The roar of the flames shut out all other thought of the world and cast a wide inferno of light around them.
Higher and higher rose the fires, and the wind cut off great fragments and hurried them off into the night, blowing them, it seemed, straight up against the piled thunder of the clouds.

Then the roof sagged, swayed, and fell crashing, while a vast cloud of sparks and livid fires shot up a hundred feet into the air.

It was as if the soul of old Boone had departed in that final flare.
It started the girl into sudden life, surprising Pierre, so that she managed to wrench herself free and ran from him.

He sprang after her with a shout, fearing that in her hysteria she might fling herself into the fire, but that was not her purpose.

Straight to the black horse she ran, swung into the saddle with the ease of a man, and rode furiously off through the falling of the night.
He watched her with a curious closing of loneliness like a hand about his heart.