Jerry shook his head skeptically as Sandy plopped down beside him on the grass. “I don’t think that fire is going to change direction. You should see it down near the middle of the south line. It’s so close now that they can see to work by it.”
Sandy shrugged. “Won’t be able to tell for sure for a while. But that wind is definitely swinging around and picking up velocity—by the way, where’s Quiz?”
Jerry jerked his thumb back across his shoulder. “He’s back down the line jawing away with some of the gang bosses. By the time this is over, he’ll be an expert fire fighter.”
Sandy laughed. “Shakespeare to smoke-eating—that’s our boy. The expert’s expert.”
Dick put the walkie-talkie down and turned to the boys. “Our aerial observer reports a definite wind shift to the southwest. It’s still too early to notice any effect on the head of the fire, but it’s an important development.” He gazed skyward. “Just keep your fingers crossed that it doesn’t really blow up. She’d probably crown again and that could mean spot fires almost anywhere.”
“What are spot fires? You mentioned them before, but you never did explain what they are.”
“In a stiff wind, great masses of flaming embers and foliage may be carried through the air for miles and start other fires far ahead of the original one. That’s where the real danger exists for fire fighters. Lots of times in a bad crown fire, men have suddenly found themselves completely surrounded by flames.”
Sandy shuddered. “That’s horrible.”
“Anyway, it’s nothing for us to worry about. We haven’t had a big blow up this way in almost two months.”
“Say, Dick,” Jerry asked curiously. “Do they know for sure what started this fire?”
“Not with absolute certainty,” the ranger told him, “but it’s a pretty good bet that it was that lightning storm we had a few days back. Lightning is by far the leading cause of forest fires in the United States.”
Sandy yawned and glanced at his watch. “Gee, it’s almost midnight,” he said.
“Why don’t you guys catch forty winks in the back of that big van over there,” Dick suggested. “I’ll wake you up if there are any new developments.”
At that instant, the walkie-talkie came to life. Dick conversed briefly with headquarters, then smiled apologetically at the boys. “Sorry, fellows, but that nap will have to wait. Landers has decided to hold up setting the backfires on the south line until we know for sure what’s going to happen with that wind. Jerry, you take the word on down: Stand by with the flame throwers, but don’t start backfiring until we get confirmation from headquarters. No sense burning down any more timber than we have to.
“Sandy, you go down the ridge and tell Macauley and Roberts that they can start backfiring any time they’re ready.”
“Right!” the boys said in unison, and started off in opposite directions.
It was an eerie sight watching the men fire the grass with their flame throwers. Rapidly they moved along the top of the ridge with the cylindrical tanks strapped to their backs, the long metal nozzles spewing out jets of blazing gasoline that consumed everything they touched. Soon the entire crest was aflame. To the west, a towering column of smoke spiraled high into the moonlit sky, the glints of the inferno below shimmering on its underside. It reminded Sandy of the familiar mushroom cloud of an atomic blast, and with a sick feeling he remembered the missing bomb lying somewhere in these woods.
Shortly after 3:00A.M.Quiz Taylor aroused Sandy and Jerry, who were asleep in the supply truck.
“Come on, they need us!” he told them excitedly. “The fire has really busted loose again.”
Sandy sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. “Whazza matter? Wha’ happened?”
“There’s a real southwester blowing up. The fire has crowned again—you should see it! She may leap the ridge!”
“Leap the ridge!” Sandy sat up ramrod-straight, jolted into full wakefulness. “Good night! Let’s go!” He and Jerry slipped on their boots and laced them frantically.
The sight that greeted them as they leaped out of the truck was frightening. To the east, as far as the eye could see, the canopy of the forest was one massive sheet of writhing, twisting fire. Long, forked tongues of flame leaped high into the sky, whipped about by the strong breeze blowing from the southwest. The head of the fire had veered off sharply and was attacking the ridge on a quarter-mile front which was widening every second.
The boys hurried over to Dick Fellows, who was talking into the walkie-talkie and scribbling frantically on a pad. As soon as the conversation ended, he tore off the sheet he had been writing on and handed it to Sandy.
“Make sure every gang boss on the ridge sees this,” he said tersely. “If she crosses the ridge, they’re to pull out their crews at once and retreat to the road. If this wind keeps up, we might not even be able to hold her there.”
For the first time, Sandy was aware of the loose debris blowing across the clearing. As he took the paper from the ranger, it almost blew out of his hand. In the unburned portion of the forest, the treetops were rustling nervously. It sounded like a lament, Sandy thought.
Dick looked at Jerry. “We’ve pulled most of the men out of the south line already. Landers feels that we should abandon it altogether for the present. Suppose you run down there and notify them, Jerry. Tell ’em to report behind the ridge on the double. They need every man they can get. Quiz, you stay here in case anything else important comes in.”
Sandy started up the crest of the ridge, but the ranger called to him, “Better circle around in back. It’s pretty hot up there.” He looked at the surface fire advancing slowly through the underbrush toward the clearing on the flank of the big blaze. “It won’t be long before we’ll have to get out of here. Better send back a couple of boys to move those trucks off the line.”
“Right,” Sandy said, and circled around behind the ridge.
The protected slope was teeming with men and machinery. Bulldozers scurried up and down like huge beetles, clearing off everything inflammable. Tank-trucks were moving slowly along the foot of the slope, their crews sweeping big firehoses across the face of the forest. Trees were doused from crown to root. Other smoke-eaters with hoses were lined up on the crest of the ridge like soldiers, dwarfed by the monstrous flames that seemed to arch over them threateningly. Whenever a flaming bough or a mass of burning foliage came toppling to the ground nearby, they would train a jet of fine, foglike spray on it. Watching this panorama, Sandy was once again impressed by the fact that the fire behaved at times with what seemed like animal intelligence. Time and time again, treacherous fingers of flame would stretch out to the men, driving them back behind the safety of the ridge. One such streamer actually did dart across the crest like a snake, badly burning a dozer operator.
Sandy relayed the communiqué from Fire Boss Landers to all the gang chiefs. He found Ed Macauley about a half mile down the ridge. His crew had started to build a hasty fire line at right angles to the ridge in an attempt to stop the fire racing down the edge of the forest, but they had finally abandoned it.
“Nothing short of a miracle will stop her now,” he told Sandy hopelessly.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” the boy asked, his voice tinged with panic.
Macauley shrugged. “Not till she runs into the big firebreaks. There’s another road about two miles north of the ridge; runs east to west. With enough men we can bottle her up between the two roads. But she’ll burn off better than a thousand acres before she’s finished.”
The fire was now abreast of where they stood on the crest. A scorching wave of heat swept up the slope, bringing tears to their eyes, and forcing them to retreat behind the ridge. No longer did the men need lights to work by, for the glare of the flames lit up the countryside with an unearthly reddish glow.
Sandy was surprised to see Quiz come staggering breathlessly up to them. He handed Macauley a message. “New plan from headquarters,” he gasped.
Macauley frowned as he read it, then crumpled the paper up into a ball. “Darn waste of time, I call it.”
“What’s up?” Sandy asked.
“Landers wants to give it one more try. We’re going to build a line down at the end of the ridge.” He walked a little way up the slope and studied the head of the fire driving steadily forward before the wind.
“We’ve only got a little more than a half-mile leeway. We’re gonna have to work fast. Need every man and machine we can spare. C’mon, boys, you’re graduating to pick-and-shovel work as of now.”
The north end of the ridge terminated in a steep slide of gravel and slag. The proposed fire line was to extend due west from this rockpile for at least half a mile. As Macauley pointed out, everything was against the fire fighters. The terrain was unsuited to efficient operation of the dozers and graders; the timber was old and sturdy; and in places the trees were jammed together so tightly and their foliage so interlaced that trunks on opposite sides of the line appeared to have common crowns.
“With this wind,” the gang boss predicted, “our backfires won’t accomplish a thing. Most likely, they’ll jump the line themselves.” He sighed. “But orders is orders.”
Because of the time element, the heavy machinery just punched helter-skelter through the woods, and left the cleaning-up to the pick-and-shovel crews. Behind them came the water wagons, wetting down the brush and trees on the safe side of the line.
Quiz Taylor and Sandy Steele were assigned to a crew of ax men. Jerry James, who had come along about a half hour later, landed a soft job manning a hose. But when the overly plump Quiz collapsed at the side of the trail, Jerry generously offered to swap jobs with him.
“Not permanently, you understand, old boy,” he warned Quiz. “Just until you get your wind back.”
Within a half hour, Sandy’s hands were covered with blisters and his clothes were plastered to his body. Sweat poured down his face, blinding him and caking into mud as it mixed with the dust. His legs felt as if they were made of cast-iron, and he could barely lift one foot after the other.
Enviously, he watched Quiz riding on the back of the water truck. The sight of the fine jet spray gave him a sudden inspiration.
“Hey, Quiz!” he shouted. “Turn that thing on us for a while.”
“Good idea, son,” one of the smoke-eaters said, and the rest of them picked up the chant. “Let ’er rip, boy.”
Quiz obligingly swerved the nozzle in their direction and they were engulfed in cooling mist. Sandy opened his mouth wide and let the water soothe his swollen tongue and parched throat. After five minutes of this, they went back to work with renewed energy.
The line was completed in record time, but none too soon. The fire front was only about 200 yards away when Macauley gave the order to backfire. Although the front was less than 1200 feet wide, the flame-thrower crews ignited the fringe along the line for a full half mile. The boys, resting with the pick-and-shovel men on the north tip of the ridge, watched anxiously as the backfires flared up strong in the dry brush and foliage. Innumerable times, the flames leaped the line to attack the trees on the far side, but each time the dripping wet boughs repulsed them.
“Looks as if we’ll stop her,” Sandy said with elation.
One of the fire fighters shook his head gloomily. “The backfire ain’t getting anywhere though.”
It was true. The backfires were making only slight progress toward the head of the fire, which was racing forward with incredible speed.
“You know what?” Quiz said hesitantly. “I think the wind is beginning to die down.”
“Aw, it’s your imagination,” Jerry said wearily.
“No, he’s right,” another man exclaimed. “She’s slowing down.”
Sandy studied the flames closely. He didn’t notice any perceptible difference in the rate of the fire, but he did notice that the smoke appeared to be rising in a more nearly vertical direction. Then, almost miraculously it seemed, the breeze died abruptly.
“My gosh!” Jerry said wonderingly. “It’s as if somebody turned off a fan.”
Quiz called their attention to the broad band of silver on the eastern horizon. “Look, it’s almost daylight. That’s the answer. It mostly always calms down at dawn and dusk.”
The fire fighters let out a thunderous cheer that was picked up all along the fire line. Macauley came striding up the slope, a big grin on his face.
“Looks like the chief outguessed me,” he admitted gleefully. “She’s gonna hold.”
With the ebbing of the breeze, the backfire and the fire head were creeping toward each other with uniform speed.
“What do we do now, boss?” Jerry asked. “All go home?”
Macauley arched his eyebrows. “You kidding, son? There’s still plenty of life in that old devil yet. She could switch off in another direction any time. Once we got this front nailed down solid, we’ll attack her from the sides and back. There’s still plenty of digging to be done for those who can swing a shovel.”
“That definitely lets me out,” Quiz groaned. “I don’t think I could even pick up a shovel, I’m so beat.”
Macauley stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I gotta admit you boys have done more than a man’s share of work for one night.”
“No,” Sandy protested, even though his knees were threatening to buckle. “I’ll stick it out with you fellows.”
“Me too,” Jerry said valiantly.
Macauley smiled. “You boys are all right. But you need to rest. We all do, for that matter. Suppose you make tracks back to headquarters and tell the chief to get another crew in here to relieve us.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Sandy said, with undisguised relief. “I guess we should report back to Dick Fellows, anyway.”
“He was down here himself just a while back,” one of the men volunteered. “Looking for you boys, I think.”
“Come on, let’s go find him,” Sandy said.
By the time they got back to the command post at the other end of the ridge, it was broad daylight. Dick Fellows was directing a crew fighting a small brushfire at the edge of the clearing. Beyond them the woods was a charred, smoldering carpet. The tree trunks were blackened and burned for about ten feet up their trunks; but the fire had not crowned.
“Heard you were looking for us,” Sandy announced. “We were fighting a fire.”
The ranger grinned. “So I heard. How do things look up there? Does Macauley think she’ll hold?”
“He’s got his fingers crossed. He wants to know when his men are going to get some relief.”
Dick wiped his soot-streaked face with his sleeve. “Just as soon as we can. Landers put a call out for more volunteers when she took off like that last night. He had a crew all lined up, but then a report came in that there was a spot fire up north about three miles, so he sent the whole bunch of them to swarm over that one before it really gets started. It’s been a rough night.” He looked around at the men beating out the brushfires around the clearing. “I tell you what, though. I have about a dozen smoke-eaters mopping up here and along the south line. Soon as things look safe, I’ll send them down to replace a dozen of the boys down there.”
“Those men need relief bad,” Quiz declared. “They’re so bushed that they won’t be able to work efficiently for much longer.”
“I know,” Dick agreed. “You boys look pretty bushed yourselves. Why don’t you take one of the jeeps and drive back to headquarters? After a good meal and a few hours’ sleep, you’ll feel a lot better.” Ominously, he added, “We may need you again.”
“Why is everyone so skeptical?” Sandy demanded. “Don’t you believe that line will hold now?”
The ranger’s face was grim. “There’s nothing on this earth as unpredictable as a forest fire. I won’t believe she’s really out until I personally squash the last ember under my boot.”
Quiz stared off into the ravaged grove at the other side of the clearing. “Those trees, will they die?” he asked the ranger.
“A tree is like a human being,” Dick explained. “It can survive some pretty bad burns, although it may be scarred badly. Underneath the bark there’s a thin layer of living matter called the cambium, which can be compared with the underskin on a human being—the dermis. If the fire burns through the outer bark all around the trunk and kills the cambium, the tree dies. Fortunately, the bark usually burns through only on the side of the tree facing the advancing flames. It depends on the age of the tree and the thickness of the bark. I think most of those old fellows along the fringe of the fire will pull through. Not much chance for any others.” He sighed. “Well, I guess Sandy and Jerry aren’t interested in hearing a botany lecture right now.”
Quiz smiled wanly. “EvenI’mnot interested in botany right now. Let’s go eat, fellows.”
When they reached the main road, Sandy pulled the jeep up in front of fire headquarters. Prince came bounding out to meet them, leaping up on Sandy and barking happily. Then Russ Steele appeared in the entrance. His face was lined with weariness and worry.
“Well, hello there,” he said. “Back from the wars?”
“We’ve just about had it,” Jerry said. “So have the other fellows on the line.”
Russ threw one arm across his nephew’s shoulder. “I understand you boys are real hot-shot smoke-eaters.”
Sandy grinned. “We don’t feel like hot shots at the moment.”
“Tired, eh?”
“And hungry!” Jerry and Quiz added simultaneously.
Russ laughed. “I don’t doubt it. I was just on my way to chow. Come along.”
They walked slowly in the direction of the mess tent, with Prince trotting at their heels. “What kind of a night did you have, Uncle Russ?” Sandy inquired.
“Spent most of it on the phone and radio. I’m hoarse. Not as rough as you had it, however.”
“How’s Mr. Landers?” Quiz asked.
“Great! He thrives on this kind of excitement. What a dynamo that man is. He can talk on six different phones at once, and play checkers at the same time. And what he doesn’t know about forest fires wouldn’t fill up the eye of a needle.”
“He sure fooled Macauley,” Sandy said. “He was certain that last line at the end of the ridge wouldn’t stop the fire.”
Russ frowned. “Well, the chief wasn’t sure it would, either. He just had a hunch that that wind would blow itself out come daylight. He’s still not convinced that they’ve stopped her for good.”
“Gee,” Sandy said moodily. “Even the fire boss. This must be a nerve-racking way to earn a living.”
“They don’t get any money for fighting fires. Not these boys anyway. There are exceptions, of course. Gigantic fires where they can’t raise enough men by the volunteer system. Then they have to hire them.”
At the mess table, their tin plates were heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon and buttered toast. It was obvious from their dirty, disheveled appearance that they had just come off the fire line, and the cooks besieged them with questions. The boys talked freely—and not without pride, Sandy had to admit to himself. It was a good feeling being treated as equals by these hard-bitten old smoke-eaters.
When they were seated cross-legged under a shady tree, wolfing the food and washing it down with gulps of hot coffee, Sandy changed the subject.
“Any news on that bomb?” he asked his uncle in a low voice.
Russ shook his head somberly and swallowed a mouthful of egg. “Nothing. I was in touch with the Pentagon last night, and again this morning. As you can imagine, they’re pretty concerned about this fire. They offered to send in troops to help out if it becomes necessary.”
“Do they think there’s any danger?” Quiz asked. “Of the bomb exploding, I mean.”
Russ put down his plate and massaged the thick stubble on his chin. Then he took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. It startled Sandy, for he knew that his uncle never smoked cigarettes, except when he was under extreme tension.
“They don’tthinkso,” he replied, emphasizing the verb. “But there are so many things we still don’t know about atomic energy. And of course, there’s always the chance the casing was damaged in some unpredictable way so that—oh, it’s only a billion-in-one chance.”
Jerry suddenly lost his appetite. “That’s just what they said in the papers that time a comet landed right in some lady’s bed.”
“Not a comet, you dope,” Quiz said disgustedly. “It must have been a meteorite.”
Jerry glowered at him. “So what? It happened.”
Russ offered Prince the rest of the food in his plate and the dog gobbled it up eagerly. “Well, speculation won’t get us anywhere. The important thing is to get that fire under control first.”
Quiz stretched out flat on his back in the dry, soft grass. “The most important thing to me is sleep. I wouldn’t care if an A-bomb went off right under my nose.”
Jerry snorted. “I kept expecting that to happen all night.”
Russ smiled. “I tell you what. There’s a small brook down the hill a ways. Why don’t you go down there and wash up? Then stretch out on the pine needles and take a snooze.”
“Good idea,” Sandy agreed. He looked at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock now. Wake us up at two—that will give us six hours’ sleep. Unless you need us for anything, of course.”
“I’m sure the worst is over,” his uncle assured him. “I think I’ll grab some rest myself after I discuss a few things with the chief.” He pushed himself to his feet and waved to them. “See you later.”
Prince trotted off faithfully behind him.
The boys came upon the stream in a shallow gully about a hundred yards behind the camp. Like all of the streams they had seen in the drought-racked forest, it had shrunk to a mere inch of water gurgling over a pebbly bed. But by scooping out a basin where the flow was heaviest, they were able to take a sponge bath. Clean and refreshed, they stretched out under the small pines along the bank and fell asleep at once.
“Wake up!” The urgent cry penetrated Sandy’s consciousness as a rough hand shook him out of a deep slumber. He opened his eyes and stared up into the harried face of his uncle.
“The fire,” Russ Steele said tersely. “It’s broken out again. You’ll probably be needed. Come up to headquarters right away.” With that, he turned abruptly and trotted up the slope.
His mind still foggy from sleep, Sandy woke Jerry and Quiz. And for several minutes the three boys stared blankly at each other.
“How did it happen?” Jerry mumbled.
Sandy was vaguely aware of the wind whistling through the pines. “Sounds like it’s blowing up again—I guess that’s it. Well, let’s get going.”
“What time is it?” Quiz asked.
Sandy looked at his watch. “A little after one o’clock.”
Dragging their feet like zombies, they walked up the hill to the big tent. Paul Landers and Russ Steele were bent over the map with three other men whom Sandy had not seen before.
Russ Steele looked up as the boys entered the tent. He indicated the three strangers. “Fellows, I’d like you to meet Paul Ames, Bill Lukas and Tom Fenning. They’ve come down from Canada to help us fight this fire. And brought their own crews with them.”
“Just in time, too,” Landers said gratefully. “If only I had been able to send in a fresh crew this morning, we might have been able to avert this new flare-up. Those poor devils had been working for seventeen hours without letup; they just didn’t have anything left.”
Sandy leaned over the map. “How did it happen?”
Russ ran his finger along a red line running out from the north end of the ridge. “It jumped the emergency line you boys helped to build last night. Shortly after noon that southwest wind picked up again and there wasn’t any stopping her this time. It happened so fast, a half dozen of the men were severely burned.”
Sandy could see that the fire was already advancing on a narrow front past the end of the ridge.
“The fact is, it’s really a brand-new fire,” one of the Canadians said.
“Exactly,” Fire Boss Landers agreed. He drew a circle around the burned-out area southwest of the ridge. “We’ve got it licked in this sector.”
The Canadian studied the map with intense concentration. “As I understand it, this region north of the ridge is rocky and not too heavily forested.” He touched his index finger to a small oval representing a hill. “Any vegetation growing on this hill?”
Landers shook his head. “Scrub and grass. The same as on the ridge.”
“Then I don’t see any reason why we can’t stop her there.” He took a pencil and drew a short line connecting the hill with the end of the ridge. “We’ll build one line here. And another on the opposite side.” He traced a second line running east of the hill.
“You can try,” Landers said without much enthusiasm. “And if it fails, we’ll just have to fall back and let her burn herself out between the two big firebreaks.” He indicated the intersecting roads.
The Canadian looked up at his two partners. “Let’s not waste any more time.”
Russ put a hand on Sandy’s shoulder. “I thought you boys could ride down there with them and help out however you can.”
“Sure thing,” Sandy said, and the other two boys nodded in agreement.
Bill Lukas, the tall, blond Canadian who seemed to be in charge, flashed his white teeth in a broad smile. “Glad to have you aboard, gentlemen. We’re on our way.”
The Canadians climbed into the front seat of a small, squat truck parked outside the tent, while the boys boosted themselves up on the rear end and let their legs dangle over the tail gate. As they started off, Sandy saw his uncle standing in the entrance with Prince; Russ bent over, spoke to the dog and gave him a pat on the back. Like a shot, Prince took off after them. He caught up with the slow-moving vehicle easily, and with a graceful leap landed between Sandy and Quiz.
“He’ll see that you stay out of trouble!” Russ yelled to them.
Tom Fenning turned around in the front seat and grinned. “Hello, what’s this? More reinforcements? He doesn’t look much like a firedog to me.”
“He’s a Doberman pinscher,” Sandy said.
Jerry snickered. “He’s also a confirmed coward.” The dog cocked his head to one side and regarded Jerry with plaintive eyes.
“See, you hurt his feelings,” Quiz said.
Jerry patted Prince’s head. “That’s all right, feller. So am I.”
“That’s not what we hear,” Fenning told him. “Mr. Landers says you boys were right in the thick of it all night. It was pretty rough, I guess.”
“It sure was,” Sandy admitted. “And discouraging. When we came back this morning, we thought it was all over but the shouting.”
The three Canadians nodded sympathetically. “That’s fire for you,” Lukas said.
Quiz asked the men what had brought them all the way down from Canada.
“Good neighbor policy,” Fenning said. “Your boys have helped us out on some tough fires.”
At the cutoff that led to the fire sector, three trucks loaded with men and equipment were parked by the side of the road.
Lukas waved to them as he drove past. “We’re off, boys. Follow us.”
By the time they reached the north end of the ridge, the bulldozers had already started to clear a fire line to the hill about a third of a mile away.
Dick Fellows and Ed Macauley came forward listlessly to greet them; the ranger and the gang boss were too exhausted even to show their gratitude that relief had finally arrived.
The ranger pointed to the walkie-talkie sitting on the ground. “Landers radioed the new battle plan to us. We’ve got it under way.”
“Fine,” Lukas said. “We’ll take over from here. Your men must be ready to drop in their tracks.”
Macauley sighed. “They’re working strictly on nerve.”
Lukas accompanied the ranger up to the top of the ridge, while the other two Canadians mobilized their crews to go into action. From this vantage point, it was possible to trace the course of the fire since its beginning. With the heavy screen of foliage destroyed, the boundaries of the burned-out area were clearly defined. There was a long narrow strip parallel to the ridge, swelling out into a sector of more than 300 acres to the southwest. Only a feeble surface fire was burning around the fringes of this area now; the stiff gale was turning the flames back on ground that had already been burned over.
Sandy’s first impression was that this latest peril had been exaggerated. Compared to the awe-inspiring spectacle of the previous night, the fire as it appeared now, in broad daylight, didn’t seem very threatening. After it had jumped the line at the end of the ridge, it had taken an unusual shape and direction. It had been slowed down in the center by the thinning timber and brush on the approaches to the hill beyond the ridge. As a result, the fire front had flattened out and then assumed a crescent shape as the flames went racing through the heavier growth that flanked the hill on both sides. Sandy estimated that the area it was burning over was less than fifty acres. When he pointed this out to Dick Fellows, the ranger shook his head.
“The way she’s crowning, we’d have trouble confining her on ten acres.” He turned to Lukas. “You’re not going to have time to be too particular with those lines. She’s moving in too fast.”
Lukas agreed. “We’ll have to get our backfires started as soon as possible, and just pray that the tank trucks can put out enough water to keepthemfrom jumping back at us. That infernal wind! Why doesn’t it let up!”
Quiz called their attention to a great dark mass building up low on the western horizon. “Aren’t those nimbus clouds?” he asked.
The ranger studied them uncertainly. “They look like it all right. But don’t count on their doing us any good. I’ve spotted nimbus formations a dozen times this month, but they always drifted off somewhere else.”
“What gives with this nimbus business?” Jerry demanded.
“Rain clouds,” Quiz translated. “And they do seem to be coming in this direction.”
Lukas winked at the ranger. “The whole forest could burn down while we’re waiting for rain. I better get to work.” He waved and started down the slope toward the fire line.
“What can we do, Dick?” Sandy asked the ranger. “We had about five hours’ sleep, so we’re ready for action.”
“Sleep,” Dick muttered, almost reverently. “I’ve forgotten what the word means.” His eyes were sunken and bloodshot with enormous circles around them.
“Why couldn’t I take over for you for a while on the walkie-talkie?” Sandy asked. “Even if you only grab a half-hour nap it would help.”
“It sure would.” The idea seemed to appeal to him. “I could stretch out here on the ground, and if anything important comes up you could wake me.... The radio is a cinch to operate. All you have to do is keep headquarters up to date on what’s happening at our end.”
“You want us to scout again?” Jerry asked.
“Yes. You take the line on one side of the hill; Quiz can scout the line on the other side. Check back with Sandy every quarter of an hour or so in case any new instructions come in from the chief.”
“What I can’t understand,” Sandy said, examining the walkie-talkie radio, “is why you don’t have a whole flock of these things all along the fire line. If every gang boss had one, you’d know exactly what was going on in every sector.”
The ranger yawned. “Tell it to the taxpayers, my boy. It’s always the things that are most important to their own safety and welfare that they gripe most about paying for.... Well, I’m going to rest my tired bones.” He stretched out on the hard, rocky ground and fell asleep immediately.
“Come on, Quiz,” Jerry said. “Let’s get on the ball. I’ll give you a break and take the line across the hill, so you won’t have to walk so far.”
Quiz snorted. “Big deal! Then I’m the guy who has to climb this hill every fifteen minutes to check in. Unh-uh! I’ll flip you for it.”
“Okay,” Jerry conceded grudgingly. “Sandy, you flip the coin.”
Sandy grinned as he took a quarter from his pocket and spun it high in the air. “You call, Quiz.”
“Heads!” Quiz snapped.
Sandy caught the coin deftly in one hand and slapped it down on the back of his other hand. Slowly he uncovered it as Quiz and Jerry bent over to look.
“It’s tails,” he announced blandly.
“I win!” Jerry exclaimed. “So I pick the far side of the hill. Don’t take it so hard, pal. A little climbing will help to reduce that spare tire of yours.”
Quiz shook his head solemnly as he and Jerry started down the ridge. “Just my luck. I always call them wrong.”
As it turned out, it was one of the unluckiest calls Quiz had ever made in his life.
Several times during the next hour, Sandy heard the deep rumble of thunder, and a few minutes after three o’clock, the sun was blotted out by a low overcast. But the velocity of the wind had been steadily increasing, and the fire was raging more fiercely than ever. The backfires had been completely ineffective, and at three-fifteen, Jerry came puffing up the hill with the bad news.
“She’s breached the line. Lukas says there’s no holding her now. They’re going to evacuate.”
For some time, a sweeping curtain of smoke had obscured Sandy’s view of the fire front. And the reports he had received over the walkie-talkie from headquarters indicated that aerial observation was no better.
“I’d better wake up Dick,” he said. He went over to the ranger, who was still in a deep sleep, and shook him violently.
Dick Fellows raised himself laboriously on his elbows and listened glassy-eyed as Sandy told him the latest development. “I knew it! I knew it!” he mumbled. “All of it for nothing. In the end she was bound to beat us.” He struggled to his knees. “I’ll notify headquarters. You boys take one last scout down the line. Make certain all the men get out safely.”
At the bottom of the slope, Sandy turned and whistled to Prince, who was sniffing curiously at a half-eaten sandwich in the grass. “Better come with us, boy, so you don’t get left behind.”
With a yelp, the dog trotted after them.
A solid wall of fire blocked the first 600 feet of the trail that ran to the hill, and they had to detour more than a hundred yards into the woods. Machines and men crashed by them on all sides, hurrying in the opposite direction. As they neared the hill, they ran into Lukas.
“Where are you boys going?” he asked breathlessly.
“We’re supposed to make sure that everybody gets out safely,” Sandy told him.
“You’re wasting your time,” the Canadian said. “All my men are accounted for. We’ve lost her for good this time. She’s crowned and running fast on both flanks.”
“We’d better check anyway,” Sandy insisted.
“Don’t get caught on that hill,” Lukas warned them. “In another twenty minutes, the flanks will close and she’ll be cut off.”
“We’ll be careful,” Sandy promised. “Come on, Jerry.”
They ran on for another quarter of a mile without encountering anyone else. As they came abreast of the hill, Sandy stopped. Ahead of them was an impenetrable curtain of smoke, and beyond it they could hear the unmistakable crackle of flames.
“We’d better turn back,” Sandy said grimly. “If anyone is up there, they’re finished anyway.”
Jerry did an about-face without breaking step. “All you rabbits get out of the way and make room for somebody who can really run,” he bellowed.
“Wait a minute!” Sandy said. “Where’s that darn dog?”
“He’s probably back at headquarters hiding under a tent flap,” Jerry replied cynically. “The big coward. Come on, let’s go!” He reached out and grabbed Sandy’s arm.
The blond boy shook him off. “No, Jerry! He was here a minute ago.”
Cupping his hands to his mouth, he began to shout: “Prince! Prin-n-ce! Here, boy!” He put two fingers between his teeth and whistled shrilly.
There was a long silence. Then, from a distance, they heard the sharp, urgent barking of a dog.
Jerry groaned. “Good night! What’s he up to now?”
Sandy was perplexed. “Sounds like he’s over by the hill. But why?” Once more, he formed a megaphone with his hands and called to the dog. “Prince! Come on, boy!”
This time he was answered by a mournful howl.
Jerry’s voice was trembling. “Sandy, we’ve got to get out of here. You heard what Lukas said.”
The heat and smoke were stifling now, and the roar of the fire seemed to surround them.
Still Sandy hesitated. “Suppose Prince is hurt, Jerry?”
“He was here just a minute ago!” Jerry’s voice was frantic. “How could he get hurt?”
“Maybe he stepped into a trap.”
The other boy slapped one hand against the side of his head in exasperation. “Oh, brother! Look, I’m leaving, pal.” He turned and ran about ten paces, then looked back across his shoulder. “Aren’t you coming, Sandy?”
“You go on,” Sandy said stubbornly. “I’m going over to the hill and see what’s happened to Prince.”
“Sandy! Come back!” Jerry pleaded in desperation, as his friend disappeared into the thick brush. He hesitated for just an instant, then ran after him. “Hey, you dope! Wait for me!” he shouted.
Sandy had covered about 200 yards when he stumbled into ankle-deep water. He vaguely recalled one of the fire fighters mentioning that a stream ran around the east side of the hill. He continued on until he felt the ground rise sharply beneath his feet. Then he stopped and called out to the dog.