I began making haste; for it now looked as
if the fire might reach the head of the slew before I could, and thus
cut me off. I felt in my pocket for matches; for in case of need, the
only way to fight fire is with fire.
I was not scared, for I knew what to do; but not a mile from where I saw
the fire on the hilltop, a family of Indiana movers were at that moment
smothering and burning to death in the storm of flames--six people, old
and young, of the score or more lost in that fire; and the first deaths
of white people in Vandemark Township. Their name was Davis, and they
came from near Vincennes, we found out.
And within five minutes, as I looked off to the northwest, I saw a woman
walking calmly toward the marsh. She was a long way off, and much nearer
the fire than I was. I looked for the wagon to which she might belong,
but saw none, and it took only one more glance at her to show me that
she was in mortal danger. For she was walking slowly and laboriously
along like a person carrying a heavy burden. The smoke was getting so
thick that it hid her from time to time, and I felt, even at my distance
from the fire, an occasional hot blast on my cheek--a startling proof of
the rapid march of the great oncoming army of flames.
I kicked my heels into the horse's flanks and pushed him to a gallop. I
must reach her soon, or she would be lost, for it was plain that she was
paying no attention to her danger. I went down into a hollow, pounded up
the opposite hill, and over on the next rise of ground I saw her.
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