est became lighter,
glimpses of sky showed low down through the trees, we were nearing a
slope.

For the third time the old hunter brought us to a stop, this time on the
edge of a slope that led down to the rolling foot-hills. I could only
stand and gaze. Those open stretches, sloping down, all green and brown
and beautiful, robbed me of thought.

"Look thar!" cried Hiram Bent.

His tone startled me. I faced about, to see his powerful arm
outstretched and his finger pointing. His stern face added to my sudden
concern. Something was wrong with my friends. I glanced in the direction
he indicated. There were two rolling slopes or steps below us, and they
were like gigantic swells of a green ocean. Beyond the second one rose a
long, billowy, bluish cloud. It was smoke. All at once I smelled smoke,
too. It came on the fresh, strong wind.

"Forest fire!" exclaimed Dick.

"Wal, I reckon," replied Hiram, tersely. "An' look thar, an' thar!"

Far to the right and far to the left, over the green, swelling
foot-hills, rose that rounded, changing line of blue cloud.

"The slash! the slash! Buell's fired the slash!" cried Dick, as one
suddenly awakened. "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 gr