Presently his anger moderated and his pace slackened. He had been quite oblivious to what was passing about him, and now for the first time, above the rattle of carts and trucks, he heard the newsboys shrilly calling an extra. He caught the words, “All about the big forest fire!” repeated over and over again. He bought a paper and opened it idly, but a double-leaded head-line arrested his attention. It was a brief special from Buckhom Junction. He read it with feverish interest. Antioch was threatened with complete destruction by the forest fires. “I'll take the first train for Antioch. Have you seen this?” and he held out the crumpled page he had just torn from his newspaper. Holloway glanced up in astonishment at this unlooked-for change of heart. “I thought you'd conclude it was no way to treat General Cornish,” he said. “Hang Cornish! It's not on his account I'm going. The town is in a fair way to be wiped off the map. Here, read.” And he thrust the paper into Holloway's hands. “The woods to the north and west of Antioch have been blazing for two days. They have sent out call after call for help, and apparently nobody has responded yet. That's why I am going back, and for no other reason.” CHAPTER XXIII AT Buckhorn Junction, Joe Durks, who combined the duties of telegraph operator with those of baggage-master and ticket-agent, was at his table receiving a message when Dan Oakley walked into the office. He had just stepped from the Chicago express. “What's the latest word from Antioch, Joe?” he asked, hurriedly. “How are you, Mr. Oakley? I got Antioch now.” “What do they say?” “They are asking help.” The metallic clicking of the instrument before him ceased abruptly. “What's wrong, anyhow?” He pushed back his chair and came slowly to his feet His finger was still on the key. He tried again to call up Antioch. “They are cut off. I guess the wire is down.” The two men stared at each other in silence. Dan's face was white in the murky, smoky twilight that filled the room. Durks looked anxious--the limit of his emotional capacity. He was a lank, colorless youth, with pale yellow tobacco stains about the corners of his mouth, and a large nose, which was superior to its surroundings. Oakley broke silence with: “What's gone through to-day, Joe?” “Nothing's gone through on the B. & A. There's nothing to send from this end of the line,” the operator answered, nervously. “What went through yesterday?” “Nothing yesterday, either.” “Where is No. 7?” “It's down at Harrison, Mr. Oakley.” “And No. 9?” “It's at Harrison, too.” “Do you know what they are doing at Harrison?” demanded Oakley, angrily. It seemed criminal negligence that no apparent effort had as yet been made to reach Antioch. “I don't,” said Durks, laconically, biting his nails. “I suppose they are waiting for the fire to burn out.” “Why don't you know?” persisted Dan, tartly. His displeasure moved the operator to a fuller explanation.