Crazed and reeling she stumbled and ran along, pausing now and
again to press her throbbing head, then running on again like one
possessed.
At last she came out of the woods suddenly on to the broad, smooth
highway. There was the bridge, silent and--no, not dark. For there was
a bright spot somewhere underneath it and gray smoke wriggling up
through those cracks between the planks. And there, yes, there,
crawling away in the darkness was a black figure. A silent, stealthy
figure, stealing away.
To the dazed, feverish girl, the figure seemed to have two pairs of
arms. She tried to call but could not. Her scream of delirious fright
died away into a murmur as she staggered and fell prone upon the ground
and knew no more.
But never again--never, never would those cruel planks taunt her with
their heartless prediction. Never would they frighten the poor,
sensitive, fearful little red-headed orphan girl any more.
CHAPTER XXVIII
STOCK ON HAND
It was Joey Burnside, the burliest and heartiest of the volunteer
firemen, who carried Pepsy back through the woods to the farm while
still the conflagration was at its height.
There was not timber enough left from the old bridge to kindle a
scout camp-fire.
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