“Right you are, son,” said Ben, coming into camp at that moment carrying the head, skin, and fore quarters of the deer. “It’s smoke, and I don’t like it a little bit. There’s a forest fire not a great ways off, and we better mosey toward the cabin. We’ll hustle through breakfast and then travel on,” he declared, uneasily.
The boys helped get breakfast, and when it was ready they ate rapidly and in silence. From the way Ben consulted the sky they knew he was anxious and worried. The sun had risen, but was obscured by a purplish haze which he told them was smoke. Then they smelled it. The distinct odor of burning pine was borne to them on the scant morning breeze.
The dishes were hurriedly washed and stowed away in the packs. Each of the boys packed up as much of the deer meat as he could stagger under; Ben added another quarter to his load, and the remainder was covered with boughs and hung high in a tree, to be called for later. Then, eager and anxious, Ben led them away through the smoky woods, at a brisk pace, toward the distant cabin.
As they hurried along, the air seemed to grow heavier, and all through the forest there drifted a hazy fog. The smell of smoke became stronger with each mile they traveled, until Ben, in his anxiety, set a pace that his young companions found it hard to follow.
On the top of a small mountain, which they were obliged to cross, the guide stopped a moment and pointed out a heavy, black cloud of smoke. It was curling up from behind a distant ridge in a direct line with the cabin.
Then, with great strides, he raced down into the valley, the boys stumbling along after him as best they could. Their faces and hands were torn and scratched from thorns and briers, and their feet and legs were bruised from contact with sharp-pointed rocks. They went on uncomplainingly, however, for they feared that the cabin was in danger, and they were anxious to help Ben in its defense against the oncoming fire.
Thicker and more dense grew the smoke-clouds in the woods, and the air became oppressive and suffocating. Tears ran down the boys’ cheeks, and they coughed violently as the pungent smoke filled their lungs.
“Come on, you’ll get used to it soon,” called Ben, encouragingly.
They got a glimpse of the cabin through the smoke, and cried out with delight. In the doorway stood Bill, the trapper, and down the trail came old Moze. They were compelled to laugh when every few feet the hound was obliged to stop and sneeze.
“I’m glad you’re here,” said Ben, greeting the trapper.