And,
strangely enough, though he realized the tremendous heights and depths
of these peaks and canons, the whole effect to Bob was as something
spread out broad. The sky, the wonderful over-arching, very blue sky,
was the most important thing in the universe. Compared to its
infinitudes these mountains lay spread like a fair and wrinkled footrug
to a horizon inconceivably remote and mysterious.
Then his eye fell to the ridge opposite, across the blue canon. From one
point on it a straight column of smoke rolled upward, to mushroom out
and hang motionless above the top of the ridge. Its base was shot by
half-seen, half-guessed flaming streaks.
Bob had vaguely expected to see a whole country-side ablaze. This
single, slender column was almost absurd. It looked like a camp-fire,
magnified to fit the setting, of course.
"There's the fire, all right," said Jack. "We got to get across to it
somehow. Trail ends here."
"Why, that doesn't amount to much!" cried Bob.
"Don't it?" said Jack. "Well, I'd call that some shakes of a fire
myself. It's covered mighty nigh three hundred acres by now.
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