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Show A VOICE FROM THE VORTEX. Bj EDGAR WELTON COOLEY. (Copyright, 19P8, by Dally Story Pub. Co.) tt.'i. Sn rftncid forth her hands j palms upwards. Cooling drops ol j moisture kissed the quivering flesh. U . was raining! With a cry of joy upon her lips, she sank upon her knees in the dust and offered up a prayer of thanksgiving for the shower that had come in time. In a mighty torrent fell the rain, and when at last the woman raised her eyes, she saw a wide expanse of blackened stubble, but not a spark was glowing. Then, through the mist her dazrd eyes beheld a familiar, broad-shouldered broad-shouldered figure running towards her with outstretched hands. And a moment mo-ment later she was folded in John Mailory's strong arms. "Minnie! Thank God; oh, thank God!" he cried. 1 son. Before the rolling vapor frightened fright-ened birds flew past in flocks; along the dusty road, almost dashing against her in their mad flight, droves of rabbits rab-bits fled. To her terrified eyes the whole world seemed ablaze. Vainly she scanned the prairie in all directions, hoping some one with a team would come to her assistance, but not a human hu-man being did she see. With a cry to God for mercy, she sank upon the ground and covered her face with her hands. And the blistering blister-ing demon of rampant flame roared louder and still louder in her ears, and the scarlet of its breath tinged red the snow of her face, the ebony of her hair. "John! John!" she cried, in the depths of her despair. Then, like an For an hour after the dozen pupils which the thinly populated district furnished had gone to their homes, Miss Blanchard sat at the west window win-dow of the little white schoolhouse watching the evening sunlight shimmering shim-mering upon : the nodding prairie grass that stretched like a yellow sea for miles and mile3. It was mid-September. For a month ' not a drop of moisture had fallen. In the road that wound, a dull, gray streak, across the plain, the dust was ankle deep. Verdure' was sere, and lifeless, and dry. ' The sky was cloudless; cloud-less; the sun's heat almost intolerable. But Miss. Blanchard's thoughts were . not of the parched, glittering landscape land-scape nor .yet of her school duties. They were of John Mallory. She could not remember when she had not loved John Mallory. All their young lives they had been sweethearts. But at last they had quarreled and parted in anger. While she still considered that he had been unjust to her, and her eyes snapped indignantly at the recollection of his harsh words, she could not dull the keen edge of regret; the dazzling hrightness of the sunshine could not 'dissipate the shadow the deep, darksome dark-some shadow that seemed to wrap her in its mantle. With a sigh she turned from the window and her glance rested upon the telephone back of her desk. Dear, thoughtful John! It was he who had ordered the telephone placed in the schoolhouse. - "There are so many tramps in the country," he had said to her. "If they hother you, little woman, or if you are ver in need of help, ring me up." Her heart had thrilled with affection at the time, but now- - She tossed ire her head proudly. "I do not need his assistance," she said; "I am quite jcapable of taking care of myself, I think." Again she turned to gaze across the monotonous fields, and became conscious con-scious of a peculiar haze that seemed to fill the air with increasing .density. "With never a thought but that a much needed shower was not far distant, she watched it in idle curiosity, but presently, pres-ently, with sudden foreboding, shs noticed no-ticed that heavy clouds of vapor occasionally occa-sionally rolled over the building, borne westward. And then, through the open window there drifted a strong, familiar odor the odor of smoke. Hurrying to the door, she pushed it open and cast one apprehensive glance to the eastward, tnen shrank back appalled. ap-palled. The prairie was afire! Across. the.e-astirn. fec.yizoa w&3 a ?ivid wall of flame, whose red tongues seemed reaching to the very portals of heaven. The long, parched blades of grass, dry as tinder, were food most tempting to the ravenous element. The wind had increased to a gale and already a shower of sparks was falling within a few rods of th schoolhouse. The nearest residence, a mile away, was towards the east, from which the Are was rapidly approaching. To the westward twice that distance must be traversed before she could reach a habitation. She knew the plowed fields, surrounding the dwellings, insured in-sured safety to the buildings, but she could not hope to reach any of them in advance of this scarlet agent of destruction. de-struction. Yet certain death awaited her if she remained, for the school-house school-house was without protection of any nature. An agony of thoughts crowded her brain and in a , frenzy of fear she A moment later she was folded in John Mailory's strong arms, inspiration, came the recollection of the telephone. She staggered to her feet and dashed into the schoolhouse. Tje interior was aglow with the reflections of the flames; the air was stifling with the smoke. ... With 'her hand upon the receiver she paused irresolutely, then turned her head slightly and glanced out the window win-dow at the hurricane of death bearing down upon her. "No, no," she said, "I-will not. No power on earth can save me now. And he it would be but agony for him to know that I am in this sea of flame and he unable to give me aid. When it is.. oveMS!SiiX' Will b&4ime-enough b&4ime-enough for him to know." . "With her face illumined with a gleam of heroic determination, she turned away and walked slowly to the window. And there she stood pale, out. gazing calmly out at the raging flood of fir.e. The flames were only a few feet away now and their hungry tongues almost .licked the window panes. In despair she wrung her hands. "Oh, God," she cried, "I cannot die without once more hearing the voice I love, without asking to be forgiven for the hasty, the angry words I uttered!" Again she hastened to the telephone and rang the bell. And when at last she heard his familiar voice the fire was- laying greedy hands upon the walls of the building. "John," she said, "you are not angry with me, are you, dear? . . . You do not know how glad I am to hear you say that, dear. I was afraid you held resentment, and I . . . Oh, no, John, l!Wt dear, it was all my fault, and I am sorry so sorry. . . . Where am I now? Do you think I would be standing stand-ing at the telephone if I were in the schoolhouse? There must be Are all around it by this time. Isn't it awful?" aw-ful?" She shrank for an instant before the intense heat. The roar of the flames was like wail of a hurricane in a forest. "John John!.. .-. Perhaps perhaps per-haps I will never see you again, dear. But if I never do, remember that I loved you John better than " She staggered beneath the choking cloud of smoke. Scarlet tongues of flame were lapping the floor almost at her feet. "Yes, John I am going away far, far away. . . . Where? ... I cannot can-not tell you now . . . To-morrow-to-night, perhaps . . . you will know. . Oh, John dear, dear John . . . . . Good bye . . . Good " The receiver dropped from her nerveless fingers and, blinded with smoke and faint from the intense heat, she reeled forward through the blackness. black-ness. Stumbling, falling, rising again, she reached the door unscathed, hearing hear-ing the desperate ringing of the telephone tele-phone bell and the deafening roaring of the flames. Onward she staggered until she reached the road that one narrow break in the wall of flame. And there she paused and turned her flushed face upward toward the sky iu mute ap-, peal to beaven. Something fell upon her forehead, something namp and Through the open window there t drifted a strong, familiar odor, dashed into the road. Already she could feel the heat of the Are that was racing towards her with the speed of a railway train. It seemed no more than two miles away; she could hear the ominous crackling of the dry grass as the flames leaped forth and embraced" em-braced" the writhing verdure m their hot embrace. , The sky was hidden by a mantle of nmoke; the sun, visible only at intervals, inter-vals, was a great, round ball of crim- |