"Take that old fool away from there and let that man out," commanded Britt, his passion blind to consequences. He could see no way out of his muddle. He seemed to be in for wicked notoriety, anyway. Just now his one thought was to get "Roaring Cole MacLeod," master of men, at the head of that fire, to hold it in leash until more assistance came. He knew his man. He understood that MacLeod, bitter in the consciousness of his blunder, was now worth six men. "Rodliff, I'll take the consequences!" he shouted. "Let my boss out." But the high sheriff seemed to be doubtful as to the consequences that he also would have to accept. Just then he had clearer notions of official responsibility than did the Honorable Pulaski D. Britt. "This man is under arrest all regular," protested Rodliff, "and I've just the same as heard him own up that he interfered with Warden Lane in his duty. The governor himself wouldn't have the right to order me to let a prisoner go before a hearing on the case. That's law, Mr. Britt, and--" "Talk that south of Castonia," broke in the Honorable Pulaski. "Just now law won't put that fire out and save a fifty-thousand-acre stand of black growth. Lane, you've got to be reasonable. There've been mistakes, but they'll be made good. You can't afford to be bull-headed in this thing." But the old man did not move from the cage. The flaring of the torch lighted his solemn and unrelenting face. The worried face of MacLeod peered out over one of the extended arms. "What--what was it happened to 'em on Misery, Mr. Britt?" he asked, humbly. "I told you!" snapped Britt, glad of a momentary excuse to cover embarrassment of this general defiance of his dignity. "Your black-eyed beauty there, that you've been fooling with when my back's been turned, is jealous of Rod Ide's girl, and took to the bush with a blueberry-torch dragging at her heels to show her feelings. I'd have shot her like I would a rabbit if it hadn't been for your particular friend Wade." The wrathful sneer of the Honorable Pulaski was a snarl that would have done credit to "Ladder" Lane's bobcat. "When you come to settle accounts with that critter, MacLeod, break his leg, and charge it on my side of the ledger." "So he was there, hey?" asked the boss, eagerly. "He was there long enough to hit me like a prize-fighter when I was protecting my property." "Why didn't you kill him?" demanded the boss, with venom. "By the time I got a gun he was out of sight at the tail of the fire, chasing the girl--he and old Chris Straight. I believe they were proposing to rescue the girl," concluded Britt, with a mirthless chuckle. "The only consolation I'm getting out of that fire down there is that maybe it's burning that Wade and the girl, whatever they call her, and will chase the Skeets and Bushees south and catch them, too. If it does I'll be willing to let a thousand more acres burn."