The sky above was all curdled with gold and crimson, while the smoke cloud below was a turgid black shot through with sparks and tongues of flame.
Where were the fire-fighters, that they did not check the mad race of flames before they crossed that canyon?
It seemed to Jack that never had a fire burned with so headlong a rush.

Then his eyes went to the blackened manzanita slope where Marion had been idling, and he shivered at what might have happened down there.

To comfort himself with the sight of her safe and serene, he turned and went out, meaning to go up where she was.
She was still sitting on the rock, gazing down the mountain, her face sober.

Her hat was off, and the wind was blowing the short strands of her hair around her face.

She was leaning back a little, braced by a hand upon the rock.