Leaping from the backs of their ponies, the cowboys gave the reins into the hands of one of their number to hold, for the horses could not be trusted to stand alone with the fire coming ever nearer them. And without their mounts the cowboys would be lost.
The spot where the party now found itself was down in a little depression, or swale, and the wind was blowing away from them and toward the main conflagration.
"Light, boys!" cried the foreman, as he struck a match and applied it to a bunch of dried grass that made a rude torch. The others, including Dave, did the same. Soon little spurts of flame in the grass showed where the contending fire was started.
"Watch it now, boys!" Pocus Pete warned them. "If you see it starting to creep back on you swat it out. Take your blankets, and see if you can't find a water hole. Sozzle your blankets in that and swat the blaze if she starts to run back on you."
A spring, or, rather a mud-hole that passed for one, was found, and in this the blankets were wet. Then, as the contending fire burned onward, some little tongues of flame crept back toward the spot where the cattle had been left. These were "swatted" with the wet blankets as fast as seen.
"Well, she's going!" cried Dave, as he saw the fire they had set to fight the other leaping onward as though to meet the blazing enemy. "That ought to burn a safety strip."
"If th' wind doesn't turn," murmured Pocus Pete. "If th' wind doesn't turn."
Anxiously now they waited, looking the while to see that no stray sparks set a fire behind them. Dirty, dusty, choking and smoke-begrimed, the cowboys fought the oncoming fire. Back of them their comrades worked hard to hold in check the frightened cattle, while others were racing back with the plowing outfit.
And off to the west glowed, roared and crackled the menacing prairie fire.