“Ain’t goin’ to burn no grass ’round here! That’s stock grass fer the cows and the hosses next winter,” warned one.
“The grass is going to be burned, and if you don’t do it we shall do it ourselves. If we fail, the forest fire will do it and take in the village at the same time,” warned the guide.
“Show me a forest fire and I’ll think about it,” demanded the man.
“You have a nose. Can’t you smell it?” retorted Hippy Wingate.
The villager laughed.
“That smoke is from a bush fire on Bald Mountain where a feller is clearing a pa’cel of ground fer a cabin,” jeered the villager.
“The breeze doesn’t happen to be blowing from the direction of Bald Mountain, my man,” reminded White. “It is coming from the opposite direction. If you will use your brains, provided you have any, you will find that the air from the south on your face is hotter by several degrees than it is from the other direction. Get your axes and the other things that Mr. Skinner has for us.”
Still unconvinced, the man shook his head, and refused.
“Tie your horses, Overlanders! We will backfire ourselves,” called White.
“Ye’ll get a charge of buckshot in yer carcass if ye do!” threatened the mountaineer.