THE FLAMING FOREST
Early on the morning of the eighth day of the trip, Bert crossed
the line into Oklahoma. He found little difference in the roads he
encountered, most of them being of a very poor description. But by this
time he was used to all sorts of going, and could listen without
laughing, when one of the natives, in a fit of enthusiasm, would speak
of some atrocious path as a "highway."
Of course, in isolated instances some village or town had inaugurated a
"good roads" movement, and then Bert found nothing to complain of. But
as a rule the roads were inferior, and he found fast travel practically
impossible.
He rode steadily, however, and by noon had made fairly good progress. He
now found himself in a thickly wooded country, and rode mile after mile
in a deep shade that was very grateful after some of the blistering
hours in the open he had been forced to undergo. There was a brisk
breeze blowing, and the leaves rustled pleasantly, allowing slender
shafts of sunlight to flicker through them as they swayed and whispered.
Bert drew in great breaths of the fragrant air, redolent of a thousand
woody odors, and wished that the whole of his journey lay through such
pleasant places. After a while he came to a beautiful little glen
through which ran a sparkling brook.
"Just the place to eat lunch," thought Bert, and quickly brought the
"Blue Streak" to a standstill. Dismounting, he unpacked his lunch box,
and, sitting down on a broad, flat-topped rock at the edge of the
stream, ate contentedly.
"This place is a regular little Garden of Eden," he mused. "There must
be fish in that stream. If I only had a hook and line along, I'll wager
I'd get some sport out of it." Then another thought struck him. "By
Jove!" he exclaimed aloud, "a swim would feel mighty good now, and there
must be a place deep enough for one somewhere around here. I'm going on
an exploring expedition, anyway."
Sure enough, around a slight bend in the stream he discovered a pool
that almost looked as though it had been made to order. A gigantic tree
had fallen across the stream, forming a natural dam. The clear water ran
over and under it with a tinkling, splashing sound, and Bert gave a
shout of joy.
"Here goes for a glorious swim," he cried, and, undressing hastily,
plunged in. The water was icy cold, and for a moment the shock of it
took away his breath and made his heart stand still. But in a few
seconds the reaction came, and he splashed around, and even managed to
swim a few strokes in the deepest part.
"This is great," he thought. "I wouldn't have missed it for worlds. It's
too bad the old 'Blue Streak' can't enjoy it with me." He smiled as this
absurd thought crossed his mind, but little knew how much of prophecy
there was in it.
When he felt thoroughly refreshed, he climbed out to the bank, and
quickly slipped into his clothes. "I can dry out as I go along," he
thought, with a grin. "Somebody evidently forgot to hang bath towels on
these trees. Very careless of them, _I_ think."
He hurried back to where he had left the motorcycle, and soon was once
more purring along the woodland track. He had traveled something less
than an hour, when he began to notice a thin blue haze in the air, and
at the same time to smell a pungent smoke. His first thought was that he
was near some settler's cabin, but as he rode on he could see no sign of
human habitation, and the green forest stretched away on both sides of
the road without any break that might denote a trail.
But the smoke kept getting heavier every second, and suddenly the truth
smote him like a blow in the face. "A forest fire," he thought, "a
forest fire! and here I am, in the heart of these woods, with absolutely
no way of escape, that I can see." Even as these thoughts flashed
through his mind, a rabbit dashed out onto the road, so mad with terror
that it almost ran under the wheels of the motorcycle.
Bert brought his machine to a standstill with a jerk, the back tire
skidding as he jammed on his brake. A thousand plans raced through his
head, only to be rejected as soon as formed. Of them all only one
offered the slightest hope of escape.
"The brook," he thought, "if I can only get back there I'll have a
chance to pull through. If the fire beats me to it--well, there will be
one less contestant in this race, that's all."
He lifted the motorcycle bodily from the ground, in his excitement and
dire need, handling it as easily as he would a bicycle, pointing it back
the way he had so lately come. Then, with a shove and a leap he was off
on a wild ride, with life itself as the prize.
He flew swiftly along the narrow trail, careless of ruts and obstructions
that he had avoided with the greatest care but a short time before. The
smoke grew thick and choking, reddening his eyes, irritating his lungs.
It was only by the greatest good fortune that he avoided a collision with
the panic-stricken animals that dashed across the road in great numbers,
disappearing among the underbrush on the other side. Now he could hear a
distant roaring and crackling, and great waves of heat billowed down upon
him. He clenched his teeth, and opened the throttle to the utmost. The
woods streaked away on both sides, and soon he saw that he was nearing
his goal.
But the fire was traveling fast as well as he, and he could see it
leaping through the tops of the trees at no great distance. The heat
scorched and burned him, and the motorcycle felt hot to the touch. But,
after what seemed an interminable time, he reached the brook, which now
offered the last chance of safety.
Scarcely checking his speed, Bert swung off the road. His machine
skidded wildly, but the tires gripped in time, and Bert steered for the
deep pool in which he had bathed less than two hours ago. The "Blue
Streak" crashed through the underbrush, beating down all opposition by
its terrific momentum, the powerful motor forcing it forward like a
battering ram. Bert gripped the tank with his knees, and held on grimly,
checking his mount at last at the brink of the pool.
By now, the heat was almost intolerable, but there was still something
left for him to do before he could plunge into the cool water. Way back
in his camping days he had learned the best way of fighting a forest
fire, and now he put his knowledge to account. He applied a light to the
grass and underbrush bordering the pool, and a thin line of flame began
creeping to meet the furious conflagration dashing through the trees.
This would leave a narrow belt of charred land around the pool that
would hold the fire at a little distance, at least.
This done, Bert seized the handlebars of his motorcycle, and hauled it
into the pool after him, until it was partly immersed.
"That's the best I can do for you, old friend," he said. "I guess the
fire can't reach you there, at any rate."
Then he waded in until he reached the deepest part of the pool, and
waited for the advance of the devouring element.
He had plenty of company, as rabbits, foxes, and numerous other wild
creatures continually plunged into the water, their eyes wide with
terror, and all thoughts of age-old enmities wiped from their minds.
The heat grew more intense every moment, and Bert felt the skin on his
face blistering. He took a long breath, and ducked his head completely
under water. He kept it there until it seemed as though his lungs would
burst for lack of air, and then lifted it to take another breath. In
those few seconds the fire had made tremendous strides, and now met the
backfire that Bert had started. He had only time to take a hasty glimpse
of all this, and then was forced to duck under again. Every breath he
drew was hot as the blast of a furnace, and seemed fairly to scorch his
lungs.
The fire burned for a few minutes with no appreciable lessening of its
fury, but then, deprived of fuel, gradually passed by on each side of
the pool. Its terrific roaring slowly died away in the distance, and the
unbearable heat abated somewhat, although smoke still hung in a heavy
pall over the blackened ground.
At last Bert found he could venture from the water with safety, and
accordingly did so. At the same time the wild creatures who had sought
refuge in the same place bethought themselves of engagements elsewhere,
and scampered off.
Bert hauled the "Blue Streak" out of the water, and found it practically
unharmed. Some of the enamel had blistered, but Bert paid little
attention to this, so long as the machine was still in running order. He
had taken care not to let the water touch the magneto, and so was able
to start immediately.
As he rode over the blackened trail, Bert could not help comparing the
scene of desolation that now met his eye with the beautiful appearance
the woods had presented so short a time before. In places the ground
still smoked and smouldered, and in others trees burned like giant
torches.
But Bert realized that he had had a narrow escape from death, and this
thought kept him from dwelling too long on the devastated landscape.
After two or three hours' riding, he passed the fire belt, and once
more entered a flourishing forest. He made steady progress, and before
nightfall reached a fair-sized town. Most of the able-bodied men had not
returned from fighting the fire, and at first the few who were left
would hardly believe Bert's account of his escape. But a look at the
blistered enamel on the motorcycle convinced them, and they united in
congratulating him on his good fortune. As one grizzled old fellow
remarked, "Thar ain't many folks as can say they've come through a
forest fire as easy as you did, son. Thar generally ain't much o' them
left to tell the story."