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knew that it was the crown fire. Her
legs failed her and Johnny scooped her up, running and stumbling through the
grass, guided by Irish’s white jumper.
    Deer, with death in
their eyes, bounded through the clearing, failing to notice either humans or a
terrified cougar that sped in their midst. Small animals, badgers, squirrels,
chipmunks and a lumbering bear fled blindly from the greatest devourer of
all—FIRE.
    Johnny half-slipped,
half-leaped down a clay bank. A beaver dam had crossed this creek in former
years but, though its builders were dead, water still remained there, several
feet deep. Into it plunged Irish, up to his waist, and then she saw that he
gripped the big moving-picture camera in his arms. The whole world had slowed
down for her. Animals in a steady stream cleared this creek and raced out of
sight into the darkness beyond. A wise chipmunk plunged in. Against the scarlet
sky she could see legions of birds striving to outstrip the smoke. There was
something grandly beautiful in this drama of death and only the shock of the
water broke her momentarily detached state.
    Johnny had thrown her
down. “Swim up under one of those mounds!” he cried. “There’s air in them.
Gimme that camera, Irish.”

    Into it plunged Irish, up to his waist, and then she saw
that he gripped the big moving-picture camera in his arms.
    â€œGee whiz, this ought
to wow ’em!” cried Irish, ducking into the pool.
    â€œLay ’em in the
aisles!” cried Johnny, opening wide his lens. For a moment he was conscious of
the smallness of his voice against that crackling roar which sped upon them and
then he was again all business, wading into the pool until the water was up to
his neck, holding the camera at face level. The tripod helped buoy it up. He
reached over and snatched the helmet from the girl’s head, putting it on and
drawing the goggles down.
    They heard the plane
catch fire. A moment later it exploded and then, after that, all the sky was
alight. The crown fire, traveling with a plane’s speed, whooshed over them. But
as an undertone, the girl could hear the steady whir of the camera, focused now
upon the trapped animals, now up the scourged trees. Burning brands rained upon
them, hissing as they struck the pool, setting fire to the brush on the banks.
Johnny swore abruptly, but the whirring camera sound went on.
    She was conscious that
she held the film he had taken from the plane and knew she had been holding it
up carefully for minutes. It surprised and pleased her to find that she had
been calm all that time, despite the heat which penetrated the beaver mound.
    Suddenly she heard
Irish scream, “LOOK OUT!”
    There came a long,
groaning sigh, a swish of branches and then a numbing crash which sent the
water over the mound in a great wave. Something struck the girl’s head and she
fought to keep up above the surface but, gradually, she sank down.
    She had no
consciousness of being moved, but when she again opened her eyes, it was to
behold Johnny’s blackened face. He had two white rings around his eyes where
the goggles had been, and a long wet streak of red which worked slowly down his
cheek. It was scorching hot and the world glowed redly, flickering from small
flames which still licked the trunks of the dead forest giants. The pool was a
dirty mess of floating charcoal and dead, small animals. A powdery ash was
snowing around them, gently and quietly, throwing everything out of proportion
for her.
    â€œShe’s alive!” said
the singed Irish.
    â€œYeah,” said Johnny,
hiding his own relief. It seemed funny to her that he should want to smoke with
all this eddying about him, but he was lighting a cigarette. He sat down in the
shallow water over the dam, remorsefully puffing as he stared at the
devastation. She lifted herself up a little and saw that a great tree divided
the pond. Others had fallen up stream and down, their roots already