He saw the bear reach the
margin of the icy lake and plunge nose deep into its sheltering
waters. Here, as Bruin's instinct or experience had foretold, no
forest fire could harm him. He need but wallow there until the
Red Terror should have swept past and until the scorched ground
should be once more cool enough to walk on.
Lad turned again toward the slope. He was free, now, to follow
the wagon track to the main road and so homeward, guided perhaps
by memory, perhaps by scent; most probably guided by the mystic
sixth sense which has more than once enabled collies to find
their way, over hundreds of miles of strange territory, back to
their homes.
But, in the past few minutes, the fire's serpent-like course had
taken a new twist. It had flung volleys of sparks across the
upper reach of granite rock-wall, and had ignited dry wood and
brier on the right hand side of the track. This, far up the
mountain, almost at the very foot of the rock-hillock.
The way to home was barred by a three-foot-high crackling fence
of red-gold flame; a flame which nosed hungrily against the
barren rocks of the knoll-foot; as if seeking in ravenous famine
the fuel their bare surfaces denied it.
Pages:
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292