<h2 id="c15"><span class="h2line1">CHAPTER XV</span> <br/><span class="h2line2"><i>THROUGH THE PASS</i></span></h2>
<p>George Doyle sat down on the edge of the dock,
leaning his back against a post.</p>
<p>“You bore me with those schoolboy ideas of yours,
Flash,” he yawned. “Who cares about Rajah Mitra?
We’re here and we can have a good time if you’ll act
fairly appreciative, instead of being so blamed suspicious.”</p>
<p>“There’s something about our friend Rascomb I
don’t like.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you make me tired!” Doyle said in exasperation.
“Go soak your head in the lake!”</p>
<p>Flash turned angrily and walked down a cindered
path which led into the woods. It was useless to
argue with Doyle. He had been unwise even to mention
his thoughts. Yet it was possible that his misgivings
were without foundation.</p>
<p>Gravel crunched behind him. Whirling around he
faced Herbert Rascomb.</p>
<p>“Hope I didn’t startle you,” his host said pleasantly.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</div>
<p>They fell into step. Feeling certain that the man
had joined him for a purpose, Flash waited for Rascomb
to introduce the topic of conversation.</p>
<p>For a time his host talked casually of work he was
having done on his place. He pointed out various
kinds of trees, displaying a genuine knowledge and
interest in nature. Finally he remarked:</p>
<p>“Yesterday at the polo game you spoke of an acquaintance
of mine, the late Albert Povy. You knew
the man?”</p>
<p>“Only by reputation. I have been told he was a
spy who plotted against our government.”</p>
<p>“A spy?” Rascomb smiled broadly. “Well, possibly,
but I doubt it. I’ll admit his life had mysterious
aspects. Yet he was an interesting man, most interesting.”</p>
<p>“In some ways you remind me of him,” Flash said
boldly. “You have the same dark eyes and facial contours.
When first I saw you it struck me you might
be related.”</p>
<p>“Indeed? Povy had no relatives in this country.
That was why I claimed his body—from a feeling of
charity. So you think I resemble him, eh?”</p>
<p>“It was only a first impression. Povy’s face had an
ugly scar. Your voice and manner are entirely different
from his.”</p>
<p>“Then you are satisfied I have not adopted a disguise?”
Rascomb asked lightly.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</div>
<p>“Quite satisfied.”</p>
<p>“No doubt it may strike you as strange that I
should befriend a man of Povy’s type,” Rascomb went
on after a moment. “I never did believe all the stories
about him. And, as I say, he was an interesting fellow
and very entertaining.”</p>
<p>“Where was Povy buried, Mr. Rascomb?”</p>
<p>“In the church yard at Clear Lake. The grave has
no marker as yet. I expect to arrange for one soon.
Perhaps you would like to visit the cemetery?”</p>
<p>“No, I believe not,” Flash declined. “Povy meant
nothing to me.”</p>
<p>“Yet I must say you seem deeply interested in him.”</p>
<p>“Merely curiosity. To be frank, Mr. Rascomb, I
wondered about your connection with the man. It
seemed odd.”</p>
<p>“I’m not surprised at that. I met Povy a year ago
at one of my clubs. Then a few days ago I read about
his death in the newspapers. Learning there was no
one to take charge of the funeral, I assumed the
responsibility.”</p>
<p>“It was a fine thing to do.”</p>
<p>It seemed to Flash that Rascomb was trying a little
too hard to impress him. However, the man’s explanation
was logical. He had no reason to doubt it.</p>
<p>“Strange you thought I resembled Povy,” Rascomb
chuckled. “Not very flattering, I fear.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</div>
<p>“I meant no offense,” apologized Flash. “The resemblance,
if any, is slight.”</p>
<p>“And I have no scar,” Rascomb laughed good-naturedly.
“That should place me above suspicion.”</p>
<p>They talked of other subjects. Presently the ringing
of a bell summoned them to luncheon.</p>
<p>Throughout the meal, Rascomb took special pains
to be agreeable to his two guests. Once he arose to
close a window, apologizing for smoke which filtered
into the dining room.</p>
<p>“The fire is moving in fast,” Doyle remarked uneasily.
“Any danger of being caught here with our
sound truck?”</p>
<p>“None whatsoever,” Rascomb replied, undisturbed.
“If there is the slightest danger the rangers will warn
us in ample time.”</p>
<p>“While we’re here I wish we could get some pictures,”
said Flash. “You don’t want to try it,
George?”</p>
<p>“Well, we could, I suppose,” he returned reluctantly.</p>
<p>Mr. Rascomb obligingly drew a rough map, showing
the location of the fire in relation to the lodge.</p>
<p>“There are no roads which would take you near
enough,” he said. “Now you could go by boat across
Elbow Lake. If the fire reaches the beaver dam and
Gersham’s Pass, you should get interesting pictures.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</div>
<p>“How soon can we start?” Flash asked eagerly.</p>
<p>“Any time, but I suggest waiting at least an hour.
It will save us a long, tedious trip. Your best chance
for pictures is at Gersham’s Pass.”</p>
<p>Flash and Doyle went at once to their truck to
select the camera and equipment they would take
with them. The technician’s interest in the adventure
had been greatly stimulated by their host’s enthusiasm.</p>
<p>“Rascomb is a real fellow,” he declared.</p>
<p>“I guess I was wrong about him,” Flash acknowledged.
“He’s obliging enough.”</p>
<p>While Doyle returned to the house to talk with
Rascomb, he wandered down to the water’s edge.</p>
<p>A loud, clattering sound, not unlike a battery of
machine guns all firing at once, caused him to turn
his head.</p>
<p>A gray-haired old man in a checkered black and
white shirt was testing an outboard motor which had
been mounted on a barrel. He shut it off as Flash
walked over to him.</p>
<p>“Good afternoon,” the old fellow said pleasantly.</p>
<p>“Been puttin’ this consarned put-putter through its
paces. She runs pretty good when you get ’er goin’
but she’s derned backwards about startin’. Guess it’s
the ignition.”</p>
<p>“You’re Mr. Fleur, aren’t you?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</div>
<p>“That’s me.”</p>
<p>“You seem to be able to turn your hand to almost
anything.”</p>
<p>“Got to, around this place,” Fleur said gruffly. “I
look after it for Mr. Rascomb all year ’round. That
means bein’ a cook, a mechanic, a guide, a fisherman
and general handy man.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you get lonesome?”</p>
<p>“I used to, yes, sir. That was when Mr. Rascomb
first bought this place. But the last year he’s spent
more time here so it hasn’t been so bad. I’m not
kickin’. Mr. Rascomb is as fine a boss as I ever had.”</p>
<p>Fleur paused and looked intently out across the
lake, the pupils of his steel-gray eyes contracting in
the bright sunlight.</p>
<p>“See that deer swimmin’ in the water. First time
I’ve ever known ’em to come near the lodge. They’re
being driven by the fire.”</p>
<p>Flash made out a dark form in the water but soon
lost it.</p>
<p>“Is the fire coming this way?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Looks like it to me,” Fleur answered. “Rascomb
says you’re aimin’ to take some pictures over Gersham
Pass way. Better watch yourself—that’s my advice.”</p>
<p>Doyle and Rascomb came briskly down the path to
the dock.</p>
<p>“Are you ready?” asked Flash.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</div>
<p>“Mr. Rascomb is going along with us,” the technician
said. “He thinks we need a guide.”</p>
<p>“We don’t like to put you to so much trouble,”
Flash responded.</p>
<p>“You never could find the pass without someone to
show you the way,” Rascomb replied. “I’ll enjoy the
trip. Anything with an element of danger always
interests me!”</p>
<p>Selecting a boat, he attached the outboard motor
which Fleur had been testing.</p>
<p>“She ain’t acting none too well, Mr. Rascomb,” the
caretaker warned as he watched the three leave the
dock.</p>
<p>At a steady but slow pace, the boat plied its course
across the lake and then along the shore for three
miles. The air was filled with smoke, and fine cinders
drifted down. In the treetops myriads of birds made
an excited racket as they fled the marching flames.</p>
<p>Coming to the mouth of a small river which emptied
into the lake, Rascomb switched off the motor.</p>
<p>“This will be the best way to go,” he said, indicating
the stream. “It will take us beyond the beaver dam
and the pass.”</p>
<p>When Rascomb switched on the motor again it
would not start. In turn, Flash and Doyle tinkered
with it. The trouble, as Fleur had suggested, was in
the ignition, but they could not locate it.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</div>
<p>“We’re wasting time,” Rascomb said, getting out
the oars. “If we want to get there we’ll have to row.”</p>
<p>Flash rather admired the manner in which his host
accepted a difficult situation. Clearly, Rascomb was
not one to turn back when confronted with trouble.
He was an out-of-doors man, a person who used his
wits and adapted himself to whatever came.</p>
<p>As the boat made slow progress upstream, Rascomb
seemed to be the only member of the party who enjoyed
the adventure. His eyes flashed and he kept up
a steady stream of animated conversation.</p>
<p>At length he steered the boat to shore, explaining
that it was necessary to portage around a beaver dam
which blocked the river.</p>
<p>While Doyle and Rascomb moved the craft, Flash
took pictures. Rejoining his companions, they rowed
on through a narrow pass lined to the water’s edge
with dry brush and scrub trees.</p>
<p>By this time the low rumble of the fire plainly was
audible. Flaming brands carried on the high wind,
dropped with a hissing sound about the boat.</p>
<p>Rascomb indicated a cliff to the right, a quarter of a
mile beyond the pass.</p>
<p>“You might get a fairly good view of the fire from
that high point.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</div>
<p>After a hard climb, the three at last reached the
summit. Gazing to the eastward they saw a great
wall of flame and smoke. A wave of heat rose from
the valley, smashing at their faces.</p>
<p>Setting up his camera, Flash ran through fifty feet
of film and reloaded. So engrossed did he become in
his task that he lost all count of time.</p>
<p>Rascomb touched his arm.</p>
<p>“We should be starting back,” he said. “The wind
is bringing the fire this way. If the brush should
catch behind us from a flying brand, we might easily
be trapped.”</p>
<p>Flash shouldered his camera. At a fast pace they
started down the hillside.</p>
<p>Reaching the boat, Rascomb tried once more to
start the motor and failed. For the first time he displayed
anxiety.</p>
<p>“I’ll feel safer when we are beyond the pass,” he
said, seizing the oars. “But the current should take
us down fairly fast.”</p>
<p>Rascomb rowed tirelessly, refusing to allow Flash
or Doyle to relieve him. He sent the boat forward
in powerful spurts. They swept around a curve of
the river.</p>
<p>A gasp of horror escaped from Doyle who sat in
the bow. Rascomb stopped rowing.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</div>
<p>Directly ahead lay Gersham’s Pass. And on either
shore, lining the narrow space, rose walls of flame.</p>
<p>There was a moment of stunned silence. Then
Rascomb spoke.</p>
<p>“Well, boys, we’re trapped if we stay here. Only
one thing to do! We must wet our clothing and try
to run through it!”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</div>
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