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into flames. Pushed by the demon’s wind, a wall of fire
swept up the gully toward the stagecoach.
“No-o-o-o,” Ford screamed. He fired wildly, first at
the wolves on the hillside, then at the curtain of flames. His
eyes peeled wide. “I ain’t gonna burn,” he bellowed.
Blinded by his own madness, Ford struggled to his
feet and dodged around the end the wagon. White streaks
blazed from the muzzle of his rifle as he fired into the dark
before him. He turned and ran from the speeding wall of
fire.
Every blade of grass became fuel for the racing inferno.
Flames higher than a horse’s head licked the night sky and
roared like the devil’s own choir.
I snatched a canteen from the ground and dumped it on
June’s hair. “Taylor, wet down Pope.” The young soldier’s
mouth dropped open, and then he scooped up a canteen
and spilled it on his sergeant. The other troopers ran to the
wagon.
Ash fell on us. Hot air scorched my lungs. The fire raced
toward us, crackling as it devoured every weed and bush in
its way.
Above the sounds of this hell, Ford shrieked. Snarls and
yips from the frenzied pack of wolves filled my ears. Above
the sounds of chaos, I heard a man being torn to pieces.
“Grab Pope!” I screamed over the roar of the coming
firestorm. “Drag him.”
Taylor and another trooper took Pope by the arms.
Pope’s mouth opened, but the fire’s roar stole away the
sound of his scream.
I grabbed June’s hand. The fire burned nearer. “Trust
me,” I yelled with my nose touching hers. “Run for all your
worth.”

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