a day or two. I reckon we'd better not risk takin' you back to
Holston till we're sure about the fire. Anyways, kid, you need rest.
You're all played out."

Indeed, I was so weary that it took an effort to lift my hand. A strange
lassitude made me indifferent. But Herky's calm mention of taking me
back to Holston changed the color of my mood. I began to feel more
cheerful. The meal we ate was scant enough--biscuits and steaks of
broiled venison with a pinch of salt; but, starved as we were, it was
more than satisfactory. Herky and Bill were absurdly eager to serve me.
Even Bud was kind to me, though he still wore conspicuously over his
forehead the big bruise I had given him. After I had eaten I began to
gain strength. But my face was puffed from the heat, my injured arm was
stiff and sore, and my legs seemed never to have been used before.

Darkness came on quickly. The dew fell heavily, and the air grew chilly.
Our blazing campfire was a comfort. Bud and Bill carried in logs for
firewood, while Herky made me a bed of dry pine needles.

"It'll be some cold tonight," he said, "an' we'll hev to hug the fire.
Now if we was down in the foot-hills we'd be warmer, hey? Look thar!"

He pointed down the ravine, and I saw a great white arc of light
extending up into the steely sky.

"The forest fire?"

"Yep, she's burnin' some. But you oughter seen it last night. Not thet
it ain't worth seein' jest now. Come along with me."

He led me where the ravine opened wide. I felt, rather than saw, a steep
slope beneath. Far down was a great patch of fire. It was like a crazy
quilt, here dark, there light, with streaks and stars and streams of
fire shining out of the blackness. Masses of slow-moving smoke overhung
the brighter areas. The night robbed the forest fire of its fierceness
and lent it a kind of glory. The fire had ceased to move; it had spent
its force, run its race, and was now dying. But I could not forget what
it had been, what it had done. Thousands of acres of magnificent pines
had perished. The shade and color and beauty of that part of the forest
had gone. The heart of the great trees was now slowly rolling away in
those dark, weird clouds of smoke. I was sad for the loss and sick with
fear for Dick and Hiram.

Herky must have known my mind.

"You needn't feel bad, kid. Thet's only a foothill or so of Penetier
gone up in smoke. An' Buell's sawmill went, too. It's almost a sure
thing thet Leslie an' old Bent g