She raced up the familiar road, her mind working feverishly. Far behind Stella panted. There had been no fire in the kitchen range since morning, when Peter cooked his own bacon and coffee. At noon it had been cold; she had seen it; Peter had started then for town.... Unless he had come back. The sun had almost gone down; it was dark in the hall. She threw open the doors, and started frantically tugging at Miss' Mary's chiffonier and washstand. The men arrived, coatless, willing. They piled furniture around the big cedar north of the house. The heat of this burning wing became blistering; the things had to be moved down the road. Diana remembered the telephoning. "We got an alarm," a gruff voice scolded. "Engines ought to be there now." Two neighbors from the base of the mountain came up, and began helping. Armed guards at the entrances to the estate kept many away; these watched the holocaust from beyond the gap, or from their own homes. Dried wooden walls flamed up against the dark sky like giant fireworks; massed smoke bellied and spit sparks as if the mountain vomited in fiery discomfort. Someone led a group of helpers up to the dim door of the garret, crowded with carefully covered family treasures from Jackson days. The dusty packing-cases promised little. "Nothing here," he said, closing the door. The north end was an oven now; the rescuers turned to the dining room, parlors, and the boys' rooms on the south. Diana ran back to the closet where Miss' Mary's silver was locked. She left this to hurry to the window, and then the door. Huggins, Jim Hewin, and a knot of guards stared at the hectic activity. "Hey, niggers," one called to Will Cole and another, who were steering the hall clock from the Jackson home through the door, "drop that clock. You can't steal Mr. Judson's things." Will and the other reached the porch. "Drop it, I say," rang out Jim's ugly voice, as he balanced his pistol tentatively. "You bastards, burnin' down the house, to steal the stuff!" "That's a lie," Will called, shortly. Others took up the cry. The guards raised menacing pistols. A striker, his temper on fire from continuing irritations, dropped behind the nearest steps, levelled his pistol, and shot toward the armed group. Diana ran out flying, shielding Will. "Don't shoot my brother, you scoundrels----" Jim's pistol, carefully aimed at the black striker, crackled viciously. Tongues of flame spoke from the armed deputies. "You plugged the gal," Huggins grinned casually, aiming again. "We got both coons." The astounded citizens ran between the sudden murderous combatants. "This won't do!" "The house is burning, while you're killing each other!" The chemical engine swung around the southern curve of the road, jetting ineffectually against the greedy insanity of the flames. The strikers took up the four bodies, and carried them somberly to Hewintown, Stella Cole following, dry-eyed and shivering with uncomprehending hatred.