The fire looked grand and terrible, as it got closer and closer.
The four whites could not help admiring the sight, even though they knew that perhaps it would be their death.
The flames shot hundreds of feet into the air, and came onward, at a speed which would have put a race-horse down.
The wind was pretty strong, and as the guide had said before, was coming straight toward them.
On went the four riders, and on came the sea of fire.
It looked like a fiery avenger, upon the track of the whites, and the little Frenchman could not help wondering whether he and his comrades would ever see the sun again.
That bright luminary was hidden from sight now, by the dense clouds of smoke that covered the prairie.
The guide began to look anxious. The river was quite a distance away, and the fire getting alarmingly near, as the increasing heat testified. At length the circus-rider exclaimed:
“How far is it to the water, Ralph?”
“About two-thirds o’ a mile, I reckon,” replied the hunter.