"Oh, we'll get out, all right," said he, again.

And then he turned to her in frank and unexcited inquiry. To her
increased disgust the sobs of growing fear convulsed her throat. She
fought them back and listened to his question.

"You know more about woods-fires than I do," he said evenly. "Better
tell me what to do, eh?"

This confession of his ignorance strengthened her growing confidence in
him instead of weakening it. The fact that he could ask advice so calmly
made her think that, probably, he would be calm in taking it if she
could offer it. It steadied her and helped her think. And then she saw
him spring, and, actually with a smile, strike in the air above her
head, diverting from its downward path which would have landed it upon
her, a flaming fragment of pine-top fully five feet long. He actually
laughed.

"Like handball," he said cheerily. "Don't worry. I won't let anything
fall on you. You just--_think!_"

Her panic, now, had vanished as by magic. Instantly she really _ceased_
to worry. He would _not_ let fire fall on her. He would get her out of
that. She was certain of it. She _could_ think--calmly and with care.

But she could not think of a way out--at least she could not think of a
way out for her. Barefooted as she was, she scarcely could expect to
find, even in her strong young body, strength enough to endure the pain
of treading, as she would be forced to if she made a dash, on an almost
unbroken bed of glowing coals and smouldering moss ten yards in width.