“There’s a rare chap for you—a fellow who would shake his fist at Heaven, when he is at home; and here, in a _grass-patch_, must make his _fire-medicine_ for a _circumstance_ that he could easily leave at a shake of his horse’s heels.” “Not sae sure o’ that, my hooney, though we’ll not be making too lightly of the matter, nor either be frightened at the mon’s strange octions. But, Bogard, I’ll tell ye in a ’ord (and thot’s enough), there’s something more than odds in all this ‘_medicine_.’ If this mon’s a fool, he was born out of his own country, that’s all—and if the divil iver gits him, he must take him cowld, for he is too swift and too wide-awake to be taken alive—you understond thot, I suppouse? But, to come to the plain matter—supposin that the Fire Spirit (and I go for somewhat of witchcraft), I say supposin that this _Fire Spirit_ should jist impty his pipe on tother side of this prairie, and strike up a bit of a blaze in this high grass, and send it packing across in this direction, before sich a death of a wind as this is! By the _bull barley_, I’ll bet you’d be after ‘_making medicine_,’ and taking a bit of it, too, to get rid of the racket.” “Yes, but you see, Patrick——” “Neever mind thot (not wishin to distarb you); and suppouse the blowin wind was coming fast ahead, jist blowin about our ears a warld of smoke and chokin us to dith, and we were dancin about a _Varginny reel_ among these little paths, where the divil would we be by the time we got to that bluff, for it’s now fool of a distance? Givin you time to spake, I would say a word more (askin your pardon), I know by the expression of your face, mon, you neever have seen the world on fire yet, and therefore you know nothin at all of a _hurly burly_ of this kind—did ye?—did ye iver see (and I jist want to know), did ye iver see the fire in high-grass, runnin with a strong wind, about five mile and the half, and thin hear it strike into a _slash_ of _dry_ cane brake!! I would jist ax you that? By thuneder you niver have—for your eyes would jist stick out of your head at the thought of it! Did ye iver look way into the backside of Mr. Maelzel’s Moscow, and see the flashin flames a runnin up; and then hear the poppin of the _militia fire_ jist afterwards? then you have jist a touch of it! ye’re jist beginnin—ye may talk about fires—but this is sich a _baste of a fire_! Ask _Jack Sanford_, he’s a chop that can tall you all aboot it. Not wishin to distarb you, I would say a word more—and that is this—If I were advisin, I would say that we are gettin too far into this imbustible meadow; for the grass is dry, and the wind is too strong to make a light matter of, at this sason of the year; an now I’ll jist tell ye how M‘Kenzie and I were sarved in this very place about two years ago; and he’s a worldly chop, and niver aslape, my word for that————hollo, what’s that!”