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150
Connie Morgan with the Mounted
mouth flames shot across the gravel bar to its very edge. The valley had become a veritable furnace.
To the northward the fire roared and crackled, but toward the south-west, where the fast-floating scow was carrying them, nothing was visible upon the left bank but blackened stubs, and grey, smouldering ashes, with the smoke cloud drifting above them.
