Tad did not take his own advice not to step out in bare feet. He sped swiftly to his pony, and, grabbing a heavy blanket, raced back and into his own tent where, by this time, the flames had started up briskly. Throwing the blanket on the flames, Tad trod up and down, dancing a jig as he sought to beat out the flames. His quick work smothered them in short order, but at the end the boy's feet were swollen and blistered.
The guide had not been idle all this time; he had used the same tactics as had Tad, assisted by Rector, while Stacy Brown was dancing up and down yelling "Fire!" at the top of his voice.
"Stop calling for the firemen and go to work," ordered Tad. "The firemen can't hear you."
"They would be deaf if they couldn't," answered Ned from the adjoining tent. "What do you think you are yelling about, anyway?"
"Fire, fire!"
"You are slower than cream on a cold day," laughed Tad. "The fire is out."
"Then if there's nothing else to do will someone please tell me what blew up?" asked Ned.
"That is what I should like to know," nodded Tad.
"Why, the campfire blew up," Stacy informed them.
"We know that, but what caused it?"