"What about yourself?" called Esther anxiously—"and Sam?"
"Don't worry about us, Esther. Stoop right down into the water, all of you," commanded Bert. Sam had already pulled the other tent off his own load, and soaked it for him and Bert to crawl beneath.
The fire, propelled by a fierce wind, and fanned into a lurid furnace by its own draught, roared and crackled all around them. The slough split the blaze in two. The horses snorted and tugged to get free; then stood still, shivering with fear. Sam made one or two brave attempts to splash them with water, but in vain. He was forced to retreat. Almost suffocated, he cringed again beneath the tent.
The slough was oval-shaped, and was probably two or three acres in extent. Raging like ten thousand demons, the main fire devoured its edges, licking everything up in its path, living vegetation and dead alike. Tongues of crimson flame swept over the water, and columns of spark-laden smoke rose high into the air. Impatient of the slough's obstruction, glowing embers leaped the water and fell into the grass beyond, continuing their consuming paths ahead of the main fire.
Esther and her mother huddled together, struck speechless with the suddenness of the catastrophe. However, within twenty minutes, the danger had passed. Although patches of timber and thick undergrowth still burned and smoked furiously all around them, the prairie grass was swept clear.
"By Jove, Sam! sloughs are useful things, after all," remarked Bert when they poked their heads from under the tent's enveloping folds.
"Not 'alf, they ain't," replied Sam, inhaling a deep, smoky breath.
In a flat, toneless voice, Trailey stuck his head forth, and said: "God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform," and then he, too, drew in a large mouthful of very welcome air. He seemed pleased to be alive, which, no doubt, accounted for the wonderful relevancy of his quotation.
Lifting the blankets off his shoulders, he calmly surveyed the smoking landscape. "Ah-h-h," he sighed, "wonderful!—wonderful!"
Bert withdrew the tent from the half-smothered ladies. "All's well!" he cried joyously. "The fire's passed over, and I don't think we've suffered any damage in the least—beyond a few holes burned in these blankets, perhaps; and one or two in the wagon-covers." He was examining the tents, and the blankets, and the schooner-tops, appraising the damage. Sam was at the horses' heads, comforting the faithful brutes with pats and caresses, and queer expressions of fondness and appreciation, like men do when no one is listening.