Another hour passed, and still the rain came down steadily. It had full effect on the burning forest, for the fire died out in spot after spot.
“We’ll be able to get out by morning,” said Leo.
That night they thought it safe to sleep, and lay down utterly exhausted.
In the morning it was still raining. All around the lake the burned trunks of tall trees were left standing. Every bush was reduced to ashes.
They had not even a compass by which to make their course out of the forest. But this did not stop them from departing.
“Here is a stream that flows from the lake,” said Leo. “It must lead to some river or larger lake. We will follow it for a few miles and see where it brings us.”
“That’s right; keep near the water. We may need it if the rain stops and the fire starts up again,” replied Greson.
They picked their way slowly along the bank of the brook, sometimes walking directly in the water where the dirt and stones became too hot for their feet.
“Hurrah!” cried the young gymnast at the end of a long turn in the stream.
He pointed ahead. There, beyond a stretch of prairie grass, lay a small village.