American fiction -- 19th century; California -- Fiction; Gold mines and mining -- Fiction; Western stories
Mrs. Horncastle, who was standing near, fully dressed as from some
night-long vigil, quickly followed her. The half-frantic woman was
making directly for her own apartments, whose windows those in
the courtyard could see were already belching smoke. Suddenly Mrs.
Horncastle stopped with a bitter cry and clasped her forehead. It had
just flashed upon her that Mrs. Barker had told her only a few hours
before that Sta had been removed with the nurse to the UPPER FLOOR! It
was not the forgotten child that Mrs. Barker was returning for, but her
diamonds! Mrs. Horncastle called her; she did not reply. The smoke was
already pouring down the staircase. Mrs. Horncastle hesitated for a
moment only, and then, drawing a long breath, dashed up the stairs. On
the first landing she stumbled over something--the prostrate figure of
the nurse. But this saved her, for she found that near the floor she
could breathe more freely. Before her appeared to be an open door. She
crept along towards it on her hands and knees. The frightened cry of
a child, awakened from its sleep in the dark, gave her nerve to rise,
enter the room, and dash open the window. By the flashing light she
could see a little figure rising from a bed. It was Sta. There was not
a moment to be lost, for the open window was beginning to draw the smoke
from the passage. Luckily, the boy, by some childish instinct, threw
his arms round her neck and left her hands free. Whispering him to
hold tight, she clambered out of the window. A narrow ledge of cornice
scarcely wide enough for her feet ran along the house to a distant
balcony. With her back to the house she zigzagged her feet along the
cornice to get away from the smoke, which now poured directly from the
window. Then she grew dizzy; the weight of the child on her bosom seemed
to be toppling her forward towards the abyss below. She closed her eyes,
frantically grasping the child with crossed arms on her breast as she
stood on the ledge, until, as seen from below through the twisting
smoke, they might have seemed a figure of the Madonna and Child niched
in the wall. Then a voice from above called to her, “Courage!” and she
felt the flap of a twisted sheet lowered from an upper window against
her face. She grasped it eagerly; it held firmly. Then she heard a cry
from below, saw them carrying a ladder, and at last was lifted with her
burden from the ledge by powerful hands. Then only did she raise her
eyes to the upper window whence had come her help. Smoke and flame were
pouring from it. The unknown hero who had sacrificed his only chance of
escape to her remained forever unknown.
*****
Only four miles away that night a group of men were waiting for the dawn
in the shadow of a pine near Heavy Tree Bar. As the sky glowed redly
over the crest between them and Hymettus, Hamlin said:--
“Another one of those forest fires. It's this side of Black Spur, and a
big one, I reckon.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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