They were silent a breath. Both of them were testing the direction of the wind. Both of them knew at the same instant that their whole world depended largely upon this. It was not blowing hard at present, yet there was wind enough to sweep the fire through the tree-tops. And, more than anything, they remembered the parched and inflammable condition of the woods and brush. Both of them discovered the truth the same instant. “We’re right in its track,” Hugh said. They waited a long time, hardly speaking. The sky slowly thickened with smoke. They saw it rising, in great billowing clouds, toward Bear Canyon. Listening closely, they heard—at the vague frontier of hearing—the distant crackle of the fire. All doubt was past. The time for delay was spent. That age-old terror of the wilderness, the forest fire, was sweeping toward them. It was yet distant and they had no inkling of its true origin. And as they listened, the first of the vanguard of fleeing wild creatures—a full-grown buck with magnificent horns and soft eyes—swept past them at top speed. “You see, Hugh, don’t you?” she said rather quietly. “The whole valley seems to be afire, and we’ve got to run before it. There’s no way to hold it off——” “But won’t the rangers see the smoke and come?” “They couldn’t come in time. Besides, the high range hides it from the settlements. Unless a gale starts up—or accidents happen—we can drive the sheep out before it. As yet there’s no need to leave the sheep.” “Of course not,” Hugh agreed. “We can’t leave the sheep.” The girl looked up, a wonderful luster in her dark eyes. She was a mountain girl, inured to the terror of the flaming forest, and it was natural that she should retain perfect self-control. But she found herself wondering at this tenderfoot, this man of cities. There is no greater test of the spirit than that slow, remorseless advance of the wall of flame. The sight calls forth dreadful memories from the labyrinthal depths of the germ plasm; it chokes up the heart with cold blood and distills a poison in the nerves, yet he seemed as free from panic as she herself. And he was also the eternal shepherd. He would not leave the sheep. “We pass the camp on the walk and I’ll get the horses,” she explained quickly. “It will be hard to control the flock if the fire gets much nearer. And I’ll try to take time to snatch a little food to keep us going through the night.” “And your father’s lease—it’s all lost?” “No. The grass will come up after the winter rains. If it were just a top fire the underbrush would be even heavier.” She turned to the shepherd dog, who now stood gazing, as if entranced, toward the billowing wall of smoke behind them. “Get ’em up, Shep, old boy. We’ve got to start.”