“Certainly I am,” Stebbins insisted.
“Any of you smell anything?” Rex, who was sniffing the air, asked, as they were about to take their places at the holes.
“Seems to me that I do,” Bob said. “Smells like something burning.”
“’Tis too,” Jack cried, “and what’s more, it’s birch bark.”
“You don’t suppose—” Bob began, but Jack interrupted.
“I suppose they’ve set fire to the shack, if that’s what you mean.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Bob said slowly, as the odor of burning bark became more pronounced.
“That’s apt to be serious, isn’t it?” Rex asked.
“There’s no apt to be about it. Unless we can get it out we’ll be at their mercy in a mighty short time,” Bob told him. “How much water is there in the place, Jack?”
“About half a bucket full.”