“But—”
“Oh, let it burn,” he said, carelessly. “It stands alone, and a tree more or less does not signify in these regions. A hundred more will spring up from the ashes.”
I stood silently gazing at the wondrous sight, as the huge fire began more and more to resemble a cone of flame. High up above the smoke which rolled like clouds of gold, and the tongues of fire which kept leaping up and up to the high branches, there was still a green spire dark and dimly seen as it rose to some two hundred and fifty feet above where we stood. But that upper portion was catching alight fast now, and the hissing crackle of the burning was accompanied by sharp reports and flashes, the heat growing so intense that one had to back away, while quite a sharp current of cold air began to rush past our ears to sweep out and fan the flames.
“What a pity!” I said at last, as I turned to Esau, who stood there with his eyes glowing in the light, Quong being seated on a stone holding his knees, as he crouched together, his yellow forehead wrinkled, and little black eyes sparkling the while.
“Yes, I s’pose it’s a pity,” said Esau, thoughtfully. “My! how it burns. I s’pose there’s tar and turpentine and rosin in that big tree?”
“Why, Esau,” I said suddenly, as a thought struck me, “how about the bear?”
“Bear? Where?” he cried, grasping my arm. “Not here,” I said with a laugh. “No wild beast would come near that fire. I mean how about your hurts?”
“My hurts?” he said, beginning to feel his arms. “Oh, I’d forgotten all about them.”
“No fear of its catching any other tree,” said Gunson, returning to where we stood after being away, though I had not missed him. “I’ve been all round it, and there isn’t another for twenty yards.”
“But it will set light to them when it falls,” I said.