To the east the conflagration we had started was filling half the sky with smoke.

And here we were, perfectly safe in the middle of the river, encircling the Fire People's stronghold.

We sat and laughed at them as we dashed by, swinging south, and southeast to east, and even to northeast, and then east again, southeast and south and on around to the west, a great double curve where the river nearly tied a knot in itself.
As we swept on to the west, the Fire People far behind, a familiar scene flashed upon our eyes.
It was the great drinking-place, where we had wandered once or twice to watch the circus of the animals when they came down to drink.

Beyond it, we knew, was the carrot patch, and beyond that the caves and the abiding-place of the horde.

We began to paddle for the bank that slid swiftly past, and before we knew it we were down upon the drinking-places used by the horde.