“Gid-ap! 'Ap, boys! Yah! Gid-ap!”
The horses strained. The yoke chains rattled. Tom gasped to Nan:
“Take my whip! Quick! Let 'em have it!”
The girl had always thought the drover's whip Tom used a very cruel implement, and she wished he did not use it. But she knew now that it was necessary. She leaped for the whip which Tom had thrown down and showed that she knew its use.
The lash hissed and cracked over the horses' backs. Tom voiced one last, ringing shout. The cart wheel rose up, the horses leaped forward, and the big timber cart was out of its plight.
Flames and smoke poured out of the hole again. The rain dashing upon and into the aperture could not entirely quell the stronger element. But the wagon was safe, and so, too, were the two cousins.
Tom was rather painfully burned and Nan began to cry about it. “Oh! Oh! You poor, poor dear!” she sobbed. “It must smart you dreadfully, Tommy.”
“Don't worry about me,” he answered. “Get aboard. Let's get out of this.”
“Are you going home?”
“Bet you!” declared Tom. “Why, after this rain stops, this whole blamed place may be in flames. Must warn folks and get out the fire guard.”