“The lodge is doomed!” groaned Fred. “And everything inside will be burnt up!”
“My camera films!” cried Harry. “They are on the shelf! I don’t want to lose them,” and before anybody could stop him he had leaped into the burning structure.
“Harry! Harry! come out of there!” yelled Joe. But the younger brother paid no attention to the warning. On the shelf were all the pictures he had taken since coming on the outing, and he thought more of these than he did of the traps and stores.
The flames were now curling all over the roof of the lodge, and with no water at hand it was easy to see that the structure could not be saved. Joel Runnell ran in, and in the smoke felt around for Harry and found him clinging to the shelf, with the rolls of films clutched tightly in one hand.
“Come out,” he said, in a choking voice. “Come,” and he led the half-suffocated boy, into the open air. The water was running from Harry’s eyes, and it was fully a minute before he could get his breath to talk.
Finding they could do nothing to stop the fire, they set to work to save what stores they could. This was not an easy task, and they recovered little more than a couple of blankets, a tin can of coffee, a bag of salt and a large box of matches. One of the blankets was burnt along the edge.
Once having gained headway, the flames roared and crackled merrily, lighting up the clearing and the forest for a goodly distance around. As the fire increased, they dragged their sleds, the bear and other game, and the saved stores to a safe distance.
“Do you think it will set fire to the trees?” questioned Fred.
“No, there isn’t wind enough for that,” answered Joel Runnell.
“I guess I am responsible for that fire,” came from Joe. “I remember now that I dropped those burning sticks on the floor when I opened the door.”