At times Tad was unable to see the opening ahead of him.  When, however, the smoke lifted, giving him a momentary view, he saw that the gap was rapidly closing.

All at once his attention was drawn from the closing gap.

“Yeow !  Yeow!  Yeow!  Y-e-o-w!”

A series of shrill, blood curdling yells from out the pall of smoke and flame at the rear, bombarded his ears.

At first he thought it was Indians; then the improbability of this being the case came to him.

“Yeow!  Yeow!  Yeow!” persisted the voice behind, and it was coming nearer every second.

Tad slackened the speed of his pony ever so little, despite the peril of his position.

“There’s somebody in there behind me, and, he’ll never get out alive if he loses his way.”

The moment this thought occurred to him, Tad began to yell at the top of his voice.

Suddenly from out the thick veil of smoke burst a pony with a mighty snort, coming on in bounds, each one of which cleared many feet of ground.  On the pony’s back was Stacy Brown, hatless, coatless, his hair standing up in the breeze, his face as red as if it had come in actual contact with the flames.

“Yeow!” he roared, as his pony shot past Tad as if the latter’s mount were standing still.  Where Stacy had come from, how he had passed through that wall of flame, Tad had not the slightest idea.

As a matter of fact the explanation was simple enough.  The guide had sent Chunky out to assist Tad in bringing in the rip-rapping material.  Stacy had made a detour from the camp, having gotten just inside the danger zone when the fire broke out.  Guided by the butte where he knew his companion must be, Stacy headed for that point.  There he came upon Tad’s trail, and began yelling to attract his attention.  He had heard Tad’s answering cry, and this inspired the fat boy to renewed efforts.

Stacy, now that he had passed Tad, slowed up ever so little.  He had passed his companion so swiftly that he was unable to determine whether or not Tad were in distress.

The latter came up, overhauling Stacy in a few moments.  Both ponies were steaming from the terrific gruelling they were giving themselves.

“What you doing here?” exploded Tad.

“Same thing you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Trying to save myself from being burned alive—­”

“Don’t slow up!  Don’t slow up!” shouted Tad.  “Keep going!”

“I am.  Wat’s matter with you?”

“I don’t see what you had to come tumbling into this mess for,” objected Tad.

“Didn’t tumble in.  Rode in.  Came to help you—­”

“Precious lot of help you’ll be to me.  Lucky if we’re not both burned with our boots on.  See!  The flame’s narrowing in on us.  More steam, Chunky!  More steam!” urged Tad.

“Can’t.  Blow up the boiler if I do,” Stacy could not be other than humorous, even under their present trying situation.