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"It wiped the town of Peshtigo entirely off the map," he said. "The people were hemmed in, ringed by fire on every side, and out of a population of two thousand, scarcely five hundred escaped. Flight was hopeless and rescue impossible."
Think of a fire like that of Peshtigo, think that if it had been stopped at the very beginning a thousand and a half lives would have been saved, and then ask yourself whether the work of a Forest Guard is not just about as fine a thing as any young fellow can do." Wilbur turned impulsively to his chum. "You'll just have to join us, Fred," he said.
It would seem, to the student of nature, to be a pretty good price for three inches of ordinary leg, but then some people will make such a fuss. The regular weekly murder is reported from Peshtigo. Two men named Glass and Penrue, got to quarreling about a girl, in a hay loft, over a barn. Glass stabbed Penrue quite a number of times and he died.
Of course, every fire, even the famous Peshtigo fire, started as a little bit of a blaze which either of you two boys could have put out." "How big a fire was that, sir?" asked Fred. "It covered an area of over two thousand square miles." "Great Cæsar!" ejaculated Wilbur after a rapid calculation, "that would be a strip twenty miles wide and a hundred miles long." The Chief Forester nodded.
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