A BEAR ON FIRE. 15

before, but we soon found the whole force
plowing ahead through the dense brush
and over fallen timber on a double quick.
Then we heard low, heavy thunder in the
heavens. Were they running away from a
thunder-storm? The English artists, who
had been doing India and had come to love
the indolent patience and obedience of the
black people, tried to call a halt. No use.
I shouted to the Indians in their own
tongue. “Tokau! Ki-sa! Kiu!’ (Hasten!
Quick! Quick!) was all the answer I could
get from the red, hot face that was thrown
for a moment back over the load and
shoulder. So we shot forward. In fact,
the horses now refused all regard for the
bit, and made their own way through the
brush with wondrous skill and speed.
We were flying from fire, not flood! Piti-
ful what a few years of neglect will do
toward destroying a forest! When a lad
I had galloped my horse in security and
comfort all through this region. It was
like a park then. Now it was a dense