y the time he could
reach the spot, the fire had a good start and had already burned over
several acres. It was blazing briskly and Charley was at first uncertain
as to whether he should attempt to fight it alone or call help. But night
was at hand, the wind was already falling, and Charley decided that he
could conquer the blaze single-handed. He judged that the best way to do
this was by beating it out with brush.

Quickly chopping a pine bough, Charley attacked the fire. It was not a
fierce blaze, though when the fitful wind blew strong it flamed up
savagely. Even the tiniest of forest fires is hot enough, and Charley
found it trying work. He had many hundreds of yards of flame to beat out.
The smoke and the heat were stifling and exhausting, and every little
while Charley had to turn away from the fire to rest and get his breath.
During such periods, Charley would walk back along the fire-line to make
sure that the blaze was extinguished behind him.

Darkness came quickly in the deep valley, and before Charley had the blaze
half extinguished, he was unable to see distinctly. Indeed he could hardly
have seen anything at all had it not been for the fitful light of the
flames; and this dancing light made objects appear uncertain and unreal.

In one of his trips back along the line, Charley came to a stump that was
ablaze. In beating out the flames just here, he had failed to extinguish
some tiny sparks in a hollow place at the base of the stump. The wind had
fanned these into life after Charley had passed on, and the fire had
communicated to the stump. Now the stump was a pillar of flame. At any
moment sparks might fly from it and rekindle the fire.

Charley beat at the stump with his brush until the flames had entirely
disappeared. But fearing that sparks might yet be smouldering under the
bark or in the dry wood, Charley began scraping the sides of the stump. As
his hand reached the top of the stump, there was a sudden startling whir
of wings and something shot upward into the dark. Charley recoiled as
though shot. His heart beat a tattoo against his ribs. His first thought
was of the sudden blow the rattler had given the ranger. Yet he knew it
was no rattler that had suddenly sprung upward into the night. He drew
forth his flash-light, which he always carried, and turned the beam of
light on the top of the stump. There lay two little turtle-doves, unharmed
despite the fierce flames that had played about them. They