“We can’t stop to think about that—we’ve got to run! Soon as he puts out the fire, that Indian is goin’ to start trackin’ us down—they can follow like a bloodhound!”
“He won’t put it out soon. Look there!” Dirk pointed into the tree tops. The crackling roar had grown louder now, and as they looked, a leaping rope of flame bridged the gap between two trees nearly overhead. A smoking twig whirled to the ground beside them, starting a slow spark in the dry pine-needles.
“We can’t tell which way to go—but I think the fire is between us and the lake! We must get away!”
He began to pull Brick forward, following the direction taken by the fleeing fox.
“Say, thanks for waitin’ for me,” gasped Brick. “But you better——”
“Save your wind!” Dirk fought his way through a scratching barrier of brush. The horror of a hissing wall of flames at their backs put wings on his heels.
They labored in silence up a steep hillside, crossed a rocky ridge, and scrambled down into a blasted ravine on the other side. Dirk was aware that his friend was muttering shakily.
“I got to stop a minute! You can’t hear the fire now—get my wind——”
Both spoke softly, as if even now some enemy, concealed near them, might overhear.
“All right,” Dirk replied, watching Brick sink down upon a moss-covered ledge of rock. “But that Indian will be following us as soon as he can, if he knows we’ve gone this way. Maybe we should go in another direction.”