The other was the snapping of the rotted rope, under the wrench of Lad's furious leap.
Free, and with the severed rope's loop still dangling uselessly from around his shaggy throat, the dog stood staring in blank amaze after his former adversary.

He saw the bear reach the margin of the icy lake and plunge nose deep into its sheltering waters.

Here, as Bruin's instinct or experience had foretold, no forest fire could harm him.

He need but wallow there until the Red Terror should have swept past and until the scorched ground should be once more cool enough to walk on.
Lad turned again toward the slope.

He was free, now, to follow the wagon track to the main road and so homeward, guided perhaps by memory, perhaps by scent; most probably guided by the mystic sixth sense which has more than once enabled collies to find their way, over hundreds of miles of strange territory, back to their homes.
But, in the past few minutes, the fire's serpent-like course had taken a new twist.