Another horseman spurred to the porch steps as Clemmie tried vainly to reload the rifle. He fired at her, and she fell. Rusty shot at the rider but knew the bullet went wild.

Flames were spreading across the porch toward Clemmie. Rusty dropped his rifle and hurried up the steps, arm raised to shield his face from the intense heat. Clemmie pushed up onto her elbows, her nightgown beginning to smoke. He lifted her and carried her into the yard, away from the blaze. He felt wetness soaking through his shirt. It was Clemmie’s blood.

She pointed back toward the house. “The children! Get the children out of there.”

For a fleeting moment Rusty considered trying to fight the fire, but he saw that it had grown too intense. “How bad are you hit, Clemmie?”

“Leave me. Go see that the children get out.”

He set her on the ground as gently as he could, then ran back to the house, again shielding his face with his arms as he hurried onto and across the porch to the front door. The thick smoke choked him. The doorknob burned his hand. Inside, the flames lighted the house brighter than daytime. He saw Geneva and one of her younger sisters, carrying all the clothing they could hold in their arms.

“Get out of this house!” he ordered.

The smallest of the girls carried the family Bible. Geneva had probably thought of that.

Flames turned them away from the back door. Rusty saw that the front door had become completely engulfed. “This way, out a side window.”

He raised the window and propped it with a stick. Geneva and the girls pitched out the clothing they had retrieved, then Rusty helped them through the opening. Geneva said, “There’s more clothes in that chif-forobe. Hand them through to me.”

“This house is fixin’ to fall down around us,” he said, but he opened the doors to the upright chest and grabbed everything he could reach.

The fire was roaring, engulfing the house. It was unthinkable to go back inside. Geneva asked desperately, “Where’s Mother?”

“Around front. You-all come on. She’ll want to know that everybody got out.”

The girls cried, and Geneva’s voice broke as she called for her mother. The answer came in an urgent shout from Purdy. “She’s out here.”

Clemmie lay where Rusty had left her, her anxious face lighted by the dancing flames. The smaller girls ran to her, sobbing. Purdy grabbed them. “Your mama’s hurt. You’re liable to hurt her more if you touch her.”

Geneva knelt at Clemmie’s side and took her hand. “How bad is it?”

Clemmie tried to answer but had difficulty in speaking. Purdy said, “Bullet hit her in the side. Might’ve busted a rib or two, but I don’t think it got any of the vitals.” He looked up as the porch collapsed in a shower of fire. “That’s the wound that’ll hurt her the most, I think, losin’ the house.”

One of the girls said eagerly, “We saved a lot of the clothes.”