The air freshened somewhat, and the forest lightened. Almost abruptly we
rode out to the edge of a great, wide canyon. It must have crossed the
forest at right angles to the canyon we had left. It was twice as wide and
deep as any I had yet seen. In the bottom wound a broad brook.
"Which way now?" asked Herky.
Bill shook his head. Far to our right a pall of smoke moved over the
tree-tops, to our left was foggy gloom, behind rolled the unceasing roar.
We all looked straight across. Probably each of us harbored the same
thought. Before that wind the fire would leap the canyon in flaming bounds,
and on the opposite level was the thick pitch-pine forest of Penetier
proper. So far we had been among the foot-hills. We dared not enter the
real forest with that wild-fire back of us. Momentarily we stood
irresolute. It was a pause full of hopelessness, such as might have come to
tired deer, close harried by hounds.
The winding brook and the brown slope, comparatively bare of trees, brought
me a sudden inspiration.
"Back-fire! Back-fire!" I cried to my companions, in wild appeal. "We must
back-fire. It's our chance! Here's the place!"
Bud scowled and Herky grumbled, but Bill grasped at the idea.
"I've heerd of back-firin'. The rangers do it. But how? How?"
They caught his hope, and their haggard faces lightened.
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