It sank again into the prairie, leaving the limbs of every tree scathed and scorched to an inky blackness; and shining with a bright crimson light, between their branches. In this way the light conflagration swept over the landscape: every hill seemed to burn its own funeral pyre, and the scorching heat licked up every blade in the hollows. A dark cloud of gray smoke, filled with burning embers, spread over the course of the flames, occasionally forming not ungraceful columns, which were almost instantly shattered by the wind, and driven in a thousand different directions. For several hours the blaze continued to rage, and the whole horizon became girdled with a belt of living fire. As the circle extended, the flames appeared smaller and smaller: until they looked like a slight golden thread drawn around the hills. They then must have been nearly ten miles distant. At length the blaze disappeared, although the purple light, that for hours illumined the night sky, told that the element was extending into other regions of the prairies. It was sunrise when I rose from my resting place and resumed my journey. What a change! All was waste. The sun had set upon a prairie still clothed in its natural garb of herbage. It rose upon a scene of desolation. Not a single weed—not a blade of grass, was left. The tall grove, which at sunset was covered with withered foliage, now spread a labyrinth of scorched and naked branches—the very type of ruin. A thin covering of gray ashes was sprinkled upon the ground beneath, and several large, dead trees, whose dried branches had caught and nourished the flame, were still blazing or sending up long spires of smoke. In every direction, barrenness marked the track of the flames. It had even worked its course against the blast, hugging to the roots of the tall grass. The wind was still raging; cinders and ashes were drifting, and whirling about, in almost suffocating clouds, sometimes rendering it impossible to see for more than one or two hundred yards. In surveying the dreary landscape, I caught sight of a gaunt, gray prairie wolf, stealing with a thief-like step down one of the hollows, as if his spirit was cowed by the scene. He was the only living thing to be seen. He saw his fellow-wanderer, but he did not fly. The very desolation around, appeared to have brought him a link nearer to man, for he had lost his terrors of him. He paused as he reached the foot of the hill. Here he uttered a low, querulous howl, which was answered from the woods, and three others emerged from the timber, and joined him. They stood for a few moments gazing at me, and then commenced slowly to approach. I knew that there was not a more cowardly beast upon the prairie, than the wolf; but a chill shot over me, as I saw them advance. It seemed as if they regarded me, as the cause of the desolation, that had swept over their homes; and I felt guilty and lonely.