inferno.

Flaring high, the light showed the black, violently agitated forms of
the fighters, and the clouds of yellow smoke, coalescing and drifting,
changing to dark and soaring high.

Olsen had sent three mowers abreast down the whole length of the
barley-field before the fire reached that line. It was a wise move, and
if anything could do so it would save the day. The leaping flame, thin
and high, and a mile long, curled down the last of the standing wheat
and caught the fallen barley. But here its speed was checked. It had to
lick a way along the ground.

In desperation, in unabated fury, the little army of farmers and
laborers, with no thought of personal gain, with what seemed to Kurt a
wonderful and noble spirit, attacked this encroaching line of fire like
men whose homes and lives and ideals had been threatened with
destruction. Kurt's mind worked as swiftly as his tireless hands. This
indeed was being in a front line of battle. The scene was weird, dark,
fitful, at times impressive and again unreal. These neighbors of his,
many of them aliens, some of them Germans, when put to this vital test,
were proving themselves. They had shown little liking for the Dorns, but
here was love of wheat, and so, in some way, loyalty to the government
that needed it. Here was the answer of the Northwest to the I.W.W. No
doubt if the perpetrators of that phosphorus trick could have been laid
hold of then, blood would have been shed. Kurt sensed in the fierce
energy, in the dark, grimy faces, shining and wet under the light, in
the hoarse yell and answering shout, a nameless force that was finding
itself and centering on one common cause.

His old father toiled as ten men. That burly giant pushed ever in the
lead, and his hoarse call and strenuous action told of more than a
mercenary rage to save his wheat.

Fire never got across that swath of cut barley. It was beaten out as if
by a thousand men. Shadow and gloom enveloped the fighters as they
rested where their last strokes had fallen. Over the hills faint
reflection of dying flames lit up the dark clouds of smoke. The battle
seemed won.

Then came the thrilling cry: "Fire! Fire!"

One of the outposts came running out of the dark.

"Fire! the other side! Fire!" rang out Olsen's yell.

Kurt ran with the gang pell-mell through the dark, up the barley slope,
to see a long red line, a high red flare, and lifting clouds of ruddy
smoke. Fire in the big wheat-field! The s