mr. Stagg realised that he must get out quickly if he would save himself and the horse. He had just stepped into the buckboard again, when there was an excited scrambling in the underbrush, and a welcoming bark was given. “Prince! Good boy!” the man shouted. “Where are they?”