It was now late August, and no rain had fallen on the reservation for many weeks. The waving sea of prairie grass, vivid in May as a green gem, was now of a rufous brown. Water-holes were sucked dry; the smaller creeks had quite forsaken their sandy beds, and many of the people had to drive their cattle and horses long miles to water, every morning and evening.
The “Little Father” sat humped up in his office chair, with his coat off, discontentedly signing a batch of official papers and heaping objurgations on the weather, when Blue-Coat unceremoniously made his way in at the wide-open door and thrust a letter under the agent’s nose. The letter was from Cherry Creek.
“There is a large prairie fire to the west of us and the wind is blowing strong in our direction. I am sure the camp is in danger. Only the women and two or three old men are at home. Please send help at once.
“Umph!” he grunted, rousing himself a trifle, however. “That all so, Lone Bull? Well, tell Pepper to step here a minute. Hello, Jack! here’s a windfall for you. The little field matron out at Cherry Creek wants to be saved from a prairie fire. That’s a Number One allotment she’s picked out—better get a move on at once. I’m looking for a tenderfoot from the East to-day; team’s just gone to the landing after him; may take a drive out that way later on. Good luck to you!”
When Jack Pepper pulled up his steaming span in front of Stella’s home, the girl was out with “Old Soup” and a rusty plow, trying, with the help of Blue Earth and one or two others, to drive a furrow around the threatened camp. But it was evident that their unaccustomed hands were making hard work of it. The advancing line of smoke and flame had drawn perceptibly nearer; a hot blast was blowing directly in their faces, and the red sun swam in an angry haze. The situation looked fairly serious.
“Hey, Stella! so you had to send for me, at last!” was the young man’s familiar greeting.
The girl looked past him with unseeing eyes. “I wrote to the _agent_,” she replied, shortly.
“Scared out of your wits, I’ll bet! Well, if I help you out of this scrape, what am I going to get for it, eh?” he persisted, coming closer.
Stella flashed one glance at the coarse face unpleasantly near her own, then at the winking red line of fire driven straight toward them on the wings of a strong wind. The fire was preferable, so far as she was concerned; but there were Blue Earth and her terrified babies and poor, helpless old Grandmother! There were many others in the same plight. Doubtless they could escape by hasty flight; but these poor huts held their little all on earth, and must they be abandoned? What was to be done?