With the crash of the spy's retreating footsteps echoed the loud cries that arose from the spot where Wallace was keeping guard:
"Fire! fire! turn out here and save your bacon, fellows!" he shouted at the top of his voice.
Figures came tumbling out of the tents. Every scout had been aroused by that dreadful summons, which might mean the wind-up of their jolly expedition before it had been started.
Of all the disasters that in a camp must be viewed with anxiety, a fire ranks next to a sudden hurricane. Paul had spoken about these things so much that every fellow realized the seriousness of the case, even though he might be a tenderfoot, who had up to now never slept under canvas.
Of course, as is usually the case, many lost their heads in the excitement. It could hardly have been otherwise, since they were new hands at the business. They ran back and forth, trembling with eagerness to do something heroic and grand, yet unable to collect their wits enough to see what ought to be accomplished first.
Luckily all of them were not built that way. Had it been so there must have followed a dire
disaster that would have put a damper on their budding hopes.
Paul saw Wallace jumping directly for the sputtering fire that was running so strangely from point to point, and eating its way toward the shelter under which all their precious stores had been heaped up.
"Whatever it is, he'll get it!" was the thought that flashed through Paul's brain at that instant.
Relieved of this fear, he could turn his full attention toward the escaping spy. Monkey Eggleston must not get clear, if it could possibly be avoided. He had engaged in some sort of miserable trick, calculated to harm those who were paying attention to their own private business. He must be caught and made to confess.