Then without apparent reason
they turned directly down the backbone of a steep ridge exactly like a
half-dozen others they had passed over. But later Bob saw that this
ridge was the only one of the lot that dipped over gently to lower
levels; all the rest broke off abruptly in precipitous rocks. Bob was a
good woodsman, but this was his first experience in that mountaineering
skill which noses its way by the "lay of the country."
In the meantime they were steadily descending. The trees hemmed them
closer. Thickets of willows and alders had to be crossed. Dimly through
the tree-tops they seemed to see the sky darkening by degrees as they
worked their way down. At first Bob thought it the lateness of the
afternoon; then he concluded it must be the smoke of the fire; finally,
through a clear opening, he saw this apparent darkening of the horizon
was in reality the blue of the canon wall opposite, rising as they
descended. But, too, as they drew nearer, the heavy smoke of the
conflagration began to spread over them. In time it usurped the heavens,
and Bob had difficulty in believing that it could appear to any one
anywhere as so simple a mushroom-head over a slender smoke column.
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