The inhabitants of Carlton Mines who had not driven or walked out earlier in the day or been conveyed on the railway were now hastening to the limit of their powers in the direction of Twyford. Fortunately for the almost exhausted pastor, the last half-mile of his journey was made a trifle easier by the voluntary assistance of a rugged Galician girl who had been well known at the manse. One small coarse bag contained her few belongings, and accustomed as she had been to long walks and heavy loads when she had lived on the Saskatchewan prairie, the carrying of the baby boy would make small difference to her. And so at last the mountain stream was reached, and after crossing the bridge the wearied refugees laid down their burdens on the pebbly bed at the water's edge. At that point the width of the open space between the stream-divided bush was only about a hundred feet, so that in case the fire continued its course the danger would still be very great. Already they had seen showers of sparks carried much farther than the short distance that separated the banks between which they stood, and there was every probability that the timber on each side of the stream would be ablaze simultaneously. But to continue their flight through the thick bush that lined both sides of the track for miles might be to place themselves in a much worse plight. Where they now stood was an abundance of water, and fortunately it was shallow enough to make it safe for all to stand in the centre when that time became necessary. It would then be a matter of endurance against the stifling heat. Within five minutes the number of those seeking refuge at the stream side was considerably over a hundred. The Station Agent was the last one to arrive, and reported that when the third train-load was leaving, the railway yards and the station-house was seen to be on fire, everyone had immediately set out on foot. He had kept in the rear to be sure that no one was missing. Except for an attempt on the part of some to safeguard certain belongings by burying them in the gravel, there was nothing to do but wait--and to many the moments seemed as hours. It was a race between old Dave Minehan, the driver on the antiquated engine from the East, and the devouring elements from the south-west. Which would reach them first? A few men acted as sentinels, and paced the track to discover the progress of the fire. The wind had dropped a little, but the flames were still making rapid headway, and very soon no report was needed from the outposts--the fire's own voice could be heard only too plainly. The agent figured out that the work-train had been due over ten minutes--something must have happened! Surely the train-crew realized the need of the courageous ones who had voluntarily walked, and of the others for whom no accommodation was possible.