Bumper felt that he had performed a real act of kindness in quieting the fright of the birds, especially of Rusty the Blackbird, whose excitement was likely to stir up general fear throughout the woods. Of course, a fire in the woods would be a dreadful thing. They couldn’t think of anything worse. But it was unwise to give a false alarm and scare all the young ones.
At the same time Bumper felt a little uneasy. Bald Mountain was a long way off, but the wind was blowing straight from it, and he began to think that perhaps this accounted for the uneasiness of Hermit, Black Cap, Mrs. Oven-Bird and Whip-Poor-Will. Fuzzy Wuzz might have sniffed the odor of smoke on the air, and the frightened birds had sensed the danger in the same way. Also it would account for the blood-red sun.
But Bumper continued to make light of the danger, laughing good-naturedly, and saying that Rusty must have had his wings singed in flying so fast through the air. “I shouldn’t worry about it,” he said finally, as he hopped away. “Now go back to your nest Whip-Poor-Will, and you, too, Mrs. Oven-Bird. If anything happens we’ll give the alarm.”
The birds, now they knew what had caused their restlessness, and being assured by Bumper that timely warning would be given if the fire spread, breathed easier and soon forgot all about it. But not Bumper. He was anxious to find out for himself if the fire was coming toward them.
As soon as he could get away from Fuzzy Wuzz, he ran as fast as he could in the direction of Bald Mountain. It was a long run, but Bumper was feeling fine, and he covered the ground with great speed.
Half way there he stumbled upon Crawler the Tortoise, who was trudging along in the opposite direction. “Where to now, Crawler?” he hailed.
“For the river,” replied Crawler without stopping. “I smell smoke, and I’m going to get in the river mud before it’s too late.”
“The fire’s a long distance away, isn’t it?” replied Bumper.
“Yes, but it takes me a long time to crawl a short distance. So I’m going to start early.”
Bumper thought this was a good idea, and he made no attempt to detain Crawler. If he couldn’t travel any faster than the Tortoise, he would do the same—start early.
Half a mile further he found Hoppy the Toad burrowing into the ground. “What are you digging for, Hoppy?” he asked.
“For a safe place when the fire comes,” was the reply. “If I don’t burrow down a foot or more I’ll be roasted alive.”
“Do you think the fire’s coming this way?” asked Bumper more alarmed than ever.
“Of course it is! Ask Baldy the Eagle up there! He’s so excited he can’t do anything but circle around and utter loud cries. He can see what we can’t.”
Bumper looked up and saw Baldy the Eagle and his mate circling around in great spirals. They were so far from the earth that they looked like tiny specks, but after a while they swooped down and lighted on the decayed stump of a tree.
Ordinarily Bumper wouldn’t have dared to speak to Baldy, but fear now had made the Eagles tame and friendly. A fire in the woods changes friends and foes alike.
“O Baldy,” Bumper called, “I can’t see down here, but you can up there. Tell me if the fire is coming this way, and is there any danger?”
“Yes, Bumper,” replied Baldy, glancing down at the white rabbit. “It has swept clear across Bald Mountain, and is now racing down the slope on this side. Our new home is destroyed, and we’re fleeing for our lives. If you want to escape you should run for the river.”
“Is it as bad as all that!” exclaimed Bumper.
“Come up here and look for yourself!”
Bumper smiled at this remark, for he had no more chance of getting up there in the top of the tree than he had of swimming like Billy the Mink under water.
“You should warn all of your people to flee,” Baldy added. “And there’s no time to be lost.”
Baldy and his mate rose then and flew away, leaving the white rabbit alone. “It must be worse than I thought,” he said to himself. “Baldy doesn’t get frightened very easily. I must hurry back home.”
Just then a great commotion back of him made him turn. Out of a big hole in a tree came Great Horn the Owl.
“What is it!” he cried. Then seeing the white rabbit, he added: “Is it true, Bumper, the woods are on fire?”
“I’m afraid they are, Great Horn. Baldy the Eagle said the fire’s coming this way rapidly.”
“Then I must pack up and leave at once. But I’m so blind I can’t see which way to fly.”
“Follow the wind, Great Horn, and you won’t need your eyes. It’s blowing away from the fire.”
“That’s so. I’ll do it. Thank you for the kind advice, Bumper. Now I must hurry.”
“And I, too,” said Bumper.
But once more there was a crash, and through the bushes sprang White Tail the Deer. Bumper expected to see Sneaky the Wolf or Buster the Bear after him, but when neither appeared he hailed the deer.
“Is it the fire you’re running from, White Tail?” he called.
“Yes, all the woods will be burnt up. You’d better run for the river, Bumper. It’s your only chance.”
“I think I will.”
But he didn’t get far before a swarm of birds swept down upon him. There were Piney the Purple Finch, Towhee the Chewink, Mrs. Phoebe Bird, Shrike the Butcher Bird, Mr. Woodpecker, Mr. and Mrs. Pine Grosbeak, Mr. Crested Flycatcher, and all their families and friends. They came in dense clouds, shrieking, crying and making a great noise.
“Run! Run!” they cried as they flew over his head. “The fire will soon be here, Bumper! Run for your life!”
“I’m going to,” said Bumper.
But once more he was so startled by a sudden interruption that he couldn’t move. Out of the bushes appeared Mr. Fox, running as if his life depended upon it. Bumper crouched to hide, but Mr. Fox only gave him a side glance, and shouted:
“Run, Bumper! Run to the river! The fire’s coming!”
Bumper was so surprised that Mr. Fox should stop long enough to warn him that he simply stared and waited. Even his worst enemy wasn’t entirely bad, not if he would take the trouble to warn him when a great danger threatened every living thing in the woods.
“I’ll remember that, and not think so badly of Mr. Fox,” he said.
Then he thought of his own safety, and was ready once more to run home to warn his people of the danger; but out of the bushes at his feet came a pitiful wailing cry. Bumper stopped, and looked down. It was little Spotty the Chameleon, whose bright colors now were all dark and splotched.
“O Bumper,” he wailed, “I can’t get away from the fire. I hurt my leg, and can’t run at all. I’ll be roasted alive.”
Bumper was horrified, and stopped to console him, but the air was getting thick with smoke, and he knew that he would have to run if he expected to save his own life. But he couldn’t leave Spotty behind to be burnt up.
“Hop on my back, Spotty, and cling to it,” he said.
Spotty glad of the chance climbed up, and Bumper started on a mad race through the bushes. In the next story you will read of Bumper’s further adventures in the fire.