He knew that the conflagration had been set by their own bonfire, fanned
by a rising wind as they slept, but it was no time to lament. The rush
and sweep of the flames, feeding upon the dry forest and gathering
strength as they came, was terrific. It was indeed like the thunder of a
storm in the ears of the frightened boys, and they fairly skimmed over
the ground in the effort to escape the red pursuer. They could feel its
hot breath on their necks, while the smoke and the sparks flew over
their heads. They dashed into the creek, and each dived down under the
water which felt so cool and refreshing.
"Let's stay here," said Paul, who enjoyed the present.
"We can't think of such a thing," replied Henry. "This creek won't stop
that fire half a minute!"
A fire in a sun-dried Western forest is a terrible thing. It rushes on
at a gallop, roaring and crackling like the battle-front of an army, and
destroying everything that lies before it. It leaves but blackened
stumps and charred logs behind, and it stops only when there is no
longer food for it to devour.
The boys sprang out of the creek and ran up the hill.
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