He encountered a number of men running down as he toiled anxiously
forward, but they avoided him, no doubt already aware of the trouble
below and warned by his uniform. He arrived finally where the ground
was charred black and covered with wood ashes, still hot under foot and
smoking, but he pressed upward, sheltering his eyes with uplifted arm,
and seeking passage where the scarcity of underbrush rendered the zone
of fire less impassable. On both sides trees were already wrapped in
flame, yet he discovered a lane along which he stumbled until a fringe
of burning bushes extended completely across it. The heat was almost
intolerable, the crackling of the ignited wood was like the reports of
pistols, the dense pall of smoke was suffocating. He could see
scarcely three yards in advance, but to the rear the narrow lane of
retreat remained open. Standing there, as though in the mouth of a
furnace, the red flames scorching his face, Brant hollowed his hands
for a call.
"Hampton!" The word rang out over the infernal crackling and roaring
like the note of a trumpet.
"Ay! What is it?" The returning voice was plainly not Hampton's, yet
it came from directly in front, and not faraway.
"Who are you? Is that you, Marshal?"
"Thet's the ticket," answered the voice, gruffly, "an' just as full o'
fight es ever."
Brant lifted his jacket to protect his face from the scorching heat.
There was certainly no time to lose in any exchange of compliments.
Already, the flames were closing in; in five minutes more they would
seal every avenue of escape.
"I 'm Brant, Lieutenant Seventh Cavalry," he cried, choking with the
thickening smoke. "My troop has scattered those fellows who were
hunting you. I 'll protect you and your prisoner, but you 'll have to
get out of there at once. Can you locate me and make a dash for it?
Wrap your coats around your heads, and leave your guns behind."
An instant he waited for the answer, fairly writhing in the intense
heat, then Mason shouted, "Hampton 's been shot, and I 'm winged a
little; I can't carry him."
It was a desperately hard thing to do, but Brant had given his promise,
and in that moment of supreme trial, he had no other thought than
fulfilling it. He ripped off his jacket, wrapped it about his face,
jammed a handkerchief into his mouth, and, with a prayer in his heart,
leaped forward into the seemingly narrow fringe of fire in his front.
Head down, he ran blindly, stumbling forward as he struck the ore-dump,
and beating out with his hands the sparks that scorched his clothing.
The smoke appeared to roll higher from the ground here, and the
coughing soldier crept up beneath it, breathing the hot air, and
feeling as though his entire body were afire. Mason, his countenance
black and unrecognizable, his shirt soaked with blood, peered into his
face.