some tiny sparks in a hollow place at the base of the stump. The wind had
fanned these into life after Charley had passed on, and the fire had
communicated to the stump. Now the stump was a pillar of flame. At any
moment sparks might fly from it and rekindle the fire.

Charley beat at the stump with his brush until the flames had entirely
disappeared. But fearing that sparks might yet be smouldering under the
bark or in the dry wood, Charley began scraping the sides of the stump. As
his hand reached the top of the stump, there was a sudden startling whir
of wings and something shot upward into the dark. Charley recoiled as
though shot. His heart beat a tattoo against his ribs. His first thought
was of the sudden blow the rattler had given the ranger. Yet he knew it
was no rattler that had suddenly sprung upward into the night. He drew
forth his flash-light, which he always carried, and turned the beam of
light on the top of the stump. There lay two little turtle-doves, unharmed
despite the fierce flames that had played about them. They had been
protected by the mother dove's body.

"Little turtle-dove," said Charley, "I take off my hat to you. When
anybody tells me about a deed of heroism hereafter, I'll tell them about
you and how you hovered over your young ones while the flames were slowly
roasting you. I'm certainly glad I got here when I did. You would have
been burned in another five minutes and your little ones with you."

Charley started back to the line of flames again. "If a turtle-dove can do
a thing like that," he muttered to himself, "you're a poor thing if you
can't face a little blaze like this."

He cut a new bush, once more fell on the fire, and never ceased his
efforts until not a single blaze lighted the forest. Then he stepped