de a pretty sight, but--

"Frightened by the fire, aren't they?" asked Scout Van Sant, quietly, as
we jogged on.

"Yes," I had to say.

This looked serious. The fire might not be coming, and again it might.
Animals are wise.

The smoke certainly was worse. The air certainly was warmer. The breeze
was changing, or else we were down into another breeze. Next I saw a
black, shaggy creature lumbering past, before, and I pointed without
stopping. They nodded.

"Bear?" panted Ward.

I nodded. The bear was getting out of the way, too.

"Will we make it?" again asked Ward.

"Sure," I answered. We _had_ to.

On we plowed. We were almost at the bottom of the slope and we ought to
be reaching those willows and aspens. The brush was not so bad, now; but
the brush does not figure much in a forest fire when the flames leap
from tree-top to tree-top and make a crown fire. That is the worst of
all. This was hot enough to be a crown fire, if a breeze helped it.

We saw lots of animals--rabbits and squirrels and porcupines and more
deer, and the birds were calling and fluttering. The smoke rasped our
throats; the air was thick with it and with the smell of burning pine.
And how we sweat.

Then, hurrah! We were into the aspens. I tell you, their white trunks
and their green leaves looked good to me; but ahead of us was that other
slope to climb, before we were into the bareness.

"Shall we go on?" asked Scout Van Sant.

He coughed; we all coughed, as we wheezed. That had been a hard hike.
The air was hot, we could _feel_ the fire as the wind came in strong
puffs; everywhere animals were running and flying, and the aspens were
full of wild things, panicky. We had to decide quickly, for the fire was
much closer.

"Are you good for another pull?" I asked.

They grinned, out of streaming faces and white lips.

"We'll make it if you can."

But I didn't believe that we could. Up I went into an aspen, to
reconnoiter.

"Be looking for wetness, or willows," I called down. They dropped their
packs and scurried.

CHAPTER XII

FOILING THE FIRE

I don't know what a record I made in climbing that tree--an aspen's bark
is slick--but in a jiffy I was at the top and could peer out. (Note
47.) All the sky was smoke, veiling the upper end of the valley and of
the ridge. The ridge must be afire; the fire was spreading along our
side; and if we tried for the opposite slope and the bare spot we might
be caught halfway! Som