as I drew a bead on him
I suddenly remembered that this was _Sunday morning_--and I quit.
Sunday ought to be different from other days. So I left him hopping and
happy, and I went back to camp. Jed and Kit had the fire going and the
water boiling; and we breakfasted on tea and bread and bacon.

Then we policed the camp, put out the fire, every spark, and took the
burro and horse trail, to the rescue again. We must pretend that this
was only a little Sunday walk, for exercise.

After a while the trail crossed the creek at a shallow place, and by a
cow-path climbed the side of a hill. Before exposing ourselves on top of
the hill we crawled and stuck just our heads up, Indian scouts fashion,
to reconnoiter. The top was clear of enemy. Sitting a minute, to look,
we could see old Pilot Peak and the snowy range where we Scouts ought to
be crossing, bearing the message. We believed that now the gang with
prisoners were traveling to cross the range, too. They had the message,
of course, and that was bad, unless we could head them off. So we sort
of hitched our belts another notch and traveled as fast as we could.

The hill we were on spread into a plateau of low cedars and scrubby
pines; the snowy range, with Pilot Peak sticking up, was before. After
we had been hiking for two or three hours, off diagonally to the left we
saw a forest fire. This was thick timber country, and the fire made a
tremendous smoke. It was likely to be a big fire, and we wondered if the
ranger was fighting it. As for us, we were on the trail and must hurry.

We watched the fire, but we were not afraid of it, yet. The plateau was
too bare for it, if it came our way. The smoke grew worse--a black,
rolling smoke; and we could almost see the great sheets of flame
leaping. We were glad we weren't in it, and that we didn't know of
anybody else who was in it. But whoever had set it had done a dreadful
thing.

The trail of the burros and of the horses, mixed, continued on, and left
the plateau and dipped down into a wide flat, getting nearer to the
timber on the slope opposite. Then out from our left, or on the fire
side, a man came riding hard. He shouted and waved at us, so we stopped.

He was the Ranger. I tell you, but he looked tired and angry. His eyes
were red-rimmed and his face was streaked with sweat and dirt, and holes
were burned in his clothes and his horse's hide.

"I want you boys," he panted, as soon as he drew up. "We've got to stop
th