Every one was frightened, running about the camp as if struck by insanity.
The fire continued to advance majestically, as it were, swallowing up every thing in its way, preceded by countless animals of various kinds, that bounded along with howls of fear, pursued by the scourge, which threatened to overtake them at every step.
A thick smoke, laden with sparks, was already passing over the camp. Ten minutes more, and all would be over with us, I thought, when I saw the squaws pressing the children to their bosoms.
The Indians had been deprived of all self-possession by the presence of our imminent peril—the flames forming an immense circle, of which our camp had become the center.
But fortunately, the strong breeze which, up to that moment, had lent wings to the conflagration, suddenly subsided, and there was not a breath of air stirring.
The progress of the fire slackened. Providence seemed to grant us time.
The camp presented a strange aspect. On bended knee, and with clasped hands, I prayed fervently. The fire continued to approach, with its vanguard of wild beasts.
The Indians, old and young, male and female, began to pull up the grass by the roots all about the camp, then lassoed the horses and hobbled them in the center, and, in a few moments, a large space was cleared, where the herbs and grass had been pulled up with the feverish rapidity which all display in the fear of death.
Some of the Indians went to the extremity of the space, where the grass had been pulled up, and formed a pile of grass and plants with their feet; then, with their flint, set fire to the mass, and thus caused “fire to fight fire,” as they called it. This was done in different directions. A curtain of flames rose rapidly around us, and for some time the camp was almost concealed beneath a vault of fire.
It was a moment of intense and awful anxiety. By degrees the flames became less fierce, the air purer; the smoke dispersed, the roaring diminished, and, at length, we were able to recognize each other in this horrible chaos.