It was. Not a bunch, exactly, but two does and three fawns, scampering through the timber below, fleeing from the fire. They were bounding over brush and over logs, their tails lifted showing the white--and next they were out of sight in a hollow. They made a pretty sight, but-- "Frightened by the fire, aren't they?" asked Scout Van Sant, quietly, as we jogged on. "Yes," I had to say. This looked serious. The fire might not be coming, and again it might. Animals are wise. The smoke certainly was worse. The air certainly was warmer. The breeze was changing, or else we were down into another breeze. Next I saw a black, shaggy creature lumbering past, before, and I pointed without stopping. They nodded. "Bear?" panted Ward. I nodded. The bear was getting out of the way, too. "Will we make it?" again asked Ward. "Sure," I answered. We _had_ to. On we plowed. We were almost at the bottom of the slope and we ought to be reaching those willows and aspens. The brush was not so bad, now; but the brush does not figure much in a forest fire when the flames leap from tree-top to tree-top and make a crown fire. That is the worst of all. This was hot enough to be a crown fire, if a breeze helped it. We saw lots of animals--rabbits and squirrels and porcupines and more deer, and the birds were calling and fluttering. The smoke rasped our throats; the air was thick with it and with the smell of burning pine. And how we sweat. Then, hurrah! We were into the aspens. I tell you, their white trunks and their green leaves looked good to me; but ahead of us was that other slope to climb, before we were into the bareness. "Shall we go on?" asked Scout Van Sant. He coughed; we all coughed, as we wheezed. That had been a hard hike. The air was hot, we could _feel_ the fire as the wind came in strong puffs; everywhere animals were running and flying, and the aspens were full of wild things, panicky. We had to decide quickly, for the fire was much closer. "Are you good for another pull?" I asked. They grinned, out of streaming faces and white lips. "We'll make it if you can." But I didn't believe that we could. Up I went into an aspen, to reconnoiter. "Be looking for wetness, or willows," I called down. They dropped their packs and scurried. CHAPTER XII FOILING THE FIRE I don't know what a record I made in climbing that tree--an aspen's bark is slick--but in a jiffy I was at the top and could peer out. (Note 47.) All the sky was smoke, veiling the upper end of the valley and of the ridge. The ridge must be afire; the fire was spreading along our side; and if we tried for the opposite slope and the bare spot we might be caught halfway! Something whisked through the trees under me. It was a coyote. And as I slid down like lightning, thinking hard as to what we must do and do at once, I heard a calling and Van Sant and Ward came rushing back. "We've found a place!" they cried huskily. "A boggy place, with willows. Let's get in it."