Frances of the Ranges Part 22

"Don't say that, man!" gasped Pratt Sanderson. "Surely there's not much danger?"

"This here spot will be scorched like an overdone flapjack in half an hour," declared Hinkman. "We got to git!"

Frances heard him, distant as she was.

"Oh, Mack! you know we can't reach the river in half an hour, even if we travel express speed."

"Well! what we goin' ter do then?" demanded the teamster. "Stay here and fry?"

Pratt was impressed suddenly with the thought that they were both leaning on the advice and leadership of the girl! He was inexperienced, himself; and the teamster seemed quite as helpless.

A pair of coyotes, too frightened by the fire to be afraid of their natural enemy, man, shot by in the dusk--two dim, grey shapes.

Frances released Molly and the grey pony from their hobbles. She leaped upon the back of the pinto and dragged the grey after by his bridle-reins. She was back at the stalled wagon in a few moments.

Already the flames could be seen along the western horizon as far as the unaided eye could see anything, leaping under the pall of rising smoke.

The fire was miles away, it was true; but its ominous appearance affrighted even Pratt Sanderson, who knew so little about such peril.

Mack was fastening straps and hooking up traces; they had not dared leave the mules. .h.i.tched to the wagon while they were engaged in its repair.

"Come on! get a hustle on you, Mister!" exclaimed the teamster. "We got to light out o' here right sudden!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE WAVE OF FLAME

Pratt was pale, as could be seen where his face was not smudged with earth and axle-grease. He came and accepted his pony's bridle from Frances' hand.

"What shall we do?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

It was plain that the teamster had little idea of what was wise or best to do. The young fellow turned to Frances of the ranges quite as a matter of course. Evidently, she knew so much more about the perilous circ.u.mstances than he did that Pratt was not ashamed to take Frances'

commands.

"This is goin' to be a hot corner," the teamster drawled again; but Pratt waited for the girl to speak.

"Are you frightened, Pratt?" she asked, suddenly, looking down at him from her saddle, and smiling rather wistfully.

"Not yet," said the young fellow. "I expect I shall be if it is very terrible."

"But you don't expect me to be scared?" asked Frances, still gravely.

"I don't think it is your nature to show apprehension," returned he.

"I'm not like other girls, you mean. That girl from Boston, for instance?" Frances said, looking away at the line of fire again. "Well!"

and she sighed. "I am not, I suppose. With daddy I've been up against just such danger as this before. You never saw a prairie fire, Pratt?"

"No, ma'am!" exclaimed Pratt. "I never did."

"The gra.s.s and greasewood are just right for it now. Mack is correct,"

the girl went on. "This will be a hot corner."

"And that mighty quick!" cried Mack.

"But you don't propose to stay here?" gasped Pratt.

"Not much! Hold your mules, Mack," she called to the grumbling teamster.

"I'm going to make a flare."

"Better do somethin' mighty suddent, Miss," growled the man.

She spurred Molly up to the wagon-seat and there seized one of the blankets.

"Got a sharp knife, Pratt?" she asked, shaking out the folds of the blanket.

"Yes."

"Slit this blanket, then--lengthwise. Halve it," urged Frances. "And be quick."

"That's right, Miss Frances!" called the teamster. "Set a backfire both sides of the trail. We got to save ourselves. Be sure ye run it a mile or more."

"Do you mean to burn the prairie ahead of us?" panted Pratt.

"Yes. We'll have to. I hope n.o.body will be hurt. But the way that fire is coming back there," said Frances, firmly, "the flames will be ten feet high when they get here."

"You don't mean it!"

"Yes. You'll see. Pray we may get a burned-over area before us in time to escape. The flames will leap a couple of hundred feet or more before the supply of gas--or whatever it is that burns so high above the ground--expires. The breath of that flame will scorch us to cinders if it reaches us. It will kill and char a big steer in a few seconds. Oh, it is a serious situation we're in, Pratt!"

"Can't we keep ahead of it?" demanded the young man, anxiously.

"Not for long," replied Frances, with conviction. "I've seen more than one such fire, as I tell you. There! Take this rawhide."

The ranchman's daughter was not idle while she talked. She showed him how to knot the length of rawhide which she had produced from under the wagon-seat to one end of his share of the blanket. Her own fingers were busy with the other half meanwhile.

"Into your saddle now, Pratt. Take the right-hand side of the trail.

Ride as fast as you can toward the river when I give the word. Go a mile, at least."

The ponies were urged close to the campfire and he followed Frances'

example when she flung the tail of her piece of blanket into the blaze.

The blankets caught fire and began to smoulder and smoke. There was enough cotton mixed with the wool to cause it to catch fire quickly.

"All right! We're off!" shouted Frances, and spurred her pinto in the opposite direction. Immediately the smouldering blanket-stuff was blown into a live flame. Wherever it touched the dry gra.s.s and clumps of low brush fire started like magic.

Immediately Pratt reproduced her work on the other side of the trail. At right angles with the beaten path, they fled across the prairie, leaving little fires in their wake that spread and spread, rising higher and higher, and soon roaring into quenchless conflagrations.