“Got anything to eat in this burg?” demanded Stacy Brown, slipping from his saddle and grinning at the villagers.
“Reckon ye can git something at the store,” answered someone.
“Then me for the store!”
Stacy left his pony and ambled into the general store, where Ham White and Hippy already had gone. White was just greeting the postmaster, who owned the place, as Stacy entered.
“Forest fire?” jeered the postmaster, in reply to the guide’s warning. “Never had any such thing at Silver Creek—never expect to. Creek yonder will stop any forest fire that ever sprung a spark. Look at it! Listen to it! I reckon you’ve—”
“Stop it!” commanded White sternly. “I demand the help of the villagers, and if they don’t make haste this town will be wiped out before they get started.”
Stacy helped himself liberally from the cracker barrel, listening wide-eyed to the conversation. So long as the crackers held out he was well satisfied to have the men talk and keep the storekeeper occupied.
“Who be ye?” demanded the man.
“I am the guide of this party, and—” Ham whispered to the storekeeper.
“Eh? Oh, well, if that’s the case I reckon we’ve got to go through the motions of stopping a fire that ain’t. What do ye propose to do?”