But here, in the bottom of the ravine, a single coal had lodged, and had
already started into flame the dry small brush. It had fallen originally
from an oak fully a hundred feet away; and in some mysterious manner had
found a path to this hidden pocket. The circumstances somewhat shook
Bob's faith in the apparent safety of the country he had just traversed.
However, there were the tiny flames, licking here and there,
insignificant, but nevertheless dangerous. Bob carefully laid his
canteens and the rake on a boulder, and set to work with his sharpened
hoe. It looked to be a very easy task to dig out a path around this
little fire.
In the course of the miniature fight he learned considerable of the ways
of fire. The brush proved unexpectedly difficult. It would not stand up
to the force of his stroke, but bent away. The tarweed, especially, was
stubborn under even the most vigorous wielding of his sharpened hoe.
He made an initial mistake by starting to hoe out his path too near the
blaze, forgetting that in the time necessary to complete his half-circle
the flames would have spread.
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