Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1874-07-16

Iiiefe
dry season, when everybody was busy
ana anxious for the fate of the crops, on
which, in that far-off region. it seemed
that their lives depended; and the school
grew small, and the singing was weak
and spiritless, and things dragged sadly.
But Betye never failed
Then there was danger threatening on
every side. Fire got into the woods and
IRE swept over the parched uplands, and
sometimes threatened the standing corn
II the fields, and sometimes the rough
and homely but dearly-prized dwelling.
ana IN lew cases even the lives of the
pioneers.
One evening in the last days of Octo-
Der little Betye sat with her father on
the broad fat stone before their cabin
door. 1t was near nine o'clock; but the
ar was so oppressive, laden as it was
with sitting smoke. and the aspect of
Things was so threatening, that they
could not follow their usual custom of
gong 70 bed with the birds, but fingered
TO watch and wonder. They apprehended
no Danger to their home, though change
OF the wind might bring the fire near,
and they were glad to think of the pre-
cautions they had taken and to believe
them sufficient TO secure their safety in
any case.
They had just risen to go in, when the
sound OF horses feet was heard. and q
rider dlsmNunted at their door and.
holding his horse by the bride. made
known his errand. The fire was sweep-
ing down toward the home of William
Corner, a young farmer, two miles or
more away. Nothing had been done to
.,r,l 81,
flat on his back with bilious fever. The
neighbors were rallying and had sent for
more help.
Betye's father stayed only to get his AK
and his coat and to speak moment in a
low tone to his little girl.
"Good-by, little I'm. You'll mind your
hiding place if any danger should come,
back before mornin'. Don't go up the
ladder to bed Sleep down on the skin,
with yer cloes on, and keep your wits
awake all the time"
Yes, pap. | know. I amt afraid.
Go along. Goodbye
Z" Good-by! You're brave un Good
by" And then Betye was alone in the
cabin and soon alone in the silent wilder
ness.
But she was brave, as her father had
said. She brought the skin, spread it
down in a corner, got her pillow from the
loft, and lay down to sleep. A great,
ugly-looking, yellow dog lay on the
ground outside the cabin door. He was
sleeping apparently, but in reality watch
full and vigilant Betye did not imme-
diately fall asleep. She could hear the
stroke of the AK reverberating through
the woods, and the thought of others
danger troubled her The dog, too, every
now and then, hearing or imagin-
ing some unusual noise, broke out in
a clamor Of barking. But at last
she slept. Many times she awoke
in the night, went to the door, and looked
and listened But as the night adj
vanced the distant glow Of the fire
grew less bright and the danger seemed
past, and each time she lay down with a
securer feeling and slept more soundly.
At last she awoke to find the daylight
shining in at the still open door She
wondered why her father had not come,
but she was not disturbed, and applied
herself TO getting her usual breakfast of
corn-fritters and mOlasses. When she
had eaten, and given the dog his portion,
she brought out her knitting and sat on
the dOOr-stOne. The forenoon wore
away. She knew by the shadow Of the
trees it was noon, and she was Just gath
ering some chips to cook her dinner
when the dog began barking as if he
heard some one.
"NoW Pap's coming" said she; and
turned her face in the direction the dog
was looking. She noticed that the smoke
was more dense than ever The wind
was rising, and it might be it was bring
ing the fire dangerously near. She
would see.
She could climb as well as any boy,
and was soon high up in the branches Of
a tall tree. Here she could feel how
strongly the wind was blowing and see
the smoke rising from the woods west Of
her. Some black, angry-looking clouds
were rising. She looked all about for
her father, but could see no one. Still
the dog kept up his barking.
Even before she descended she felt
how the wind was increasing and the
smoke coming nearer.
"The fire will come here / must be
ready for it" said she, and hurried down.
She began bringing certain articles from
the house and bestOwing them in her hid
ing place. This was hole in the ground,
which had been begun for a well; but
the miner coming to a layer of solid rock
had given it up as bad job. Afterward
he had enlarged and fitted it up as a sort
OF outdoor cellar, covering it with logs
and OVERLAPPING these with turf. Still
later when obliged to leave his child
alone much of the time, he had taken
care so to level the ground above and
around it that it would never be per
Ceived, and, the entrance being merely
hidden by pile Of loose brush, Betye
could easily move it and then replace it
after she was inside. 1t formed a very
good hiding-place.
Here, then, she brought such things as
she could and hid them where they would
be safe from the fire. She was just done
when the barking of the dog again ar
rested her attention He had run off in
to the woods, and then returned again to
her, and seemed excited, and she listened
for the cause. Far away, from the west
ward, came a cry Of help.
Somebody is in danger from the fire
and don't know where to gO!" she thought
must 90 and help them" and she was
off like deer in the direction from which
the cry came. There was a path scarcely
perceptible to an unaccustomed eve, but
plain as daylight to her. Turning from
it, she would be involved in labyrinth
Of tangled underwood; but keeping it,
she sped along with no greater impedi-
ment than an occasional fallen log.
Every now and then she stopped, threw
her head back and listened: and then
sent her shrill, childish voice ringing
through the wood: Z" I'm coming! Come
this way!" So she ran on for more than
a mile. and still the wind blow moro and