choking, gasping for breath, stumbling and tripping, and at times falling
prone, he fought his way along the line of fire.

He was so weak, so worn out from physical exertion and nervous strain that
he could no longer think clearly. But blindly, stubbornly, doggedly, he
fought the flames. His movements became mechanical. Sometimes his
descending bough hit the fire and sometimes it struck the unignited
leaves. Charley was fast nearing the point of exhaustion. He could
scarcely control his movements. Yet he tried valiantly to hold himself to
his task. He thought of the turtle-dove on the burning stump and for a
moment the thought seemed to give him new strength. But the inspiration
was only momentary. Blindly now he staggered along the line of fire,
gasping, reeling, swaying, hardly able to keep his feet. He tottered on.

He could hardly raise his brush. His efforts were useless. Yet he hung
doggedly to his duty. Just as he was about to plunge headlong into the
flames, a shout sounded in his ears, forms came rushing through the smoke,
and Charley was lifted in the forester's strong arms and borne to one
side.




Chapter XXVI

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For a long time Charley lay on his back, hardly conscious of anything. But