Obeying the order of the guide, the whites set off at as rapid a pace as they could command. This was not much, as their horses, or at least three of them, were pretty well tired out.
The Indians knew this when they fired the prairie-grass, and now the Indian chief thought he had the hated whites in a fix.
Little did he know the fertile brain of the old hunter.
Ralph explained to the other three, that some distance ahead was a wide, but shallow stream. The prairie went down to the edge, and the fire would go that far and no further.
There was a forest on the other side, and Ralph wanted to reach this.
On they went, casting glances of apprehension behind them.
As the cloud of smoke and the fire came closer, these glances were partly admiring ones. No one but a timid man or an absolute coward could fail to admire the scene, even at this dangerous situation.
“Von beautiful sight. Von superb spectacle. Von grand, sublime, magnificent picture. De man dat paint dat, he be worth a fortune,” murmured the brave and enthusiastic Frenchman, as he watched the huge billows of fire, as they rolled upward, topped off with volumes of dense black smoke.
Now a herd of fleet deer would shoot past the four riders, their large eyes distended with terror, at the sight behind them.
Then came a drove of wild mustangs, going like the wind. After this came a confused medley of buffaloes, wolves, coyotes, horses, deer, and in among them came a huge bear, which was making excellent time.