His fatigue was all gone now. He leaped forward and sprang with desperate bounds down the straggling path towards Weddell’s Gully, where, in a deserted field once tilled by that individual, prairie weeds were growing to the height of six feet and more, they had dry stalks and fluffy downy heads that would burn like petroleum, if the fire once touch them. It was down there that Olive had gone, all ignorant of that tiny red line creeping slowly around the brow of the hill, up against the wind, and now approaching that very spot with vicious little tongues of red flame. No wonder Ezra bounded along the pathway, no wonder his heart beat ready to burst, and no wonder if his voice sounded harsh and choking as he cried “Olive! Olive! Olive!” again and again until his brain reeled. He got no answer except the crackle of the fire. He stumbled along not knowing which way to turn, and twice fell forward as his foot caught in the tangled grass. He staggered to his feet and raising his agonised face cried in a harsh whisper, “Oh God! my wife, my wife!” He tried to shout again, but his dry throat made no articulate sound. His temples seemed bursting, he dashed forward blindly, not knowing where to look for Olive in the horrid darkness, soon to be turned into still more horrid light. His foot struck against an old rail at the edge of Weddell’s deserted field, he fell heavily, hitting his head against the projecting end of the rail, rolled over and lay still. The little flames crept nearer and nearer lapping out their malicious red tongues as if in anticipation. CHAPTER XIII. THE RESCUE. Madame had worked hard with the rest in beating back the fire, and now that she saw that their united efforts had been successful and that Perfection City was safe, she, in company with Balthasar, was going the circuit of the defences of their home, just to see that there remained nothing further for her to do. In the course of time she came to Napoleon Pompey, who was in charge of the last scrap of back-firing, intent on maintaining guard and on effecting a complete junction of the two lines of fire, so as not to leave so much as a handsbreadth of standing grass whereby the enemy might even at the last minute burst in upon them. This finishing of the circle was important, and the lad was in the midst of his work and his distress when Madame loomed out through the darkness. “Oh, Lordy, dey is both burned, dey is! Oh Lordy! Oh Lordy,” cried Napoleon Pompey the instant he set eyes upon Madame. “Who is burned?” asked Madame in bewilderment, well used to the extravagant modes of speech indulged in by negroes. “Mis’ Ollie an’ Mas’r Ezra fo’ shu’.” “Are you mad, fool, what do you mean?” said Madame furiously. “Mis’ Ollie done gone in der Gully ter fetch ole hat, an’ de fire’s crope up, an’ it’ll cotch her, oh Lordy! oh Lordy! An’ Mas’r Ezra he done gone ter fin’ her down dar,” said the boy, beginning to whimper.