“Into the creek!  Drive right in!” cried Baldy Johnson.  “Run the wagon right in!  It’s a good bottom and you can go all the way across!”

“Go on!” called Mr. Switzer to his horses, and the steeds, nothing loath, darted for the cooling water.  Indeed it was very hot now, for the fire was close, and it was still coming on, in an ever-narrowing circle.

“Go ahead, boys!  Into the creek with you!  It’s our last chance, and our only one!” went on Baldy.  “Into the water with you!”

And into the welcome coolness of the creek splashed the cowboys on their ponies and the wagon containing the refugees.

“Where are you going?” cried Ruth, as Russ swung himself down off the seat.

“I’m going to get this last film, showing the escape,” he answered.  “It’s too good a chance to miss.”

“But you’ll be burned!” she exclaimed.  “The fire is coming closer.”

And indeed the flames, closing up the circle of fire, were drawing nearer and nearer.

“I’ll be all right,” he assured her.  “I just want to get some pictures showing the wagon and the cowboys going across the creek.  Then I’ll wade across myself.  Of course I’d like to get a front view, but I’ll have to be content with a rear one.”

And as the wagon drawn by the frantic horses plunged into the water, followed by the shouting cowboys and the members of the film company, Russ calmly set his camera up on the edge of the stream, and took a magnificent film that afterward, under the title “The Escape from Fire,” made a great sensation in New York.

The brave young operator remained until he felt the heat of the flames uncomfortably close and then, holding his precious camera high above his head, he waded into the creek.  The waters did not come above his waist, and when he was safe on the other side with his friends, finding he had a few more feet of film left, he took the pictures showing the fire as it raged and burned the last of the grass, and other pictures giving views of the exhausted men, women and horses in a temporary camp.

“Whew!  But that was hot work!” cried Mr. Bunn, mopping his face.

“You’re right,” agreed Mr. Pertell.  “I don’t believe I’ll chance any more prairie fires.  This one rather got away from us.”

There was a shout from some of the cowboys who stood in a group on the bank of the creek.

“Look!  Look at those fellows!” cried Bow Backus.  “They just got out of the fire by a close shave ­same as we did.”

They all looked to where he pointed.

There, crossing the stream higher up, and seemingly at a place which the fire had only narrowly missed, were several horsemen.  Their steeds appeared exhausted, as though they had had a hard race to escape.

“What outfit is that, fellows?” asked Baldy Johnson.  “I don’t know of any punchers attached to a ranch that’s within this here fire range.”

“There isn’t any,” declared Necktie Harry.

“But where did those cowboys come from?” persisted Baldy.

“They’re not cowboys!” declared Necktie Harry, looking to see if his scarf had suffered any from the smoke and cinders.  “Did you ever see real cow punchers ride the way they do ­like sacks of meal.  They’re fakes, that’s what they are!”

For an instant Baldy stared at the speaker, and then cried: 

“That’s it!  I couldn’t understand it before, but I do now.  It’s all clear!”

“What is?” asked Mr. Pertell, who was still, rather wrought up by the danger into which he had thrown his players.

“Why, about this blaze.  I couldn’t for the life of me understand how it was it could burn two ways at once.  But now I do.”

“You mean those fellows set another fire?” asked Bow Backus.

“That’s my plain identical meanin’,” declared Baldy.  “Them scoundrels started another fire after we did ours.”

“Oh, how terrible!” exclaimed Ruth.

“Wait; hold on, Miss!  I’m not goin’ so far as to accuse ’em of doin’ it purposely,” the cowboy went on, earnestly.  “They may not have meant it.  The grass is pretty dry just now, and a little fire would burn a long way.  It’s jest possible they may have made a blaze to bile their coffee, and the wind carried sparks into a bunch of grass.  But I have my suspicions.”

“Why, who could they be, to do such a dastardly thing as that?” demanded Mr. DeVere.

“That’s what I want to know,” put in Mr. Pertell.

Baldy turned sharply to the manager.

“Who’s been followin’ on your trail ever since you started out to make your big drama ’East and West’?” he asked.

“Who ­who!” repeated Mr. Pertell.  “Why ­why those sneaks from the International Picture Company ­that’s who.”

“That’s them,” declared Baldy, laconically, as he pointed to the retreating horsemen.  “That’s them, and they’re the fellows who sot this second fire that so nearly wrecked us.”

“Is it possible!” ejaculated Mr. DeVere.

“I’m sure of it,” declared Baldy.  “I ain’t got no real proof; but I’ve seen a good many fires in my day, and they don’t start all by their ownselves ­not two of ’em, anyhow.  You can bank on them bein’ your enemies, if you’ll excuse my slang,” he said in firm tones.

“Do you really mean it?” asked Mr. Pertell, in amazement.

“I sure do, friend.  I’m not sayin’ they started it to hurt any of you; but they wanted to spoil your picture, I’m sure of it.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Bow Backus cried out in loud tones: 

“Fellers, there’s only one thing to do:  Let’s take after them scamps and get ’em with the goods!  Let’s prove that they did this mischief.  Come on, boys!  Our horses are fresh enough now.”

The tired cow ponies, almost worn out after their race to escape with their masters from the on-rushing flames, had been allowed to rest and now they were ready for hard work again.

In an instant, half a score of the sturdy cowboys were in the saddle, whooping and yelling in sheer delight at the prospective chase.

“I’ve got to get in on this!” cried Russ.  “Wait a minute until I film the start, fellows, and then I’ll get on a horse and take my camera.  I’ll go with you, and get the finish of this, too.”

A new roll of film was quickly slipped into the camera and Russ dashed on ahead to show the on-coming cowboys in their rush to overtake the suspected men.

Then the young operator jumped into the saddle of a steed that was ready and waiting for him, and galloped on with his friends to get, if possible, the finish of the affair.

“Oh, isn’t it just splendid!” cried Alice, clapping her hands.

“But it makes me so nervous!” protested Ruth.

“I just love to be nervous ­this way,” declared Alice, with a joyous laugh.

Away flew the eager cowboys, and those left behind proceeded to let their nerves quiet down after the strenuous times they had just passed through.  The cook had come up and he at once prepared a little meal.

On the other side of the wide creek the prairie fire burned itself out.  The blaze crept in the dry grass down to the very edge of the water, where it went out with puffs of steam, and vicious hisses.

“Oh, but I’m glad we’re not there,” sighed Ruth as she looked across at the smoke-palled and blackened stretch.

“Yes, it was a narrow escape,” said her father.

“What happened after we left?” asked Alice.

“The fire really got a little too much for us,” said Mr. Pertell.  “And, as I had pictures enough, we decided to leave.  We let the cabin burn, as we had arranged, and then came riding on.

“But the flames were a little too quick for us, and we had to turn off to one side.  That’s why we didn’t get up to you more quickly.  We were really quite worried about you.”