Often a man would run up to the wagon, climb upon a
wheel and dip a frayed gunny sack into a barrel, lift it out and run
with it, all dripping, to the nearest point of the fire. Her part was to
keep the wagon at the most convenient place. She began to feel the
importance of her position, and to take pride in being always at the
right spot. From the calm appreciation of the picturesque side, she
drifted to the keen interest of the one who battles against heavy odds.
The wind had veered again, and the flames rushed up the long coulee like
an express train. But the path it left was growing narrower every
moment. Keith Cameron was doing grand work with his crew upon the other
side, and the space between them was shortening perceptibly.
Beatrice found herself watching the work of the Cross men. If they were
doing it for effect, they certainly were acting well their part. She
wondered what would happen when the two crews met, and the danger was
over. Would Sir Redmond call Keith Cameron to account for what he had
done? If he did, what would Keith say? And which side would Dick take?
Very likely, she thought, he would defend Keith Cameron, and shield him
if he could.
Beatrice found herself crying quietly, and shivering, though the air was
sultry with the fire. For the life of her, she could not tell why she
cried, but she tried to believe it was the smoke in her eyes.
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