For an hour they went on, and as the moon sank westward it seemed to turn its face to look at them; and behind them, when they looked back, the world was transformed into a black pit, while ahead—­with the glow of it streaming over their shoulders—­ghostly shapes took form, and vision reached farther.  Twice they caught the silvery gleam of lakes through the tree-stubs, and again they walked with the rippling murmur of a stream that kept for a mile within the sound of their ears.  But even here, with water crying out its invitation to life, there was no life.

Another hour after that Jolly Roger’s pulse beat a little faster as he strained his eyes to see ahead.  Somewhere near, within a mile or two, was the first settlement with its sawmill and its bunkhouses, its one store and its few cabins, with flat mountains of sawdust on one side of it, and the evergreen forest creeping up to its doors on the other.  Surely they would find life here, where there had been man power to hold fire back from the clearing.  And it was here he might find Nada and the Missioner, for more than once Father John had preached to the red-cheeked women and children and the clear-eyed men of the Finnish community that thrived there.

But as they drew nearer he listened in vain for the bark of a dog, and his eyes quested as futilely for a point of light in the wide canopy of gloom.  At last, close together, they rounded a curve in the road, and crossed a small bridge with a creek running below, and McKay knew his arm should be able to send a stone to what he was seeking ahead.  And then, a minute later, he drew in a great gasping breath of unbelief and horror.

For the settlement was no longer in the clearing between him and the rim-glow of the moon.  No living tree raised its head against the sky, no sign of cabin or mill shadowed the earth, and where the store had been, and the little church with its white-painted cross, was only a chaos of empty gloom.

He went down, as he had gone to the tie cutter’s cabin, and for many minutes he stared and listened, while Peter seemed to stand without breathing.  Then making a wide megaphone of his hands, he shouted.  It was an alarming thing to do and Peter started as if struck.  For there were only ghosts to answer back and the hollowness of a shriven pit for the cry to travel in.  Nothing was there.  Even the great sawdust piles had shrunk into black scars under the scourge of the fire.

A groaning agony was in the breath of Jolly Roger’s lips as he went back to the railroad and hurried on Death must have come here, death sudden and swift.  And if it had fallen upon the Finnish settlement, with its strong women and its stronger men, what might it not have done in the cabin of the little old gray Missioner—­and Nada?

For a long time after that he forgot Peter was with him.  He forgot everything but his desire to reach a living thing.  At times, where the road-bed was smooth, he almost ran, and at others he paused for a little to gather his breath and listen.  And it was Peter, in one of these intervals, who caught the first message of life.  From a long distance away came faintly the barking of a dog.