"Dot is more than I'll do," wailed Herr Muller resignedly as Nat set the auto in motion once more and they left behind them the weakened bridge.
"No auto 'ull ever go over that agin," commented Cal, looking back.
"Not unless it has an aeroplane attachment," added Joe.
But their attention now was all centred on the smoke that rose in front of them. The bridge had lain in a small depression so that they had not been able to see far beyond it, but as they rolled over the brow of the hill beyond, the cause of the uprising of the vapor soon became alarmingly apparent.
A pungent smell was in the air.
"Smells like the punks on Fourth of July," said Joe, as he sniffed.
But joking was far from Cal's mind as he gazed through narrowed eyes. The smoke which had at first not been much more than a pillar, was now a vast volume of dark vapor rolling up crowdedly from the forests ahead of them. Worse still, the wind was sweeping the fire down toward the track they had to traverse.
"The woods are on fire!" cried Nat as he gazed, and voicing the fear that now held them all.
As he spoke, from out of the midst of the dark, rolling clouds of smoke, there shot up a bright, wavering flame. It instantly died down again, but presently another fiery sword flashed up, in a different direction, and hung above the dark woods. They could now hear quite distinctly, too, the sound of heavy, booming falls as big trees succumbed to the fire and fell with a mighty crash.
"Great Scott, what are we going to do?" gasped Joe.