The Golden Woman Part 59

Two hours later two men and a girl gazed out from the plateau of Devil's Hill. The whole earth it seemed was a raging sea of fire. Once more the forests were ablaze in every direction. The blistering tongues of fire had licked up the heavy rain, and were again roaring destruction over the land.

Far as the eye could reach the lurid pall of smoke was spread out, rolling upward and onward, borne upon the bosom of the gale. In its midst, and through it, the merciless flames leapt up and up. The booming of falling timbers, and the roar of the flames smote painfully upon the hearts of the watchers. It was a spectacle to crush every earthly hope. It was a sight so painful as to drive the mind of man distracted. In all their lives these people had never imagined such a terror. In all their lives they could never witness such again.

They stood there silent and awed. They stood there with eyes straining and ear-drums throbbing with the din of the battle. Their horses were roaming at will and the still form of Aunt Mercy was at their feet.

There was no shelter. There was no hope. Only they knew that where they stood was safety, at least, from the fire below.

Presently Joan knelt at her aunt's side and studied her ashen features in the ruddy light. The woman's unconsciousness had remained through all that journey. Or was she dead? Joan could not make up her mind.

Once, as she knelt, she reeled and nearly fell across that still body.

And when, recovering herself, she looked up at the men she saw that they were braced, with feet apart, supporting each other. Then, in the roar of the storm she heard Buck's voice shouting in the Padre's ear.

"Guess--ther's more to come yet," he said with a profound significance.

She saw the Padre's nod, and she wondered at the fresh danger he saw ahead.

Buck turned and looked out over the desolate plateau with troubled eyes. She followed his gaze. Strangely she had little fear, even with that trouble in her lover's eyes.

The plateau was desperately gloomy. It was hot, too, up there, terribly hot. But Joan had no thought for that except that she a.s.sociated it with the hot wind blowing up from below. Her observation was narrowed to a complete dependence on Buck. He was her hope, her only hope.

Suddenly she saw him reel. Then, in a moment, she saw that both men were down on hands and knees, and, almost at the instant, she, herself, was hurled flat upon the ground beside the body of her aunt.

The earth was rocking, and now she understood more fully her lover's trouble. Her courage slowly began to ebb. She fought against it, but slowly a terror of that dreadful hill crept up in her heart, and she longed to flee anywhere from it--anywhere but down into that caldron of fire below. But the thought was impossible. Death was on every hand beyond that hill, and the hill itself was--quaking.

Now Buck was speaking again.

"We'll have to git som'ere from here," he said.

The Padre answered him--

"Where?"

It was an admission of the elder man's weakness. Buck must guide. The girl's eyes remained upon her lover's face; she was awaiting his reply. She understood, had always known it, that all human help for her must come from him.

Her suspense was almost breathless.

"There's shelter by the lake," Buck said, after a long pause. "We can get to leeward of the rock, an'--it's near the head of that path droppin' to the creek. The creek seems better than anywher'

else--after this."

His manner was decided, but his words offered poor enough comfort.

The Padre agreed, and, at once, they moved across to Joan. For the moment the earth was still again. Its convulsive shudder had pa.s.sed.

Joan struggled to her feet, but her increasing terror left her clinging to the man she loved. The Padre silently gathered Mercy into his arms, and the journey across the plateau began.

But as they moved away the subterranean forces attacked again. Again came that awful rocking, and shaking, which left them struggling for a foothold. Twice they were driven to their knees, only to stagger on as the convulsions lessened. It was a nightmare of nervous tension. Every step of the journey was fraught with danger, and every moment it seemed as though the hill must fall beneath them to a crumbling wreckage.

With heart-sick apprehension Joan watched the growing form of the great rock, which formed the source of the lake, as it loomed out of the smoke-laden dusk. It was so high, so sheer. What if it fell, wrecked with those dreadful earth quakings? But her terror found no voice, no protest. She would not add to the burden of these men. The rock pa.s.sed behind them, and her relief was intense as the shadow was swallowed up again in the gloom. Then a further relief came to her as the edge of the plateau was reached, and the Padre set his burden down at the head of the narrow path which suggested a possible escape to the creek below.

She threw herself beside her aunt, and heard Buck speaking again to his friend.

"Stop right here with the women," he said. "I'm goin' around that lake--seems to me we need to get a peek at it."

Joan understood something of what he feared. She remembered the weirdness of that suspended lake, and thought with a shudder of the dreadful earth quakings. So she watched him go with heart well-nigh breaking.

Buck moved cautiously away into the gloom. He knew the lake sh.o.r.e well. The evident volcanic origin of it might well answer many questions and doubts in his mind. Its rugged sh.o.r.e offered almost painful difficulties with the, now, incessant quakings below. But he struggled on till he came to the eminence he sought. Here he took up a position, lying on his stomach so that he had a wide view of the surface of the wind-swept water.

He remained for a long while watching, watching, and striving to digest the signs he beheld. They were many, and alarming. But their full meaning was difficult to his untutored mind.

Here it was that the Padre ultimately found him. He had been gone so long that the elder man's uneasiness for his safety had sent him in search.

"What d'you make of it, Buck?" he demanded, as he came up, his apprehensions finding no place in his manner.

Buck displayed no surprise. He did not even turn his head.

"The fires are hotting. The water's nigh boiling. There's goin' to be a mighty bust-up."

The Padre looked out across the water.

"There's fire around us, fire above us, and now--fire under us. We've got to choose which we're going to face, Buck--quick."

The Padre's voice was steady. His feelings were under perfect control.

Buck laughed grimly.

"Ther's fire we know, an' fire we don't. Guess we best take the fire we know."

They continued to gaze out across the lake in silence after that. Then the Padre spoke again.

"What about the horses?" he asked.

The question seemed to trouble Buck, for he suddenly caught his breath. But, in a moment, his answer came with decision.

"Guess they must take their chances," he said. "Same as we have to. I hate to leave him, but Caesar's got sense."

"Yes."

The Padre's eyes were fixed upon one spot on the surface of the water.

It was quite plain, even in that light, that a seething turmoil was going on just beneath it. He pointed at the place, but went on talking of the other things in his mind.

"Say, you best take this pocketbook. We may get separated before the night's out. It's half the farm money. You see--ther's no telling," he ended up vaguely.

For one instant Buck removed his eyes from the surface of the lake to glance at the snow-white head of his friend. Then he reached out and took the pocketbook.

"Maybe Joan'll need it, anyway," he said, and thrust it in his pocket.

"We must----Say, git busy! Look!"

Buck's quick eyes had suddenly caught sight of a fresh disturbance in the water. Of a sudden the whole surface of the lake seemed to be rising in a great commotion. And as he finished speaking two terrific detonations roared up from somewhere directly beneath them.

In an instant both men were on their feet and racing in headlong flight for the point where they had left the women.