"It may be, but we'll—"
Whatever Way had meant to say, he spoke no further but quickly started for the car. Paul and Billy followed and the latter took the wheel while Phil re-lighted the gas lamps and Jones gave the crank a quick, quarter turn.
When but little north of Staretta the three boys could see that all the Indian had reported was true, and more than true. If the high wind continued the whole district south of Opal Lake would be swept by the fire within the next few hours.
But even in this estimate they were falling far short of the truth. Every hour the wind blew harder. Great brands of fire were being carried forward, starting constantly, and in hundreds of places, fresh bursts of flame.
The car never traveled better than on this last night of its usefulness. In but little more than twenty minutes the boys were driving through dense volumes of almost stifling smoke. They were now well into the woods and within the path of the flames' fiercely rapid advance.
As they went forward they discovered that the fire's main path would probably be midway between the lake and the desolate country burned over years before. But it would be spreading constantly. Nothing could check it.
Suddenly a feeble glimmer of light loomed out of the smoke and the darkness forward. It was the glow of the lamps at Nels Anderson's.
"They'll never get out alive," called Phil. "Hold up, Billy!"
By the lights of the car, and from the windows and open door of the low, unpainted house, the figures of Anderson and another man, and of Mrs. Anderson and their little girl could be seen moving hurriedly in and out. Phil sprang down to investigate.
The giant Swede, his family and their guest were carrying the household goods of every kind to the very center of the small clearing. What they feared was all too plain. But would their efforts count for anything? Would their very lives be safe in this small space?