But a hundred men cannot check it.

Forest wardens post warnings.

Forest patrols, afoot or in airships, keep sharp watch.

But the selfish carelessness of man undoes their best precautions.
Sometimes in spring or in lush summer, but far oftenest in the dry autumn, the Red Terror stalks over mountain and valley; leaving black ruin in its wake.

Scarce an autumn passes that the dirty smoke reek does not creep over miles of sweet woodland, blotting out the sunshine for a time and blotting out rich vegetation for much longer.
This particular autumn was no exception.