"It's an Indian," said Jasper.
The fire flattened and darkened for a time, and then rolled on again. Animals were fleeing everywhere, plunging and bellowing, and the air was wild and tempestuous with the cries of birds. The little animals could be seen leaping out of the prairie grass. The earth, air, and sky seemed alive with terror.
The black horse came plunging toward the island.
"How can a horse run that way and live?" asked Jasper. "He is bearing a messenger. It is friendly or hostile Indian that is clinging to his side."
Jasper bent his eyes on the plunging animal to see him leer, for whenever the sidling motion was made it brought to view the tawny horizontal form that seemed to be clinging to the bridle, as if riding for life. Suddenly there arose a cry from the islanders:
"Look! look! Who has done it? There is a counter-fire ahead. They will all perish!"
A mile or more in front of the island, and in the opposite direction from the other fire, another great billow of smoke arose spirally into the air. The people and animals who had been fleeing toward the creek, which they thought contained water, but which was dry, all turned and came running toward the island grove. Even the birds came beating back.
"That fire was set by the Indians," said the harvesters. "It is started across the track of the other fire to destroy us all. An Indian set the fires."
"That is an Indian skirting around us on the back of a horse," said another. "He is holding on to the horse by the mane with his hands, and by the flanks with his feet. The Indians have done this!"
"The other fire will run back, though against the wind. The prairie is so dry that the fire will run everywhere. We must set a counter-fire."