Twice again that day were these scenes reenacted. The same result
obtained. Each time it seemed to Bob that he could do no more. His hand
felt as big as a pillow, and his whole arm and shoulder ached. Besides
this he was tired out. Amy had been cut off from them by the fire. In
two days they had had but an hour's sleep. Water had long since given
out on them. The sun beat hot and merciless, assisting its kinsman, the
fire. Bob would, if left to himself, have given up the contest long
since. It seemed ridiculous that this little handful of men should hope
to arrest anything so mighty, so proud, so magnificent as this great
conflagration. As well expect a colony of ants to stop a break in the
levee. But Morton continued to fall back as though each defeat were a
matter of course. He seemed unwearied, though beneath the smoke-black
his eyes were hollow. Mrs. Morton did her part with the rest, strong as
a man for all her feminine attraction, for all the soft lines of her
figure.
"I'll drop back far enough this time," Charley muttered to her, as they
were thrown together in their last retreat.
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