“The grass and greasewood are just right for it now. Mack is correct,” the girl went on. “This will be a hot corner.”
“And that mighty quick!” cried Mack.
“But you don’t propose to stay here?” gasped Pratt.
“Not much! Hold your mules, Mack,” she called to the grumbling teamster. “I’m going to make a flare.”
“Better do somethin’ mighty suddent, Miss,” growled the man.
She spurred Molly up to the wagon-seat and there seized one of the blankets.
“Got a sharp knife, Pratt?” she asked, shaking out the folds of the blanket.
“Yes.”
“Slit this blanket, then–lengthwise. Halve it,” urged Frances. “And be quick.”
“That’s right, Miss Frances!” called the teamster. “Set a backfire both sides of the trail. We got to save ourselves. Be sure ye run it a mile or more.”