"Wal, we're here, and all ready for work in the mornin' bright and 'arly," said Buckskin Joe, as the night drew closer. "Our best way is to climb back into the woods ag'in; we can have a comfortable bed of boughs and pine-tossels, and begin to-morrer. Thar's no hurry—nobody's goin' to carry our fortins off in the night. So let's make ourselves cosy. By this time to-morrer we'll be independent."
Clinging to roots of trees, washed bare by spring freshets, and to ledges of dark and chilly rock, they swung themselves up out of the cool ravine into the pleasant forest.
"We won't kindle a fire here in the midst of this pitchy stuff," remarked Joe; "the woods is jest like a match, ready to go off at the least rub, at this season of the year. Otherwise we might kill a brace of bird, and brile them for supper. As it is, we'll make out on a cold smack."
By the time the repast was taken, evening had shut them in. The guide, healthily fatigued after their long tramp, with a look to his knife and rifle in case of a stray bear, composed himself soon upon his primeval couch, and was breathing the deep and regular breath of a good sleeper long before Nat could close his excited eyes. Dreams of the expected successes of this search, mingled with softer dreams of the fair girl from whom he seemed so far separated—as if she never had been near his heart, and never could be—thronged upon his brain, as he looked up at the great silver stars peering here and there through rifts of the pine branches far overhead.
The wind, according to its nightly habit, began to rise, and to rush roaring down the mountain side, kissing the dark boughs of the pines till they wailed in unison. It was a solemn, sweet and mighty music, pleasant to the soul and sense of the hunter as he lay there dreaming of the woman he loved. But as the hours crept on to midnight, he, too, slept.
Buckskin Joe, as he stirred uneasily in his sleep, had a strange, disagreeable dream. He thought the water in the ravine began to rise with an awful roar—to rise until it overflowed gully and wood—till his ears were stunned by its tumult—till it reached and overflowed him where he lay—he was drowning! and in the spasmodic efforts he made to buffet the horrible stream, he finally awakened. Yes, he was awake; but where he was, or what was the matter, he could not recall. He felt as if a thousand pounds lay upon his chest, pressing him in the earth—he heard a dull, curious, continuous roar, like the incessant discharge of cannon, through which pierced sharp reports, as of volleys of musketry; there was a lurid glare around him that was not the light of moon or sun—for an instant the rough hunter thought of hell! A flake of burning pine-cone falling upon his face revealed the truth. Great God, the forest was on fire!
As the appalling conviction rushed upon him, he raised upon his elbows and looked about. A sea of fire spread around him in every direction—they were already ringed in that awful circle. High overhead flew great sheets and banners of flame, snatched up by the wind and flung from tree-top to tree-top, while a fiery shower fell constantly, drifting down through the lower foliage, which here was not fully kindled. Dense masses of hot and suffocating smoke now shut him in, and were again lifted for a moment by the howling wind. His first thought was of his companion.
He shouted, he felt about him, but obtained no response. Nat had gone to sleep about five yards from him, to the left. He rolled himself over and over until he reached what ought to be the spot, and here he groped about in the blinding smoke, calling sharply upon his friend, who, he was afraid, might be already overpowered. While he was making these efforts he choked, his brain reeled—he felt consciousness slipping from him as the dense vapor hung thicker and hotter about him. But before he entirely lost himself in that deadly struggle, a fierce gush of wind came rushing under the ocean of flame which roared far above. It caught up and whirled away the smoke; he breathed comparatively free again; and in that instant of salvation an instinct whispered to him of the cool ravine, of the delicious waters only such a little distance away. Better to fling himself down and be dashed to pieces on the rocks than to die by this torturing element which threatened him.