“‘Where’s that jug of water that Jim said ye was a bringin’,’ he howled as he snatched the best shovel from my hands.  I don’t know what I said, but I know that he cursed me roundly and I started for the prospect hole to get the jug.  I was excited to the limit.  I came to the prospect hole, and the jug was gone.  I was starting back when I came to another hole, then a third, then a fourth.  I raised my eyes and surveyed the hillside.  There were at least a hundred prospect holes.  Which one did I leave the jug by?  Was it lost, that precious jug of water?  Would I ever find it?  The great clouds of smoke drifted past me and darkened the landscape; then I began to hunt for the jug, one hole at a time.  But I could find no jug.  While I was searching all over the hill, up rode the farmer.  He called for me to follow him.  I tried to explain to him that I was looking for the water, but I couldn’t make him understand.  When we got back to the east of the fire, he handed me an ax and showed me what to do.  They were cutting an aisle down the south ridge.  There were great trees cracking and crashing to the ground all along the line and all around me.  I could not see more than a hundred feet ahead, but I worked like a Turk.  O, but I thought my ax was dull and the tree hard!  It seemed that I could never cut it through.  I struck a heavy blow; there was a singing noise in the air, and the head of my ax went flying somewhere into the brush.  I heard the farmer, chopping near me, yell something about a fool and a greenhorn.

“‘Go, bring the water,’ he yelled.  I asked what water, and he yelled back, ‘The jug, the brown jug.’

“I started again to find it.  I don’t know how long I looked, but by accident I stumbled onto it.  I raised it to my lips to drink, but the water was warm and insipid.  It made me feel faint.  My head began to get dizzy and everything looked burned.  I straightened up and went back toward the fire.  When I reached the farmer, he gave me his ax and started off with the jug.  I chose my tree, and began to work.  I had cut but one, and was started on another, when a dozen rugged, sweating men passed me on the run and shouted, ‘Look out for the blast!’ I dropped my ax and followed them.  The earth shook under my feet, as one after the other I saw mighty pine trees rise into the air a few feet, then crash headlong down the mountain into the flames.  The fire was coming nearer.  O, such a sight!  The heat was intense, but the coloring was beautiful.  I followed the men, but one man tripped and fell; the others hurriedly picked him up, and we went onto a safe place.  Then a hurried conference was held, and orders given to cut the underbrush in a great circle around the fire.  By and by the wind changed, and soon the smoke cleared away from where we were working.  To my surprise, there were at least fifty sturdy men—­mountain ranchmen, most of them—­cutting the underbrush ahead of me, and just next to me worked Ben.