Twice in his own life he had raced against death in a forest fire.

But never had he seen a fire like this must have been.
All at once he seemed to hear the roar of it in his ears, the rolling thunder of the earth as it twisted in the cataclysm of flame, the hissing shriek of the flaming pitch-tops as they leapt in lightning fires against the smoke-smothered sky.

A few hours ago he had stood where Father John's Cabin had been and the place was a ruin of char and ash.

If the fire had hemmed them in and they had not escaped-- His voice cried out in sudden protest.
"It can't be, Peter.

It can't be! They made the rail--or the lake--and we'll find them in the settlements.