“He’s going to set a back fire,” cried Bub. “Nick has started his at the edge of the swamp, intending to burn up the mountain, not only destroying our timber but our lives. Git busy over by that boulder and start a blaze. For your life don’t let it eat up the mountain.”
It was now near sun-down and the wind fortunately had died out. From the swamp the frightened chorus of animal voices began to be heard, while rabbits, squirrels and several lynx dashed into view, the hunting instinct in the cats and the fear in the others all being lost in the greater fear of that terrible thing—fire.
As Stanley struck his match a noble buck swiftly passed near him, trying to circle the mountain and find water.
Thus the three men worked, trampling and beating out the tongues that sought to creep upward; and meanwhile the yellow cloud in front grew taller and was often punctuated with pillars of red.
“Look out for the ends!” roared Abner, as their efforts finally resulted in a racing streak of opposing flames that promised to rescue them from their pen.
This advice was timely. If the back fire was allowed to creep about the base of the moun-
