Off to the left a
coyote yapped shrilly, ending with his mournful howl.
Beatrice shivered from sheer ecstasy. This was a world she had never
before seen--a world of hot, smoke-sodden wind, of dead-black shadows
and flame-bright light; of roar and hoarse bellowing and sharp crackles;
of calm, star-sprinkled sky above--and in the distance the uncanny
howling of a coyote.
Time had no reckoning there. She saw men running to and fro in the
glare, disappearing in a downward swirl of smoke, coming to view again
in the open beyond. Always their arms waved rhythmically downward,
beating the ragged line of yellow with water-soaked sacks. The trail
they left was a wavering, smoke-traced rim of sullen black, where before
had been gay, dancing, orange light. In places the smolder fanned to new
life behind them and licked greedily at the ripe grass like hungry, red
tongues. One of these Beatrice watched curiously. It crept slyly into an
unburned hollow, and the wind, veering suddenly, pushed it out of sight
from the fighters and sent it racing merrily to the south. The main line
of fire beat doggedly up against the wind that a minute before had been
friendly, and fought bravely two foes instead of one. It dodged, ducked,
and leaped high, and the men beat upon it mercilessly.
But the little, new flame broadened and stood on tiptoes defiantly,
proud of the wide, black trail that kept stretching away behind it; and
Beatrice watched it, fascinated by its miraculous growth.
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