PRAIRIE FIRE.
Not long, although the scene around them was verdant and peculiarly
enticing after their severe struggle for life, did Waltermyer allow his
men to rest, for he knew well that the enemy he was following would make
no pause, and their steeds, prairie-born and trained, wild and hardy as
those they carried, would make light of what to them had been a sore
trial. He knew, also, that night would put an almost effectual barrier
to their progress. As soon, therefore, as he thought the horses
sufficiently refreshed for travel, he gave the requisite order, and,
seconded by the poor, anxious father, found but little difficulty in
forcing obedience.
“Up, men!” he shouted. “Ef your horses hain’t rested by this time,
’tain’t no use tryin’ to go on.”
“Which way are we to proceed, Waltermyer? No more prairie-work, I
trust.”
“No; we’ve done with that kinder thing, but we shall have to cross the
sloo again, before we can strike the trail. It ain’t very wide. Then
we’ll skirt along it, until we strike the p’int thar whar the nose of
the mounting runs inter the perarer.”
“Can we not keep on this side?”
“Onpossible; thar isn’t footin’ for a crawlin’ snake, and I reckon them
things can go almost onyw’ares. Ef you’ve a mind to try it you can, but
Kirk Waltermyer hasn’t parted company with his senses yet, by a long
shot.”
“Of course we trust entirely to your guidance. Lead on and we will
follow.”
“Ef you only could foller as I could lead, we’d soon overhaul the red
rascals. But it ain’t no use in tryin’ to make such brutes as yours keep
up with a horse! Stranger, I told you before there wasn’t but one on the
perarer that could, and he is—”
“What sound is that?”
“Only some stun rollin’ down the mounting. I’ve often done the thing
myself, just to see it jump and hear what an infernal noise it would
make.”
“May it not be Indians?”
“Indians? Now just you look a-here, stranger; if you consate that any
red-skin ever cut up such a white man’s caper as that, you don’t know
any more about them than I do about Scriptur’, and that is mighty
little. But this isn’t followin’ the trail and savin’ the gal. Inter
your saddles—no, thank fortune you haven’t got any, and your beasts
would never stand them ef you had. But mount, onyway, and mind you don’t
go stragglin’ through the sloo, for though thar isn’t any water thar
now, there are quicksand beds, and ef you git inter one you’ll go way
down—down—down into China.”
Jaded as they had been by their previous journey, the sparkling waters
of the chalybeate spring, that foamed clear as crystal and aeriform as
champagne, and the soft, juicy grasses that margined them, had revived
the horses, and again they sprung forward, as if endowed with new life.
Restraining and petting his noble black, Waltermyer took the lead, and
soon they were lost to all surrounding objects in the tall dry rushes
that ever mark the course of what the Western borderers call “sloo.”
Fully two miles wide, the task of crossing was not only seriously
uncomfortable, on account of the heat and the clouds of insects that
arose before and around them, but the footing was insecure, mined with
holes and tangled with treacherous roots.
They rode on in silence, save when, now and then, some serpent, gliding
suddenly from under the feet of the horses, startled them, and they
leaped madly aloft with a wild snort, their riders wondering at the
movement, for their eyes had not fallen on the reptile, with its
gorgeous skin and fire-like eyes, as it glided rustling along to seek
some deeper hole in which to coil its shiny folds.
“Many a time,” exclaimed Waltermyer, with an almost noiseless laugh, as
one of the company was dismounted by the leaping of the animal he rode,
“I’d been willin’ to have been thrown higher nor Independence Rock, to
have just caught sight of one of the critters.”
“Of what? What was it? I didn’t see any thing.”
“No, nor know any thing until you found yourself flat. Why, man, it was
a rattlesnake, that’s all.”
“A rattlesnake!”
“To be sure it was; and I suppose you didn’t know either that the
reptiles and perarer dogs and owls all lived in one hole—sorter family
parties.”
“Pshaw!”
“Waal, you may pshaw, for you don’t know any better; but when you have
hunted for them to eat as long as I have, you’ll be up to the dodge.”
“Eat snakes!”
“Yes, and mighty good eatin’ they are, though I don’t hanker after them
when thar’s any thing else round.”
“I’d starve first.”
“Wait till you try, boy. I tell you, a starvin’ man ain’t no way
perticular about what he eats. It’s a sorter first come first served
game. Now a mule isn’t the best kinder meat, but it’s palytable then.
Horse is juicy, ef he hasn’t been worked to death, and rattlesnake is
prime.”
A hearty laugh followed the epicurean opinion of the hardy frontiersman,
and the march was resumed, with many an eye turned to the ground to
watch for the unwelcome visitors that are a terror alike to man and
beast, when Waltermyer continued:
“Just hold your horses, boys, for a minute. A little rest won’t hurt
them none, and mayhap they’ll need all the vim they’ve got in them when
it comes to the mountings. It’s about four years ago since La Moine and
I was crossin’ this very sloo. It was a dreadful hot day—August—when the
snakes are blind as bats and ten times as venermous as in any other
month. You knew that, didn’t you? If one bites you then it’s sartin
death. Waal, as I was a-sayin’, the Frenchman and I was a-ridin’
along—it was before I got this horse—when, all of a sudden, I heard him
give two of the orfulest yells that ever was. It wasn’t any time to ask
questions, so I kinder looked, and, as I hope for mercy, ef thar’ wasn’t
two of the biggest kind of rattlers twisted around his horse, and bitin’
away with all thar might at his throat. Somehow, I never could
understand the right of it. The horse must have trod on their tails.
Onyway, they didn’t live long, and the poor horse died the orfulest to
behold.”
“I thought you could cure the bite,” remarked Morse.
“Waal, yes, so we can, ef we are only whar the blue-ash grows or the
snake-fern is to be found. But I can tell you, stranger, that ef a man’s
time has come ’tain’t no manner of use to doctor him. It is only wastin’
whisky and time. Remember that, boys, and—”
The same war-whoop that had so startled the companions of the Mormon
fell upon their ears, but so faintly that few, even if they had ever
heard one before, could determine what it was.
“Thar they go, way up in the mountings, the yellin’ painters.”
“What, the Indians that stole—”
The heart-broken father could not finish the sentence. His feelings rose
beyond his control, and when they burst through the fetters manhood
attempted to impose upon them, they ran riot and ended in tears.
“I don’t think it is them, stranger, or else they have got inter a
fight. They wouldn’t be howlin’, and yelpin’, and tearin’ round in that
style, ef they was tryin’ to escape. No, no; they are cunnin’ brutes,
and know how to keep their tongue between their teeth better than white
folks. Anyhow, we shan’t catch sight of them by stayin’ here talkin’
snake, and get afeard of seein’ the crawlin’ reptiles.”
“Let us press forward, then, and lose no more time.”
“Waal, we ain’t a losin’ time. Haven’t you found out, stranger, that a
day’s restin’ when on a journey sometimes was a day gained?”
“Certainly, and have never traveled on the Sabbath.”
“Sunday or week day, the same thing is a fact; but them that know, say
that rest is sweeter on that day. It may be, stranger, and I ain’t
book-learned enough to deny it, ’specially as I hain’t known Sunday come
more’n twice in the last ten years, and that was when I was among the
_Bois Brulé_ gals, way up on the Red river. Somehow, they keep count
with beads and little crosses, and I used to go to church with them, and
throw the worth of a beaver-skin onter the plate, so that they wouldn’t
refuse me when I wanted them to dance.”
A smile flitted over the faces of his band at the peculiar reason given
by the guide for his piety. Perchance many of his more civilized
neighbors could have offered no better one. Once more he dashed to the
front and led the way. But very careful, indeed, were his movements,
often standing erect upon his horse, and looking over the waving sea of
parched foliage. Once, on again resuming his seat, he called the band to
his side.
“What now?” questioned a man who was among the most restive of the
group. “Why not dash ahead and get out of this confounded mud-hole?
Whew! its enough to worry a man to death in here. No air, no nothing but
dust, gnats and poisonous snakes.”
“Are you ready to die?” said Waltermyer, solemnly, his usual gay
demeanor changing, and his honest face wearing an expression of intense
anxiety, if not pain.
“To die? What kind of a question is that? No man is ready to die.”
“Yet death is around you. Hark! Do you hear that noise?”
“Yes, something is rushing through the dry reeds. One of the horses we
left, perhaps.”
“No horse ever traveled so fast as that. Even a deer could not keep the
pace.”
“What is it, then?”
“Stand up on your horse and look.”
“I see a great cloud of thick dust—thick as if a hundred buffalo were
crowding along.”
“Thar may be buffalo, and thar may be deer, but, my life for it, they
are not coming this way.”
“Tell us, Waltermyer,” interrupted Miles Morse, “what is it George Cary
sees?”
“Smoke!”
“Smoke? I do not understand you.”
“Smoke and fire. But you will soon learn for yourselves.”
Every one sprung upright, and from the backs of their steeds could see
dense volumes of smoke, through which flashed red tongues of living
flame, and again the question was asked as to what it could be.
“The sloo is on fire!” he replied. “We are cut off—surrounded!”
“Great heavens, can this be true?”
“Just as true as the heaven you call upon!”
“Then we are lost!”
“Thousands have been before you, and not enough left of thar bones to
tell whar the fire has been.”
“Let us hurry on—run our horses, and gain the open ground.”
“You might just as well try to reach the moon. I tell you the horse was
never yet shod that could outrun perarer fire. Even my good black, that
can go two lengths to your one, would never live in such a race.”
“And must we perish thus? Die a horrible death without so much as a
struggle for safety?”
“It is gaining rapidly on us! It is coming a perfect whirlwind of
flame!” said the now agonized father. “Oh, God, that I should perish
thus! Oh, my poor, poor lost daughter!”
“At least, let us make a trial to outrun it,” said another. “Any thing
is better than standing idle.”
“Come!” shouted his companions. “Come, we’ll dash through and reach the
high ground. What are you thinking of, Waltermyer, standing here?”
“Thinkin’,” blurted out the guide, “how little men like you know of the
great perarers.”
“If you are going to stay here and be burned, I am not.”
“Hold!” and the strong hand of Waltermyer was laid on the bridle-rein,
effectually checking the course of the steed, that now, like its mates,
snuffing the smoke that was fast closing around, stood trembling,
snorting and pressing against the restraining bit, with wildly tossed
head and flashing eyes.
“What do you mean? Are you mad?”
“Not I, but you. You know Kirk Waltermyer by this time, and ef you don’t
you’ll learn him soon enough. So hear what I say, and remember it, too.
I know that the fire is comin’—will soon be here, but the first one that
offers to stir will have a short journey, for I’ll send a bullet
straight through his skull.”
“But to stand still, Waltermyer,” said Miles Morse, “when there is at
least a chance of escape.”
“What do you take me for, stranger—a crazy man or a fool?”
“Neither, but—”
“Now you just keep cool and listen. Tie your horses heads together,
every man of you, and mind you don’t make knots that will slip, for all
the men on the perarer couldn’t keep them from stampedin’, when the
flames roar around them.”
The command was obeyed, for there, as everywhere, in the hour of danger,
the master spirit controls and directs—the firm hand and heart, and
unflinching eye, tell of the pilot, that shall, unquestioned, guide,
though the course he travels is crowded with shoals, quicksands and
breaker-foaming rocks.
“Now bring us yours,” they said, when all the rest had been securely
fettered.
“Not it! He ain’t none of your city-bred horses, and it ain’t the first
time that he has been surrounded by red fire and black smoke. He knows
his business here, better than you do,” and, at a motion, and slight
touch of the bridle-rein, the noble black lay down and stretched his
sinewy limbs, as if enjoying a grateful rest. This accomplished to his
satisfaction, for he was very proud of this perfect command over his
steed—(and what true horseman is not?) he stripped himself of his
hunting-shirt, and threw it over his head, in such a fashion that it
perfectly protected his lungs from smoke; then turning to his comrades,
continued:
“Now, men, it is time you were to work. Just now you talked about being
idle. Strip a circle clear of the grass—as large as ever you can, and
mind you do it clean. At it, boys, hand and knife, tooth and nail! Ef
you want to live, be active;” and he set the example, tearing up the
rank grass with his immense strength, and piling it around the ring of
horses.
Perchance, in his scorn at their want of knowledge, he had waited too
long, for the mad flames were leaping upon them before they had time to
make a cleared area of any considerable dimensions. In their very faces
the fire came roaring on, darting through the black smoke, which rolled
in clouds, threatening them every moment with destruction. Waltermyer
saw that something must be done to turn it aside, or there was but
little chance for escape.
“Fight it! fight it! and die for the ground!” he exclaimed, snatching
the hunting-shirt from off his head, and beating out the fire where it
came nearest. “Whip it—whip it—thrash it—out with it” he shouted, as he
rushed recklessly into the danger, burning his hands, with his hair and
whiskers curling and scorching, as he gave the command.
“Thar, that will do,” he continued, seeing that the danger had passed,
and the fire had swept by, leaving a black, smoky belt of earth behind.
“And now, boys, as you never saw a perarer fire before, look! It ain’t
every day you’ll see such a sight, I can tell you.”
Though his words were rude, they were simply true! Words are powerless
to describe a broad prairie conflagration, and the brush of the most
gifted artist would fail to paint a tithe of its dazzling beauty.
See, where it begins, when either purpose or chance has dropped a tiny
spark into the dry herbage. A little curl of smoke, a tiny flame
struggles for a moment for life. The slightest breath of air falls upon
it—a gleam, scarcely larger than a fire-fly among the tangled leaves,
and in an instant a lurid flame leaps forth—is kindled into a
furnace-like glare, and directly a wandering hill of flame is sweeping
resistlessly over the prairie. The harvest was ready for the
flame-sickle—the sapless and withered stalks were waiting the reaping.
Spreading like a circle in the tideless lake, the fire knows no bounds,
save when exhausted for want of fuel, it turns back on itself and dies.
See, with bounds swift and longer than an antelope ever compassed, it
o’ertops the tallest leaves—runs stealthily along like a golden serpent,
darting spitefully its forked tongue of living flame on every side,
while crackling, hissing, roaring, its terrible writhings uncoil. In
waves of living fire, flashing from a background of dense inky smoke, it
rushes on, regardless of barriers, and scornful of bounds, a winged
maelstrom of devastation.