Without replying, the major continued his ascent; it became steeper
as they neared the crest, and at last they were both obliged to drag
themselves up by clutching the vines and underbrush. Suddenly the major
stopped with a listening gesture. A strange roaring--as of wind or
water--was distinctly audible.

"How did you signal?" asked the major abruptly.

"Made a smoke," said the sheriff as abruptly.

"I thought so--well! you've set the woods on fire."

They both plunged upwards again, now quite abreast, vying with each
other to reach the summit as if with the one thought only. Already the
sting and smart of acrid fumes were in their eyes and nostrils; when
they at last stood on level ground again, it was hidden by a thin film
of grayish blue haze that seemed to be creeping along it. But above
was the clear sky, seen through the interlacing boughs, and to
their surprise--they who had just come from the breathless, stagnant
hillside--a fierce wind was blowing! But the roaring was louder than
before.

"Unless your three men are already here, your game is up," said the
major calmly. "The wind blows dead along the ridge where they should
come, and they can't get through the smoke and fire."

It was indeed true! In the scarce twenty minutes that had elapsed since
the sheriff's return the dry and brittle underbrush for half a mile on
either side had been converted into a sheet of flame, which at times
rose to a furnace blast through the tall chimney-like conductors of tree