For an instant he stood staring at the little tongues of flame that licked up over the horizon, then sprang to the pickets and began untying the horses.
"Prairie fire!" he cried. "And there's no telling where it will stop in this wind! Call the boys!"
When the boys were roused he gave them no time to ask questions. In quick, nervous tones he issued his orders.
"Hitch up as quick as you can, Joe," he shouted, "there's a prairie fire over yonder! Lige, get up the black team. Sam, run and bring in the cow. Pack those things in the wagons, Hannah, never mind order now. Ruth, get a couple of pails of water out of the kegs. Paul, pull up those stake-pins, wind up the ropes and throw them in the wagons! Hurry, hurry, all of you, we haven't a moment to lose!"
Working with feverish haste he turned often and glanced at the line of red on the horizon.
"It's miles away yet," he said in a low voice to his wife; "we may be able to get out of its path, but with this wind——"
He stopped abruptly, then leaping into the wagon shouted, "Come on, in with you, never mind those things, Hannah, never mind anything now! The wind has changed, and that fire will be down upon us in less than half an hour. Whip up your horses, boys, don't spare them now! With that fire behind us——"
He leaned forward as he spoke and lashed his team; the horses plunged forward with a leap that made the wagon careen.
Over the coarse prairie grass they fled, the horses straining and plunging, while they looked continually behind them to where the red line had left the horizon now and was creeping toward them, the red tongues of flame leaping higher and higher as they caught the dry grass and rosin weeds.
The air grew suffocatingly hot, and before long particles of burned grass and weeds, carried by the gale, began to fall about them.