“We’ll never reach it, then,” said Barry.
“Jest what I was a-thinkin’,” said the guide.
“Then what in heaven’s name will we do? We can’t keep on this way. Have you no plan, Ralph?” said Barry.
“We’ll stop not over three hundred yards from hyar,” answered Ralph.
“How’s that? There’s not a tree, log or rock around. Explain what you say,” said the young hunter, turning to the guide.
“Why we can’t reach the river, that’s certain. We’ve got to do something, fur thar’s no fun in being burned up by the pesky fire. Now what I propose is this. We’ll fight fire wid fire. What d’ye say to that, now?” called out Ralph, to make himself heard above the trampling hoofs, and the roaring and crackling of flames, which came rushing on like a huge wall.
“We don’t know what you mean,” returned Barry, in an equally loud tone, for the very same reason.
“Why it’s this. When we git to that high grass over thar we’ll dismount, and start a fire o’ our own. How’s that fur high?”
“It is von elegant plan vich ve shall follow at once, Monsieur Ralph,” said the polite little naturalist.
Looking around as the Frenchman spoke (the naturalist was a little behind the others), the hunter saw a sight which caused a huge grin to come upon his face, and it to relax from its thoughtful mood.