“It was a fire after all, wasn’t it?” exclaimed Joseph dazedly. “Somehow I got the idea into my head that it was a dragon. I guess I was out of my head.”
“Well, that fire was much worse than a dragon or any other animal that ever lived,” said Robert feelingly. “I tell you we had a narrow escape.”
“Where are we anyway?”
“Get up and look for yourself, if you feel strong enough.”
Slowly and with difficulty Joseph raised himself to his feet. Glancing about him he discovered that they were resting near the bank of a small stream on both sides of which the ground rose abruptly ten or twelve feet. So this was the place to which Deerfoot had led them. How lucky it was that their Indian friend had been familiar enough with the country to know of this place of refuge. As if in a dream Joseph passed his hand across his forehead. It was wet and glancing at his fingers he discovered that they were covered with blood.
“What happened to me?” he demanded.
“You cut your head on a sharp stone when you fell,” explained Robert. “It’s only a scalp wound though and will soon heal up.”
“Where is the fire?”
“It jumped this gully, just after we jumped into it,” laughed Robert. “You can hear it roaring on across the prairie now.”
“Where’s my gun?” exclaimed Joseph suddenly.