644 



AMERICAN FORESTRY 



by the hunters, to little blazes wavering up from care- 

 less matches, and to clearing fires insanely set at such 

 a time. They might have been harmless enough with- 

 out the drouth and of little power without the wind, but 

 the stage was set for greater things by a master hand. 



The devil dance was on. 



Quickly those little fires responded to that seductive 

 wind. Through dust dry swamp and swirling autumn 

 leaves they crept with eager pace, till urged on to 

 madness by the ever more furious wind they joined 

 hands in the St. Louis Valley near Floodwood in one wild 

 burst of flame. The devil dance was on indeed. 



The Cloquet mills coughed and shrieked. Duluth lay 



pass away that the destruction of a large town by a 

 forest fire seemed to them incredible. 



The smoke had become so dense that neighbor bumped 

 into neighbor on the street and yet the mill ran on. But 

 at last the wise ones were convinced. For the first time 

 in fifteen years the great steam siren shrieked its fright- 

 ful call of impending disaster and the authorities began 

 herding the unbelieving people onto the cars. No pull- 

 mans, these cars. A few coaches, baggage cars, box 

 cars, coal cars of almost every type, but they could 

 carry people ; and they did. Reluctantly and often pro- 

 testing the people clambered on. There was no panic 

 and no confusion. Fear there probably was before the 



Photograph by Underwood and Underwood 



RUIN NEAR THE SUBURBS OF DULUTH 



"All unheralded, the fire descended on the far-flung suburbs of Duluth. A night raid from the forest on a mighty city, 

 the horrible story." This is all tiiat remains of a farm home, twelve miles west of the city. 



Two hundred deaths tell 



secure in her civic might and Moose' Lake cared little 

 for a fire in the distant woods. 



But the ore trains were blocked on the Great North- 

 ern tracks, a matter of international importance at the 

 present time, and the first word of warning was sounded 

 in Cloquet. It was not a very loud warning and no one 

 heeded it much. Then a train of refugees went through 

 from Brevator on their way to Superior. The warning 

 was a little louder now and the wise ones began to prick 

 up their ears. The mills coughed on. Brevator was a 

 long way off. But the wise ones arranged for an open 

 track to Superior and held relief trains in readiness. 

 The people smiled indulgently and coupled up the garden 

 hose. So quickly do the memories of former disasters 



three trains pulled out, but if so it was well contained 

 and no one disgraced himself. 



In the meanwhile it happened. With one mighty 

 bound, a massive, solid wall of flame shot over the hill 

 at the west end of the lumberyards and all hope of 

 saving the town was gone. It did not smoulder, crawl 

 and leap by turns as ordinary fires do. With one great 

 bound it clutched its prey in instant flames. A dozen 

 biasing centres had sprung up at once. Furiously the 

 fires raged. But even so it could not stampede that 

 last waiting train of hope. When the flames began 

 lapping over the rear cars, the train moved slowly ahead 

 till free of the flames, and waited. The flames forced 

 it to move again and again it waited. There were to 



