FIRE AND WATER
Tearing through the undergrowth, running till they were breathless,
walking fast and then running again, the boys made their way through
the woods. To save time they took a short cut, but the ground was so
rough that it may have proved longer in the end, and before they
struck the old logging-road they realized that this was no light blaze
in the dead wood. Volumes of smoke surged over the trees, and when
they came within half a mile of the lake, they found the way blocked.
Ahead of them the woods were burning to left and right. Hardly any
flame was visible, but the forest was choking with smoke and full of
the sharp smell of burning cedar. In the distance they could hear the
roar of the flames and the occasional crash of falling trees. To save
the apiary looked hopeless.
“How in the world did it ever spring up so suddenly?” exclaimed Carl.
“Don’t know. But we can’t get through this way. Got to go round it!”
gasped his brother, and they plunged into the woods again.
Though they were not far from the lake they had to make a wide detour
to the west to reach it. What they could do when they got there they
hardly knew, but the bees meant everything to them. They could not let
the apiary burn without a fight.
Stumbling through the smoke, they reached the lake shore at last.
Clouds of smoke drifted over the water, and the fire crashed and
roared. Two hundred yards away they saw the beehives dimly and ran
toward them. They had not yet been touched, but the fire was burning
straight toward the yard, through the rubbish-ricks along the shore.
“Can we clear a belt around them?” cried Carl, doubtfully.
“Too late!” said Bob. “Can’t start any counter-fire either. Can’t we
move them out of the way somehow?”
Standing in bitter perplexity they looked from the apiary to the
woods. The fire was coming down the eastern shore; the hives were at
the southern end and would certainly be consumed when the
conflagration rounded the foot of the lake. There was not much flame
in sight, but dense smoke rolled across the water, and hot ashes were
falling in showers. These might start fresh fires anywhere.
“We’ll get trapped here ourselves if we don’t make haste!” Carl
exclaimed.
Bob went down to the shore and dashed water over himself.
“If we only had the boat we could ferry them off!” he said, and then
uttered a loud exclamation.
“A raft! a raft! That’s the thing, Carl. Make a raft!”
“Yes, float ’em across the lake,” cried Carl. “Or up to the island.
That’ll be best. Let’s get the logs together!”
Halfway up the lake, barely visible through the smoke, was the little
islet. It was barely twenty yards in diameter, but there was nothing
on it to burn, and it would be a safe refuge if they could get the
bees to it.
Bob had already begun to chop furiously into a dead pine log. There
was plenty of timber scattered along the shore, and, better still,
there was the lumber and the nails that they had brought for the
winter case. Time, only, was lacking.
Both boys rushed about frantically through the smoke. They dislodged
the logs that lay nearest the water, hewed off the large limbs, and
rolled the trunks down to the shore. Splashing in and out of the
shallow water, they succeeded at last in getting half a dozen small
tree trunks afloat together. Carl dragged down boards from the lumber
pile, and Bob spiked them down with the back of his ax for a hammer.
“We’ll never do it!” Carl choked.
But they hauled in fresh timbers, more boards, and nailed them to the
first section. The smoke was growing hotter and thicker; they could
plainly feel the fierce breath of the fire itself. Pieces of flaming
bark and branches were beginning to rain down. A partridge, blinded by
the smoke, whirred over their heads and tumbled into the water.
“Keep going, Carl!” Bob cried hoarsely. “A little more’ll do it.”
Working frantically, they managed to put together a few more square
feet of raft and cover it with lumber. It was a rickety affair, but it
must serve as it was. There was no time to do any more.
“Now all aboard with the bees!” Bob shouted.
He wiped his streaming eyes, seized upon the nearest hive, splashed
with it into the shallow water, and set it on the raft. The bees were
not flying, but the smoke and heat had caused them to cluster out on
the entrances in great lumps. It was impossible to handle the hives
without crushing bees, and when this happened they stung savagely.
But it was no time to think of stings, and the boys hardly noticed
them. The hives were a heavy weight, however; they were stuffed with
willow-herb honey; some of them must have weighed eighty pounds, and
the most distant had to be carried over a hundred feet to the raft. It
was hardly possible to handle these single-handed.
Already the fire had burst out around the corner of the lake, and the
dry wood around the apiary was ablaze. A flame suddenly sprang up in
the middle of the yard, but Carl instantly stamped it out and went on
with the work. His hands were bleeding; his back felt as if it were
broken. He hardly knew how the last hives got on the raft. But
suddenly there were no more of the painted boxes on the shore, and his
brother was crying frantically to him to come aboard. He waded into
the water up to his neck, helped to shove the shaky raft off, and
swung himself upon the logs. With a couple of long poles the boys
worked furiously to push the raft into deep water, but it moved with
extreme slowness.
The whole shore was now aflame. Masses of blazing wood, driven by the
wind, went hissing into the water. The heat and smoke were almost
unendurable. But foot by foot the raft crept out into the lake till
the water grew so deep that they could no longer reach bottom. They
were forced to use the poles as sweeps, and their progress became
still slower.
“We’ll save them! We’ll do it!” cried Bob, exultantly.
But they were far from safe. They were about a hundred feet from
shore, and the heat was intense. Fire flooded over the whole ground
where the apiary had stood. On the raft the air was scorching, and
presently honey and melted wax began to ooze from one of the hives.
The combs were melting down.
Carl leaned over the edge and dashed water over all the hives, and it
steamed up from the hot wood. But he kept splashing them till they
cooled somewhat; meanwhile Bob was working hard at the pole.
Presently, by good luck, they passed over a shoal spot, and they dug
the poles into the bottom, gaining several yards.
At that moment Carl cried out sharply and pointed ashore.
“What is it?” exclaimed Bob.
“Some one out there—I saw him through the smoke—just for a second!”
the boy gasped.
They both gazed intently. The drifting smoke-clouds shrouded all the
scene. Then, as they blew aside a little, both the boys saw a human
figure, a man, roughly dressed, dodging up the shore at full speed to
escape the fire.
“Larue!” exclaimed Bob.
“That’s who it was! For a minute I was afraid it might be Alice come
to look for us,” said Carl. “But what can that fellow be doing here?”
“He must have got caught on the other shore, and is running around the
lake to dodge it. Why, Carl, you don’t suppose—”
“No, I really don’t think he’d do such a thing,” Carl answered. “To
try to burn out the apiary would be too much. He’s making for home. I
suppose he’s afraid the fire may burn down that way.”
There was no time then to speculate upon him any further. The air was
a trifle fresher now, but the raft seemed to be growing more shaky
every minute, and the boys were afraid it would actually fall to
pieces. They had to propel it with the utmost care, but sparks no
longer fell on them, and the little island was growing nearer.
“We’ve done it, Carl! We’re safe!” said Bob, and this time he spoke
with reason.
Still it took another quarter of an hour of slow and anxious
navigation before they grounded the raft on the island. They jumped
into the water and began to unload the hives at once, setting them
down anywhere on the stony ground. This was another heavy task, but
when it was done they wiped their streaming faces, and breathed more
freely.
Even here the air was thick with smoke, but it was not hot. Driving
before the breeze, the fire seemed to be burning south and west from
the lake and was now progressing up the western bank. Probably it
would burn for miles, but nothing could be done now to check it.
“You don’t think it’ll go near our cabin, do you?” asked Carl
suddenly.
“Not unless the wind shifts,” answered Bob. “But I think we ought to
get back there as soon as we can. No telling what may happen.”
“I suppose we can leave the bees here all right till the fire’s out,”
said Carl, looking critically around him. “But how are we going to get
ashore ourselves?”
They did not relish the idea of trying to paddle the raft over the
half mile of water to land, and besides they preferred to leave it
where it was for use when they should remove the bees from the island.
Both of them could swim, but neither felt equal to a swim of that
distance, especially as they were nearly exhausted already. So for a
time they sat still on the island, closely surrounded by murmuring
masses of their bees, till it was nearly noon, and they began to grow
desperately hungry.
“It seems to me a thousand years since I had breakfast,” said Carl.
“Nothing for it but to swim, I guess.”
They looked and dreaded, but there was really no easier way. Stripping
off their already soaked clothes, they made them into two bundles,
which they tied at their necks, and each took a loose plank from the
raft to serve as a float. With this support there was no danger of
sinking, though it made their progress somewhat slow, and in half an
hour they stepped ashore on the mainland.
The shore was still hot here where the fire had passed, and they had
to go up the lake for half a mile before they found a way around the
burned area. Here the fire seemed to have started, spreading
southward, and they wondered again what had been its origin.
This necessary detour made it a long tramp home, and they were very
tired, blackened, and hungry when they came in sight of the cabin, and
perceived Alice scouting about on the trail in front, evidently on the
lookout for them.
“Oh, boys!” she exclaimed, hastening toward them. “Are you all right?
I’ve been almost out of my mind with fright. I could see the smoke,
and I thought—I didn’t know what might happen. I knew you’d try to
save the bees. Are they all burned up?”
“Not a bit of it,” said Carl. “We rafted them off into the lake.”
“Good! But I don’t care for anything, as long as you’re both safe. You
must be hungry. I’ve had dinner ready for hours. I thought of trying
to carry a lunch to you, but I was afraid I might miss you.”
“The fire didn’t seem to be coming this way, Alice?” enquired Bob.
“Oh, no. Only the smoke was thick. The bees have been frightened and
cross all the morning. The fire seems to me to be heading down the
river, toward Indian Slough. I hope it doesn’t get to Larue’s place.”
The boys washed off the ashes and soot, sat down to the delayed
dinner, and ate with appetites worthy of what they had gone through.
Now that the physical strain was over, they felt the effects of it,
and they ached in every muscle. They were disinclined to do anything
after dinner, and they all sat outside the cabin and watched the
apparent progress of the fire, as indicated by the smoke over the
tree-tops. It was certainly burning down toward the river, but far
below them, and it seemed to be rather decreasing than spreading. Bob
fancied it had encountered a wet piece of woodland that had given it a
check. The sky was overcast besides, looking as if rain might fall
before morning. On the whole, things looked safe enough; so the boys
went to bed soon after dark, and slept heavily.
Carl was awakened by his brother shaking his arm.
“Get up!” Bob was saying. “Put on your clothes. Hurry!”
Very sleepily Carl obeyed, without knowing what was the matter.
Daylight had just come. In the east the sky was crimsoning delicately,
but down the river in the southwest, it was all one fierce red glare.
A high wind had risen, roaring through the trees, and they could see
the reflection of the fire on the smoke-clouds, and now and again even
the tongues of flame themselves, leaping against the sky.
Alice and Carl were both out-doors, watching in anxiety.
“It isn’t coming this way, is it?” asked Carl, when he had taken in
the alarming spectacle.
“No. The wind’s the wrong way,” responded Bob. “But it must be burning
down mighty near our friend Larue. I believe we ought to take the boat
and go down. He may need help.”
“Yes, I’m sure we ought!” Alice urged.
“Seems to me I’ve done enough fire-fighting for awhile,” Carl
grumbled. “Why, yes, of course we must go,” he added. “I’ll be ready
in a second. Shall we take our axes?”
“I declare, we left them both at the raft,” said Bob. “Never mind; I
dare say we won’t need them. Alice can stay and keep house again.”
“Certainly not!” returned Alice, decisively. “There’s a woman down
there and two little girls, and they may need a woman to help them.
I’m going along.”
“Well, come along then—but I’d rather you wouldn’t,” said Bob with
reluctance.
They all got into the boat and went down stream as fast as the oars
and current could carry them. It was growing quite light now, but the
morning mists and the pervading smoke blurred the outline of
everything. The sky was clouded and stormy-looking. It might rain.
Meanwhile the wind blew strongly and seemed still rising.
“If this wind keeps up and no rain falls, it’ll mean millions of
dollars loss, beside—very likely—some lives,” said Bob. “At this rate,
it may go right over Morton.”
They had gone a couple of miles down the stream before they really
approached the fire zone. Heavy smoke clouds whirled before the wind;
farther down the woods a little way in from the water seemed all
ablaze on the right-hand shore, though the fire had not jumped the
river.
“Looks as if Larue’s outfit had gone!” said Bob.
But as they drifted down things did not look so bad. A short distance
back from the river, fire was, indeed, fiercely at work, but along the
shore there was only occasional burning trees, dead ones that had been
ignited by brands drifting through the air. They expected to encounter
the squatter’s canoe, but nothing appeared on the smoky water, and
they had come down near the beginning of the big slough when all of
them, all at once, were startled by hearing a cry from the shore.
“Listen! What was that? Stop!” yelled Bob
They stopped paddling and listened. Nothing was heard now but the
snapping wood. But they had all heard it—a thin, high-pitched scream,
like a child’s cry—or perhaps the cry of some lynx or wildcat trapped
in the burning forest.
“It was some of the Larues! It was one of the children!” cried Alice.
“Must have been. Let me ashore. I’ll find it!” Carl exclaimed.
“You won’t go into that blazing wood!” ejaculated Bob.
“It isn’t blazing yet, but it soon will be. I can always get back to
the river if I’m forced out. No danger. Keep a close lookout for me if
I have to run for it.”
Bob looked doubtful, Alice frightened, but Carl shoved the boat a
little nearer the land and sprang out into the shallow water. He
deliberately dipped entirely under, came up dripping, and disappeared
into the smoky woods, waving a farewell over his shoulder.
The shore was lined with dense thickets of willows and small hemlocks,
which he brushed through. Pausing, he tried to look about him, but the
smoke-haze was so dense that he could not see any distance.
“Any one here?” he shouted. “Larue! Child! _Petite!_”
But there was no answer. Carl pushed further into the woods. There was
no fire yet in sight, and the wind made the air less choking than it
had been on the day before, but the smashing and roar of the flames in
the forest not a quarter of a mile away was tremendous.
He groped his way forward, calling continually and peering everywhere,
till the air grew hot, and he found his progress blocked by a clump of
dead, blazing spruces.
He backed off then and veered to the right, going for several hundred
yards in this general direction, but following a very crooked course.
Despite all his calling and looking, he could find no trace of any
human being, and he began to consider the search hopeless. Great
sparks and pieces of flaming bark were driving overhead and falling
everywhere, starting a hundred fresh fires.
“Guess I’d better see about getting back to the river,” he said to
himself. “I’ll get cut off if I’m not careful.”
He wiped his watering eyes and turned in what he thought was the
direction of the water. In a few minutes he saw the woods open out
before him, and he ran forward. But instead of the river bank, he
found himself on the border of Larue’s clearing.
His directions had become confused. But the clearing faced on the
slough, at any rate, and he thought he could contrive to cross the mud
to the river. The open space was so thick with smoke that he could see
the house and barn only by glimpses, and the river was entirely out of
view.
He ran out into the open ground, passing close to the barn, and the
memory came to him of the last time he had seen that place, on the
night of the bee raid. Nobody would ever see it again, for it was
certainly doomed to go in less than an hour.
As he passed, it occurred to him to look in, on the chance that any
live animal might have been overlooked there. The inside was dusky and
smoky and scattered with dry hay. Carl perceived one of their own
supers, which they must have overlooked in removing the stolen honey.
And then he caught sight of a wisp of a pink dress in a corner.
He rushed toward it. It was a child, cowering down by some empty
barrels, and he had no trouble in recognizing the youngest of Larue’s
two little girls. He had admired her great black eyes and olive skin
already, but now she was grimy, streaked with black and ashes, and
frightened almost out of her senses.
“Child!” exclaimed Carl. “How did you get here! Where’s your papa?”
“_Sais pas_,” whimpered the little one. “_Je veux aller._”
Carl knew just enough French to gather that she was too bewildered to
know anything, and that she wanted to go home. He could not imagine
how she had been left here,—unless, indeed, all the rest of the family
had perished.
“Come along. I’ll take care of you,” he said, and he took her hand and
led her out. But her five-year-old steps could not keep up with him,
and he had to take her up in his arms and carry her.
With this load he knew that he could never scramble and plunge through
the marsh to safety, and he determined to go back by the way he had
come. First, however, he put the little girl down, and ran to look
into the cabin. No one was there; it was dismantled of all its
household stuff and bore the signs of a removal in haste. Plainly the
squatter had got away, but Carl could not conceive by what
carelessness the child had been left behind.
Picking up the little girl again, he started back through the woods.
The smoke was thicker; it was perceptibly hotter, and within thirty
yards he found the ground on fire before him. The trees had not yet
caught, but the leaves, deadwood, and underbrush were all aflame or
smoldering, making a belt impossible to cross.
Carl turned back across the clearing again, and tried the other side.
Here it was even worse, for there was a huge “wind-row” of fallen, dry
spruces that was blazing like a furnace. Again Carl was driven back,
and when he reached the clearing, he noticed that the roof of the barn
was beginning to burn, ignited by falling sparks.
There was nothing left for it, but to try the marsh. He paused and
looked it over, trying to pick out the firmest part, and at that
moment he heard two quick gunshots from the river, far out through the
smoke.
It was Bob, he thought, signalling his position. He forgot for the
moment that they had brought no guns with them. Carl yelled loudly in
reply, and strode out warily into the great slough.
At first it was comparatively firm, then he suddenly went over his
shoe-tops in mire. He struggled out and tried to step from one tuft of
grass to another till the vegetation ceased entirely, and he saw in
front a dim expanse of green quagmire, spotted with pools of
oily-looking water. It was impossible to pass that way. Carl struggled
back to firm ground again, set the child down and looked desperately
about.
Scattered fires were breaking out all around the clearing now, and
here and there the tall weeds along the marsh were beginning to blaze.
Soon it would be impossible to remain even there. He hurried up and
down the margin, trying the footing. Nowhere could he find any solid
way. No doubt Larue would have known safe trails through the slough,
but in the hurry and flurry of the moment Carl could not hit upon one.
Again he heard two shots from the river. The boat was no doubt moving
slowly up and down in front of the marsh. Carl shouted again, but the
roaring of the fire and wind was now so loud that he doubted if he was
heard.
The child clung to him desperately, but she did not cry. Stoical, from
her Indian blood, perhaps, she gazed at him in a sort of wild silence.
“Never mind, _petite_!” said Carl. “I’ll get you safe out of it yet.”
But he could not see how it was to be done. If he had a couple of
planks, to be laid down and moved forward alternately, he thought he
might bridge a way over the slough. He hastened into the cabin again,
to see if there was any loose board that he could wrench off. He could
find nothing movable that would answer the purpose. The place was
littered with scraps of rubbish not worth taking away—a few old
muskrat skins, scraps of clothing, a torn blanket, and an old pair of
snowshoes.
The sight of the snow-shoes now gave him an inspiration. He ran out
with them and hastily bound them on.
“Here, little one, climb on pick-a-back!” he exclaimed, stooping, and
the child obeyed, understanding his gesture if not his words. With her
arms around his neck, clasping her feet firmly, he trudged awkwardly
out into the weeds of the marsh-edge.
A hurricane of sparks, hot ashes, and bits of burning wood swept over
him as a clump of burning trees crashed down close to the shore. He
had no difficulty in getting across the first twenty or thirty feet of
the slough; the tufts of grass supported him easily. Then the
vegetation grew more scanty. It almost ceased, and there were
stretches of bare mud, sometimes thinly caked on the surface,
sometimes supporting straggly weeds that looked like streaks of green
foam.
Fortunately both Carl and the little girl were light weights. Together
they weighed less than two hundred pounds, and Carl was overjoyed to
find that the snow-shoes held him up whenever there was the smallest
scrap of vegetation to bind the mud. The meshes were old and torn.
Brown water bubbled up between them, but they supported the weight as
long as he did not pause. As he went farther he had to step more and
more quickly to keep from sinking, till at last he was forced into a
run. Sinking deeper and deeper at every stride, the snow-shoes
scattered the mud in great flakes.
Suddenly he tripped. Overbalanced by the weight on his shoulders, he
went sprawling. He clutched at the little girl, who had shot over his
head, and dragged her out of an oozy pool. Then a yard away, he spied
a rotten log half sunk in the mire, and floundered to it.
On this support he hesitated for a few minutes. Both he and the little
girl were covered with mud from head to foot. The shore behind him,
was veiled in smoke and he could not yet see the river. He seemed shut
off, isolated on that quagmire, in the midst of dimness.
All at once the signal shots banged again, sounding less than fifty
yards away. Carl screamed wildly in answer, and, taking the child on
his back, started forward again. But the footing became more and more
treacherous. He sank at every step, and the mud flowed over his
snow-shoes and weighted them down. It was only by great efforts that
he avoided being stuck fast.
But just when the snow-shoes were growing so heavy that he could
hardly lift them, he saw sand and gravel mingling with the ooze. A
little farther, and a rippling line of water washed over his feet. He
splashed into it. In two or three steps he went knee-deep, then to his
hips. He heard a splashing in the water, and dimly saw the outline of
an approaching boat.
He flung himself forward to meet it, went over his head, and came up
trying to swim with one hand and to support the child with the other.
The muddy snow-shoes encumbered him; he dipped under again,
half-choked; then a hand gripped him by the collar, and he was hauled
up to the gunwale of the boat.
“Bob!” he spluttered.
But it was not his brother. It was Larue’s dark face that met his,
streaked with black now and looking wild with anxiety.
“Rosalie! _Ma petite! T’es sauve!_” he ejaculated and lifted the
little girl into the boat. The next instant Carl himself got aboard,
half scrambling and half hauled up by the half-breed. Just then
another boat rushed up out of the smoke, and he heard Alice calling,
“Carl!”
“Here he is! Bo’—bot’ safe!” sang out the squatter. “He fin’ her! Here
he come, crossing ze marsh on my ole _raquettes_. It is wonderful.
Mister Harman, zis is w’at I nevaire forget!”
Carl stuttered something, unable to speak articulately. He felt weak
and dizzy and full of mingled smoke and water. He saw the faces of
Alice and Bob looking anxiously at him, but they seemed to waver, and
everything went round dizzily when he lay back in the boat and shut
his smarting eyes.
He was vaguely aware of the movement of the boat through the water and
of talking voices. He thought some one was dashing spray over him and
he made a confused attempt to get up.
“_Restez!_” said Larue, and Carl “rested.”
The bump of the boat against the bank brought him to himself. Water
was really falling on his face. Looking up, he was amazed to find that
it was raining. The two boats had come to land at the temporary camp
where Larue had removed his family. A bark lean-to shed was built
against a tree; smoke curled up from a little fire; there was a shriek
as Mrs. Larue rushed forward to the boat and seized upon her rescued
child.
There was a great scene of excitement and jubilation, and little
Rosalie, who had hitherto preserved the silence of an Indian baby, now
began to sob as she nestled in her mother’s arms.
“He fin’ her!” cried Larue, indicating Carl. “I have been crazy. Can’t
guess where she go. I search everywhere—up, down the river, in ze
woods, in ze smoke—can’t fin’ notting. T’ink she dead, sure. But Mr.
Harman fin’ her, and cross ze _marais_ on ze snow-shoes, by gar!
Greatest t’ing I ever see!”
“You’re a hero, Carl,” said Bob, laughing.
Larue seemed to be divided between joy and gratitude at the rescue of
the child, and admiration at Carl’s feat of crossing the slough on
snow-shoes. His wife’s protestations of gratitude were most profuse,
embarrassing Carl terribly.
“It really wasn’t anything,” he stammered. “Really I found her by
accident. But how did she ever get lost?”
Both Larue and his wife volubly attempted to explain, mixing the
matter up badly. It seemed that the family had been alarmed about the
middle of the night by the approach of the fire, and had moved out in
haste. In the darkness and confusion Rosalie had somehow vanished.
They had searched and called. Larue, who was very fond of his
children, and of this one in particular, was like a madman. After
establishing his wife and the other child in safety, he searched the
shore up and down the river and went into the woods, without finding
any trace of the little girl. On the river he had met Bob and Alice,
who told him that Carl had gone ashore, and the two boats had rowed up
and down on the lookout, firing signals at intervals with Larue’s gun.
Rosalie herself could give no coherent account of how she had strayed
away or where she had been. She knew only that she had found herself
in the darkness and the woods, had been terribly frightened and was
waiting for papa to come for her.