"Penetier will go!"
"Wal, I reckon. But thet's not the worst."
"You mean--"
"Mebbe we can't get out. The forest's dry as powder, an' thet's the worst
wind we could have. These canyon-draws suck in the wind, an' fire will race
up them fast as a hoss can run."
"Good God, man! What'll we do?"
"Wait. Mebbe it ain't so bad--yet. Now let's all listen."
The faces of my friends, more than words, terrified me. I listened with all
my ears while watching with all my eyes. The line of rolling cloud
expanded, seemed to burst and roll upward, to bulge and mushroom. In a few
short moments it covered the second slope as far to the right and left as
we could see. The under surface was a bluish white. It shot up swiftly, to
spread out into immense, slow-moving clouds of creamy yellow.
"Hear thet?" Hiram Bent shook his gray head as one who listened to dire
tidings.
The wind, sweeping up the slope of Penetier, carried a strong, pungent odor
of burning pitch. It brought also a low roar, not like the wind in the
trees or rapid-rushing water. It might have been my imagination, but I
fancied it was like the sound of flames blowing through the wood of a
campfire.
"Fire! Fire!" exclaimed Hiram, with another ominous shake of his head. "We
must be up an' doin'."
"The forest's greatest foe! Old Penetier is doomed!" cried Dick Leslie.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188