It was not until they were far past the bleak, dark house of Nels Anderson, that Billy shouted his opinion that inquiry should have been made there. No, Phil called with emphasis, the time for giving heed to uncertain, unknown persons had passed. He was sorry the arrest of Murky and of Grandall had not been brought about when first it was suggested, he said. A lot of things might have turned out differently if it had been done, and he, at least, believed—
"Look! There's sure fire yonder!" It was Paul's voice interrupting.
The car was fairly clear of the woods and the road now led among the blackened stumps and rough undergrowth of the district where flames had raged in time long past.
Far to the west and north the sky was blazing red. The whole distant horizon of the direction named seemed as if the doors of some mighty, seething furnace, miles in width, stood open. A rank odor of burning wood came stronger and stronger on the gusts of wind.
"It's a good ways off and maybe isn't burning much this way," shouted Worth above the rush of air and whir of the auto's wheels.
"The wind, man! It's sweeping right into the heart of the woods," Phil answered loudly. But not for a moment did the car slacken speed. The road was getting better. Staretta was but five miles distant.
"Still, there's not much danger of the fire coming our way. It will go way north of the lake," Worth replied.
"And that's just the direction Mac's in," echoed Paul Jones in tones of alarm.
"Yes!"
Phil cut the word quick and short. His tone and the instantly still greater speed of the car told all too plainly where his fears were running.