Ahead of them the woods were burning to left and right. Hardly any flame was visible, but the forest was choking with smoke and full of the sharp smell of burning cedar. In the distance they could hear the roar of the flames and the occasional crash of falling trees. To save the apiary looked hopeless.
“How in the world did it ever spring up so suddenly?” exclaimed Carl.
“Don’t know. But we can’t get through this way. Got to go round it!” gasped his brother, and they plunged into the woods again.
Though they were not far from the lake they had to make a wide detour to the west to reach it. What they could do when they got there they hardly knew, but the bees meant everything to them. They could not let the apiary burn without a fight.
Stumbling through the smoke, they reached the lake shore at last. Clouds of smoke drifted over the water, and the fire crashed and roared. Two hundred yards away they saw the beehives dimly and ran toward them. They had not yet been touched, but the fire was burning straight toward the yard, through the rubbish-ricks along the shore.
“Can we clear a belt around them?” cried Carl, doubtfully.
“Too late!” said Bob. “Can’t start any counter-fire either. Can’t we move them out of the way somehow?”
Standing in bitter perplexity they looked from the apiary to the woods. The fire was coming down the eastern shore; the hives were at the southern end and would certainly be consumed when the conflagration rounded the foot of the lake. There was not much flame in sight, but dense smoke rolled across the water, and hot ashes were falling in showers. These might start fresh fires anywhere.
“We’ll get trapped here ourselves if we don’t make haste!” Carl exclaimed.
Bob went down to the shore and dashed water over himself.