Interlaced above their heads, dark silent houses loomed up on

either side and the white palings of fences gleamed faintly like a

row of tombstones. The narrow street was a dim tunnel, but faintly

through the thick leafy ceiling the hideous red glow of the sky

penetrated and shadows chased one another down the dark way like

mad ghosts. The smell of smoke came stronger and stronger, and on

the wings of the hot breeze came a pandemonium of sound from the

center of town, yells, the dull rumbling of heavy army wagons and

the steady tramp of marching feet. As Rhett jerked the horse's

head and turned him into another street, another deafening

explosion tore the air and a monstrous skyrocket of flame and smoke

shot up in the west.

"That must be the last of the ammunition trains," Rhett said

calmly. "Why didn't they get them out this morning, the fools!

There was plenty of time. Well, too bad for us. I thought by

circling around the center of town, we might avoid the fire and

that drunken mob on Decatur Street and get through to the southwest

part of town without any danger. But we've got to cross Marietta

Street somewhere and that explosion was near Marietta Street or I

miss my guess."

"Must--must we go through the fire?" Scarlett quavered.

"Not if we hurry," said Rhett and, springing from the wagon, he

disappeared into the darkness of a yard. When he returned he had a

small limb of a tree in his hand and he laid it mercilessly across

the horse's galled back. The animal broke into a shambling trot,

his breath panting and labored, and the wagon swayed forward with a

jolt that threw them about like popcorn in a popper. The baby

wailed, and Prissy and Wade cried out as they bruised themselves

against the sides of the wagon. But from Melanie there was no

sound.

As they neared Marietta Street, the trees thinned out and the tall

flames roaring up above the buildings threw street and houses into

a glare of light brighter than day, casting monstrous shadows that

twisted as wildly as torn sails flapping in a gale on a sinking

ship.

Scarlett's teeth chattered but so great was her terror she was not

even aware of it. She was cold and she shivered, even though the

heat of the flames was already hot against their faces. This was

hell and she was in it and, if she could only have conquered her

shaking knees, she would have leaped from the wagon and run

screaming back the dark road they had come, back to the refuge of

Miss Pittypat's house. She shrank closer to Rhett, took his arm in

fingers that trembled and looked up at him for words, for comfort,

for something reassuring. In the unholy crimson glow that bathed

them, his dark profile stood out as clearly as the head on an

ancient coin, beautiful, cruel and decadent. At her touch he

turned to her, his eyes gleaming with a light as frightening as the

fire. To Scarlett, he seemed as exhilarated and contemptuous as if

he got strong pleasure from the situation, as if he welcomed the

inferno they were approaching.

"Here," he said, laying a hand on one of the long-barreled pistols

in his belt. "If anyone, black or white, comes up on your side of

the wagon and tries to lay hand on the horse, shoot him and we'll

ask questions later. But for God's sake, don't shoot the nag in

your excitement."

"I--I have a pistol," she whispered, clutching the weapon in her

lap, perfectly certain that if death stared her in the face, she

would be too frightened to pull the trigger.

"You have? Where did you get it?"

"It's Charles'."

"Charles?"

"Yes, Charles--my husband."

"Did you ever really have a husband, my dear?" he whispered and

laughed softly.

If he would only be serious! If he would only hurry!

"How do you suppose I got my boy?" she cried fiercely.

"Oh, there are other ways than husbands--"

"Will you hush and hurry?"

But he drew rein abruptly, almost at Marietta Street, in the shadow

of a warehouse not yet touched by the flames.

"Hurry!" It was the only word in her mind. Hurry! Hurry!

"Soldiers," he said.

The detachment came down Marietta Street, between the burning

buildings, walking at route step, tiredly, rifles held any way,

heads down, too weary to hurry, too weary to care if timbers were

crashing to right and left and smoke billowing about them. They

were all ragged, so ragged that between officers and men there were

no distinguishing insignia except here and there a torn hat brim

pinned up with a wreathed "C.S.A." Many were barefooted and here

and there a dirty bandage wrapped a head or arm. They went past,

looking neither to left nor right, so silent that had it not been

for the steady tramp of feet they might all have been ghosts.

"Take a good look at them," came Rhett's gibing voice, "so you can

tell your grandchildren you saw the rear guard of the Glorious

Cause in retreat."

Suddenly she hated him, hated him with a strength that momentarily

overpowered her fear, made it seem petty and small. She knew her

safety and that of the others in the back of the wagon depended on

him and him alone, but she hated him for his sneering at those

ragged ranks. She thought of Charles who was dead and Ashley who

might be dead and all the gay and gallant young men who were

rotting in shallow graves and she forgot that she, too, had once

thought them fools. She could not speak, but hatred and disgust

burned in her eyes as she stared at him fiercely.

As the last of the soldiers were passing, a small figure in the

rear rank, his rifle butt dragging the ground, wavered, stopped and

stared after the others with a dirty face so dulled by fatigue he

looked like a sleepwalker. He was as small as Scarlett, so small

his rifle was almost as tall as he was, and his grime-smeared face

was unbearded. Sixteen at the most, thought Scarlett irrelevantly,

must be one of the Home Guard or a runaway schoolboy.

As she watched, the boy's knees buckled slowly and he went down in

the dust. Without a word, two men fell out of the last rank and

walked back to him. One, a tall spare man with a black beard that

hung to his belt, silently handed his own rifle and that of the boy

to the other. Then, stooping, he jerked the boy to his shoulders

with an ease that looked like sleight of hand. He started off

slowly after the retreating column, his shoulders bowed under the

weight, while the boy, weak, infuriated like a child teased by its

elders, screamed out: "Put me down, damn you! Put me down! I can

walk!"

The bearded man said nothing and plodded on out of sight around the

bend of the road.

Rhett sat still, the reins lax in his hands, looking after them, a

curious moody look on his swarthy face. Then, there was a crash of

falling timbers near by and Scarlett saw a thin tongue of flame

lick up over the roof of the warehouse in whose sheltering shadow

they sat. Then pennons and battle flags of flame flared

triumphantly to the sky above them. Smoke burnt her nostrils and

Wade and Prissy began coughing. The baby made soft sneezing

sounds.

"Oh, name of God, Rhett! Are you crazy? Hurry! Hurry!"

Rhett made no reply but brought the tree limb down on the horse's

back with a cruel force that made the animal leap forward. With

all the speed the horse could summon, they jolted and bounced

across Marietta Street. Ahead of them was a tunnel of fire where

buildings were blazing on either side of the short, narrow street

that led down to the railroad tracks. They plunged into it. A

glare brighter than a dozen suns dazzled their eyes, scorching heat

seared their skins and the roaring, cracking and crashing beat upon

their ears in painful waves. For an eternity, it seemed, they were

in the midst of flaming torment and then abruptly they were in

semidarkness again.

As they dashed down the street and bumped over the railroad tracks,

Rhett applied the whip automatically. His face looked set and

absent, as though he had forgotten where he was. His broad

shoulders were hunched forward and his chin jutted out as though

the thoughts in his mind were not pleasant. The heat of the fire

made sweat stream down his forehead and cheeks but he did not wipe

it off.

They pulled into a side street, then another, then turned and

twisted from one narrow street to another until Scarlett completely

lost her bearings and the roaring of the flames died behind them.

Still Rhett did not speak. He only laid on the whip with

regularity. The red glow in the sky was fading now and the road

became so dark, so frightening, Scarlett would have welcomed words,

any words from him, even jeering, insulting words, words that cut.

But he did not speak.

Silent or not, she thanked Heaven for the comfort of his presence.

It was so good to have a man beside her, to lean close to him and

feel the hard swell of his arm and know that he stood between her

and unnamable terrors, even though he merely sat there and stared.

"Oh, Rhett," she whispered clasping his arm, "What would we ever

have done without you? I'm so glad you aren't in the army!"

He turned his head and gave her one look, a look that made her drop

his arm and shrink back. There was no mockery in his eyes now.

They were naked and there was anger and something like bewilderment

in them. His lip curled down and he turned his head away. For a

long time they jounced along in a silence unbroken except for the

faint wails of the baby and sniffles from Prissy. When she was

able to bear the sniffling noise no longer, Scarlett turned and

pinched her viciously, causing Prissy to scream in good earnest

before she relapsed into frightened silence.

Finally Rhett turned the horse at right angles and after a while

they were on a wider, smoother road. The dim shapes of houses grew

farther and farther apart and unbroken woods loomed wall-like on

either side.

"We're out of town now," said Rhett briefly, drawing rein, "and on

the main road to Rough and Ready."

"Hurry. Don't stop!"

"Let the animal breathe a bit." Then turning to her, he asked

slowly: "Scarlett, are you still determined to do this crazy

thing?"

"Do what?"

"Do you still want to try to get through to Tara? It's suicidal.

Steve Lee's cavalry and the Yankee Army are between you and Tara."

Oh, Dear God! Was he going to refuse to take her home, after all

she'd gone through this terrible day?

"Oh, yes! Yes! Please, Rhett, let's hurry. The horse isn't

tired."

"Just a minute. You can't go down to Jonesboro on this road. You

can't follow the train tracks. They've been fighting up and down

there all day from Rough and Ready on south. Do you know any other

roads, small wagon roads or lanes that don't go through Rough and

Ready or Jonesboro?"

"Oh, yes," cried Scarlett in relief. "If we can just get near to

Rough and Ready, I know a wagon trace that winds off from the main

Jonesboro road and wanders around for miles. Pa and I used to ride