Part 17 (1/2)

”No,” I said. ”Let's strike across,” and I explained.

”But the man. Wait a minute. Maybe he doesn't know,” said Scout Van Sant; and away he raced, down and back for the dug-out.

We followed, for of course we wouldn't let him go alone. As we ran we all shouted, and at the dug-out we shouted, looking; but all that we saw was the beaver man far off across the creek, riding through the timber.

He did not glance back; he kept on, riding slowly, headed for the fire.

That seemed bad. He was so angry that perhaps his judgment wasn't working right, and he didn't pay much attention to the smell of smoke.

So all we could do was to race up the ridge again, get the packs, and plunge down over for sanctuary.

The wind was blowing toward the fire, as if sucked in. But I knew that this would not hold the fire, because there would be another breeze, low, carrying it along. With a big fire there always is a wind, sucked in from all sides, as the hot air rises.

Those Red Fox Scouts hiked well, loaded with their packs. I set the pace, in a bee-line for the willows and aspens, and I was traveling light, but they hung close behind. The alt.i.tude made them puff; they fairly wheezed as we zigzagged down, among the trees; but we must get out of this brush into the open.

”Will we make it?” puffed Ward.

”Sure,” I said. But I was mighty anxious. It seemed to me that the distance lengthened and lengthened and that I could feel the air getting warm in puffs. This was imagination.

”Look!” cried Van Sant. ”What's that?” He stopped and panted and pointed.

”Bunch of deer!” cried Ward.

It was. Not a bunch, exactly, but two does and three fawns, scampering through the timber below, fleeing from the fire. They were bounding over brush and over logs, their tails lifted showing the white--and next they were out of sight in a hollow. They made a pretty sight, but--

”Frightened by the fire, aren't they?” asked Scout Van Sant, quietly, as we jogged on.

”Yes,” I had to say.

This looked serious. The fire might not be coming, and again it might.

Animals are wise.

The smoke certainly was worse. The air certainly was warmer. The breeze was changing, or else we were down into another breeze. Next I saw a black, s.h.a.ggy creature lumbering past, before, and I pointed without stopping. They nodded.

”Bear?” panted Ward.

I nodded. The bear was getting out of the way, too.

”Will we make it?” again asked Ward.

”Sure,” I answered. We _had_ to.

On we plowed. We were almost at the bottom of the slope and we ought to be reaching those willows and aspens. The brush was not so bad, now; but the brush does not figure much in a forest fire when the flames leap from tree-top to tree-top and make a crown fire. That is the worst of all. This was hot enough to be a crown fire, if a breeze helped it.

We saw lots of animals--rabbits and squirrels and porcupines and more deer, and the birds were calling and fluttering. The smoke rasped our throats; the air was thick with it and with the smell of burning pine.

And how we sweat.

Then, hurrah! We were into the aspens. I tell you, their white trunks and their green leaves looked good to me; but ahead of us was that other slope to climb, before we were into the bareness.