One day he saw smoke at a considerable distance.  By the time he could reach the spot, the fire had a good start and had already burned over several acres.  It was blazing briskly and Charley was at first uncertain as to whether he should attempt to fight it alone or call help.  But night was at hand, the wind was already falling, and Charley decided that he could conquer the blaze single-handed.  He judged that the best way to do this was by beating it out with brush.

Quickly chopping a pine bough, Charley attacked the fire.  It was not a fierce blaze, though when the fitful wind blew strong it flamed up savagely.  Even the tiniest of forest fires is hot enough, and Charley found it trying work.  He had many hundreds of yards of flame to beat out.  The smoke and the heat were stifling and exhausting, and every little while Charley had to turn away from the fire to rest and get his breath.  During such periods, Charley would walk back along the fire-line to make sure that the blaze was extinguished behind him.

Darkness came quickly in the deep valley, and before Charley had the blaze half extinguished, he was unable to see distinctly.  Indeed he could hardly have seen anything at all had it not been for the fitful light of the flames; and this dancing light made objects appear uncertain and unreal.

In one of his trips back along the line, Charley came to a stump that was ablaze.  In beating out the flames just here, he had failed to extinguish 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.”