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Show By J. C. Evans. One lovely afternoon, in the fall of '57, I was riding leisurely over a broad prairie in Kansas, on my return from a visit to an old college friend, who had taken up a "claim" not far from Grasshopper Falls. The horse I rode was a medium-sized animal, a cross between a common Mexican mustang and some larger noble specimen of the equine race, probably descended from one of the Spanish Arabs brought into Mexico by Cortez, for my spirited and speedy little horse showed enough good "points" to warrant the belief that genuine Arab blood flowed in his veins. I had bought him about two months before, of a half-breed Comanche for two handfuls of silver dollars, and he had turned out, as the Indian said, a "heep good" saddle-horse. I little thought, while riding lazily along the dimly marked Indian trail, watching the cloud shadows drifting over the broad, billowy, expanse of waving grass that stretched for miles around me, how soon I would be called upon to test the speed and mettle of my half wild pony in a desperate race for life. The beautiful hazy, Indian summer-like day, and the silence of the great prairie, unbroken by any sound save, the muffled foot-falls of my horse, were conducive to reveries, and I was rudely roused from one of these day-dreams, with my thoughts a thousand miles away, by a sudden spring of the animal under me, who threw up his head with a snort of terror. I turned in the saddle and saw at a glance the cause of his fright. The prairie behind me was on fire! By accident or design the half-dried grass had been ignited, and the brisk breeze that fanned the flames was driving them directly upon me. I was in the centre of a long slightly-curved line of fire, scarcely the eighth of a mile distant, and fancied I could hear the hiss and crackle of the blaze under its dense canopy of smoke. My first thought was to dismount and fire the grass in my front - the usual method resorted to by prairie travelers in such emergencies - but on opening my matchbox I found it, to my horror, entirely empty! There was nothing then but to make a desperate run for the nearest bunch of timber, which was at least a mile or more to the right of the trail. In every other direction there was not a tree or bush in sight. Giving my horse the spur, I headed him at once for this, for my only haven of safety. I was obliged to ride for some distance almost parallel with the line of the rapidly advancing fire, and it became simply a question of speed between my horse and the wind-driven flames which should get to the timber first. My good horse seemed to realize the danger, and needed no stimulus of voice or spur. Fear lent him wings, and as I leaned forward with loosened rein, he galloped thru the grass at a speed that would have done credit to a trained racer. But the fire traveled fast too - so fast that just as we reached the edge of the timber, after a final burst of speed that almost took away my breath, the flames were close enough to envelop us in clouds of hot smoke and singe my gallant pony's tail. The next instant we had plunged through a thick fringe of green alders down into a water hole about thirty feet wide and some four feet deep and were safe. The heavy growth of timber checked the advance of the fire which burned the tall grass all around the timber, but could not penetrate the thickly growing belt of alders that fringed the borders of the welcome little reservoir of cool water. The thick suffocating smoke, however, came pouring through the trees and settled in so dense a cloud above the water that at a distance of three or four yards nothing could be seen. But in a few minutes the smoke lifted and I could get a glimpse of my surroundings. My horse was standing in the centre of the pool eagerly slaking his thirst. On the opposite side three or four prairie wolves were crouching among the bushes and lapping the water with thirsty tongues. In close proximity I saw half a dozen hares and a number of prairie chickens, and some of these terrified creatures had evidently had a narrow escape, for the smell of scorched fur and burnt feathers was very perceptible. Like myself, these denizens of the prairie had sought refuge from the same foe and in a common sanctuary. They were so paralyzed with fear that at first they did not regard my presence, nor did the wolves attempt to molest the small animals, which in turn, made no effort to avoid their natural enemies. But in a short time, as the crackle of the flames died away, the smoke lifted, and objects became more distinctly visible, the natural instinct of these terrified creatures resumed its sway. The prairie chickens flew up into the trees, the hares scurried away in one direction, the wolves sneaked off in another, and, as I rode through the pool and was climbing the opposite bank, a doe and her fawn that had been concealed in their watery bed among the alder, sprang up and scampered away. I gave my pony his head, and in a few minutes he had again struck the Indian trail, and we resumed our homeward journey across the burned prairie, only a hour before a wide sea of waving grass and flowers - now a broad and blackened waste. |