The prairies were brown–a dead, crisp brown, as if they had been baked by hot suns through long, rainless days and nipped by a whole winter of killing frosts.
“I don’t understand why the grass is so dry by the middle of November,” said Dr. Morton. “Of course the summer was pretty dry, but then we had rains in September.”
“Yes, Father,” Frank replied, “but there has been less rainfall for the past two years than Kansas has known for a decade. I imagine the ground is baked underneath on the prairies, and the rains only helped for a time.”
“Well, whatever caused it, we shall have to feed earlier than usual. I am afraid we may have some 296bad fires, too, if we don’t have rain or a snowfall soon.”
“There was a fire over on Elm Creek night before last,” spoke up Sherm. “Grant Stowe’s cousin was telling us about it at school.”
“I saw smoke off to the north yesterday,” said Chicken Little.
“Oh, I hope we sha’n’t have any bad fires this fall!” exclaimed Mrs. Morton. “I do think a big prairie fire is one of the most terrifying sights, especially at night. I couldn’t sleep that first fall for dreading them. I used to get up in the middle of the night and look out the windows to see if that awful glare was anywhere on the horizon.”
“Don’t go borrowing trouble, Mother. There hasn’t been a bad fire on Big John for years. The country is so thickly settled a fire doesn’t have the sweep it used to.” Dr. Morton tried to reassure her.
“They must be wonderful things to see. I hope there won’t be any bad ones, but if one shows up anywhere within ten miles, I propose to be on hand,” Sherm said eagerly.
“You won’t be so keen after you have fought one or two, Sherm.” Frank smiled with the wisdom of the initiated. “Say, Father, I think Jim and I had better fire round those stacks on the north eighty. 297It would be hard to save them if a fire got started on the divide.”