“‘Fire, boys,’ he called.  ’I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need you, and you know the law.  I’ll have the buggy ready in a shake, and you be ready.’  As he left, my friend cried, ’Come quick, Allen, into your old clothes.’  ‘Why,’ I said, ‘we don’t have to fight the forest fire, do we?’ He laughed aloud.  ‘Well, you just bet we do!’ he cried.  ’The law says that every able-bodied man in reach of a forest fire must give his services.  If a fire starts on Government land and burns onto private land, Uncle Sam has to pay for all the private loss.  But if it starts on private land and burns onto Government land, the land owner is responsible.’

“I jumped into some old clothes, and was ready just as the buggy drove up to the door.  The man handed me a big brown jug and told me to fill it with drinking water.  Off to the north we saw a great cloud of gray smoke rising from the forest, but no flame.  The farmer handed my friend the lines, told us to take the shortest route, and not to stop for anything, that he would follow on horseback in a few moments.  I never shall forget how the little mare did go that day.  We drove north on a county road until we got even with the smoke, then we turned in directly toward it through a very large potato field.  After an hour’s hard driving, we came to the entrance of a narrow canyon.  We tied the horse, and, with as many shovels as I could carry on my shoulder, and with the jug, I followed my friend, who had taken a couple of shovels and two heavy axes.  It was a sultry midsummer day, and how I did sweat!

“We hurried on, the smoke getting thicker and thicker, and still we could see no flames.  We went up a long, narrow canyon in which there was a tiny stream, and about every hundred yards we stopped to drink.  By and by we came to the top of a low ridge, and the farmer met us.

“‘Hurry, fellows, hurry!’ he shouted.  ’Give me a couple of those axes.  Report to the first man you meet, and come home in the buggy when you can.’  He swung his horse round, and in a moment was gone.  I was tired out already, and the jug of water was very heavy to carry by so small a handle.  As we got near the top of the ridge, we came to an old prospect hole.  An idea struck me.  I would leave the jug there by the hole, and it would be easy to find when I wanted it, and I would hurry on with the shovels.  As we reached the top of the ridge, the fire came into full view.  My, what a sight!  A great sea of burning, crackling trees below, and above an ocean of heavy smoke, floating upward in great billows.  Far away, at least it seemed so to me, I heard chopping, chopping.  I don’t know how long I stood there wondering at the sight, but presently an old man—­he looked to me like a wild man, came toward me, eyeing me with a scornful look.

“‘Well, ye goin’ to stand there all day with them implements, son?’ He mopped away the great beads of perspiration from his forehead with a big blue bandanna handkerchief.  A large Russian hound stood, panting, by his side.  Nearly a year afterwards I learned that the old man was no other than Old Ben himself.