down the valley, and those fellows on the other side of
the ridge can head it off, in their direction, then we'll stop it by
back-firing at the edge of Brazito canyon."

He talked as rapidly as we moved--and that was good fast Scouts' trot,
for us. The hold on the stirrups and latigos helped a lot. It lifted us
over the ground. We all crossed the flat diagonally and struck into a
draw or valley full of timber and with a creek in it, at right angles to
the flat. Up this we scooted, hard as we could pelt.

"Tired? Want to rest a second?" he asked.

We grunted "No," for we had our second wind and little Jed Smith was
hanging on tight, behind the saddle. Besides, the fire was right ahead,
toward the left, belching up its great rolls of black-and-white smoke.
And at the same time (although we didn't know it) the gang who had
started it were fleeing in one direction, from it, and the general and
Fitzpatrick were loose and fleeing in another direction, and Jim Bridger
was smelling it and with the Red Fox Patrol was drawing near to it and
not knowing, and the beaver man was tying up his leg and about to run
right into it.

But we were to help stop it.

"Here!" spoke the Ranger. "Here's the fire line, this cleared space like
a trail. It runs to those willows a quarter of a mile below. When the
fire comes along this ridge you watch this line and beat out and stamp
out every flame. See? You can do it. It won't travel fast, down-hill;
but if ever it crosses the line and reaches the bottom of the valley
where the brush is thick, there's no knowing where it will stop. It will
burn willows and everything else. One of you drop off here; I'll take
the others further. Then I must make tracks for the front."

We left Kit Carson here. Jed Smith climbed down and was left next, in
the middle, and I was hustled to the upper end.

"So long," said the Ranger. "Don't let it get past you. It won't. Work
hard, and if you're really in danger run for the creek. But Boy Scouts
of America don't run till they have to. You can save lives and a heap of
timber, by licking the fire at this point. I'll see you later." And off
he spurred, through the timber, across the front of the fire.

He wasn't afraid--and so we weren't, either.

CHAPTER XIV

THE CAPTURE OF THE BEAVER MAN

The fire line looked like some old wood-road, where trees had been cut
out and brush cleared away. It extended through the timber, striking the
thin places and th