be no doubt about later. And if you want to spare the girl, all right—but keep her there until the pass is closed."
Nothing could be plainer. José waited on the trail. The fire madness still branded—like fire itself—his face; and he found an evil exultation in watching the slow sweep of the flames behind him. But he didn't intend to wait too long. He didn't want to take any chances on being trapped himself. The way of the forest fire is the way of the wind, and no man can always predict accurately where it will go. Besides, he was just at the mouth of the canyon and had a long ride himself to safety.
The Mexican found nothing to his displeasure in the work. The pay was good, and there had been a certain, savage rapture in aiding in the destruction of the forest and its people. But the work before him now promised best of all. It was just straight shooting and clean killing, and he had been well educated for such work as this. He had known the deserts, the hot battles of his own land; his eyes were true and his hand steady. Best of all, the interview with the girl afforded pleasing conjectures. José had not often operated among women. His eyes were lurid with a fire of different source from the red glamor that was over all the land.
It was eight o'clock, and the fire was only a little behind time. Fargo had estimated with really astonishing accuracy. Already the flames
