"Great Cæsar! More smoke!" groaned the Ranger. "If that's another fire started—!"
His words made us jump and gaze about. Yes, there was smoke, plenty of it, over where the forest fire we had fought was still alive. But he was looking in another direction, down along the top of the plateau.
"See it?" he asked.
Yes, we saw it. But—! And then our hearts gave a great leap.
"That's not a forest fire!" we cried. "That's a smoke signal!"
"A what?"
"A smoke signal! And—"
"Wait a second. We'll read it, if we can. Scouts must be over there," I exclaimed.
"More Scouts!" grunted the beaver man. "These here hills are plumb full of 'em."
The air was quiet, and the smoke rose straight up, with the sun tinting the top. It was a pretty sight, to us. Then we saw two puffs and a pause, and two puffs and a pause, and two puffs and a pause. It was our private Elk Patrol code, and it was beautiful. We cheered.