“I say, Stanton,” said he, “do you see that line of smoke? Onless I don’t know a thing or two, the cattlemen will have to shift their herds to a new range. You bet yer life they will. Reckon I knows a thing or two.”
“Why, is that smoke?” asked Hugh. “Looks like a whirlwind of dust to me.”
“Yes, sirree, that’s smoke, and one of the tarnallest, biggest prairie-fires is ragin’ over there that ever scorched dry buffalo-grass. Things’ll be sizzin’ hot ‘round here soon. You bet I know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”
Hugh gazed intently while the Judge was speaking, and then observed, “Well, if it were n’t so far away I should like to drive over and see a genuine prairie-fire.”
“See a prairie-fire! Why, dang my buttons, man, I’m lowin’ you ‘re liable to see enough prairie-fire afore mornin’ to last you the rest of your nach’al days. You bet if it once gets started this way things’ll be poppin’ ‘round here, an’ the whole country will be locoed:”
“Why, how so?” asked Hugh. “That dust line, or smoke, or whatever it is, must be fully a hundred miles away.”
Lynn laughed in derision. “Gee, Stanton, not speakin’ onfeelin’ or careless-like, but you’re tender. You’re dead easy. ‘Course it’s a hundred miles away, maybe more, but if the wind gets a-comin’ an’ a-blowin’ this way, you’ll see the all-firedest time in these diggin’s you ever heerd tell of, an’ somethin’ mighty thrillin’ will happen. You bet I’m not ‘round makin’ a virtue out of duty, but, speakin’ onrestrained-like, every able-bodied man’ll have a duty to perform if that fire gets to racin’ this way, an’ I’m not assoomin’ any spechul knowledge in sayin’ it. I reckon I can tell a fire when I see smoke, an’ there’s no misonderstandin’ ‘bout that.”
It was not long until several hundred townspeople were on the street, discussing the great prairie-fire that was raging in the western counties. Some of the more timid expressed alarm, but the majority had never experienced a Kansas prairie-fire, and even in the dullest soul there was a pronounced novelty in anticipation of so grand a sight.
The smoke-cloud grew blacker and thicker near the earth, and gradually rose higher and higher. A strong wind set in from the west, and, before five o’clock, the ominous-looking pillars of smoke had so dimmed the sun that it appeared like a great shield of bronze. The earth was overcast with a yellow, subdued light; and the winds in their onward sweeping seemed surcharged with presentiment—burdened with dread. To the onlookers it did not seem possible that danger to them lurked in this unchained fire demon, so far away. Some one suggested that it might be well to plow furrows around the western limits of the town, and back-fire, but he was quickly laughed into silence for his fears. The increasing throng seemed to enjoy a scene that all the while was growing plainer and grander in the western horizon.
It was perhaps eight o’clock that night when the residents of Meade discovered a thin glow of fire cutting the dark belt near the earth, like a blood-red sickle. The line reached for miles from north to south. The sight was novel and inspiring. The rapidly-moving smoke-clouds, in their spiral twistings, had floated far to the east, and they now presented an appearance as spectacular as an aurora borealis. Great, reddened banks of clouds mounted almost to the zenith, while on either side were interspersed columns of rolling smoke of inky blackness.