the stacks the fire stopped.

"He is the Evil One himself," said the old Millerite. "That Indian boy
is no human form."

Out of the black came the horse plunging, bearing the boy, who waved his
hands to the people. Then the horse plunged away, as though wild, toward
the outer edge of the great sea of fire.

The horse and rider rushed into the flames, and the same strange effects
followed. The running flame and white cloud changed into black smoke,
and the destruction was arrested.

The people watched the boy as he rode half hidden in rolling smoke, his
red plumes waving above the verge of the flaming sea. What a scene it
was as he rode there, round and round, like the enchanted form of a more
than human deliverer! But the effect of his movements at last ceased.

"He is coming back," said the people.

Out of the fire rushed the horse and rider toward the island grove
again.

"Give me new hides!" he cried, as, singed and blackened, he swept into
the trees. "The hide is dead and shriveled. Give me new hides. Ho! ho!"

New hides were provided by killing oxen. He tied two together like a
carpet, with the raw side upon the earth. He attached them by a long
rope to the horse's neck, and dashed forth again, crying:

"Do the same, and follow me."

The horse seemed maddened again. It flew toward the fire as if drawn by
a spell, and plunged into it like a bather into the sea. Waubeno tried
to deaden the fire in the whole circle. Round and round the island he
rode, in the tide of the advancing flames. The people understood his
method now, and the men secured new hides and attached them to horses,
and followed him. He led them, crying and waving his hands. Round and
round he led them, round and round, and where they rode the white smoke
changed into black smoke and the fire died.

The people secured raw hides by killing the poor cattle, and came out to
the verge of the fiery sea and checked the progress of the flames in
places. In the midst of the excitement a roll of thunder was heard in
the sky.

"'Tis the trumpet of doom," said the old Millerite.

The people heard it with terror, and yet with hope. It might be an
approaching shower. If it were, they were saved.

The fire in front of them was checked. Not the great sea, but the
current that was rolling toward the island grove. The fire at the north
was rushing forward, but it moved backward toward the place slowly. The
women began to soak blankets and clothing in