There was a rush and a scramble. They tried to beat down the angry little flames, dashed water on to them, choked them with wet blankets, trampled on them, and finally fell back, stifled and blinded with smoke and ashes, only to find the gasoline house a burning mass. It had gone up like a tinder box in an instant, and was reduced to ruins.
“If we have any more gusts of wind like that last, Bab, we are lost!” cried Ruth, sobbing a little under her breath. “But, of course, if the worst happens, we can always take the automobiles. They can run faster than the flames.”
Back of the garage they could see another line of flames advancing like a regiment of cavalry.
“Great heavens!” cried Grace. “What shall we do now?”
“Don’t despair, yet,” answered Bab. “Those dividing hedges are very dry, but the flames don’t spread from them so quickly; and, besides, I believe the trench will stop them.”
“O Bab,” exclaimed Ruth, “do you think there will ever be an end to this? We are too tired to dig trenches, and the water is getting alarmingly low.”
“But there are two more cisterns,” replied the undaunted Bab.
Just then the wind, which, up to this time, except for a few brief gusts, had been merely a breeze, gathered new strength. Sparks began to fly from the burning underbrush in the wood. It had been a ground fire, owing to the long drought, and the trees still waved their green branches over the ruins at their feet.
Ruth seized Bab’s hand convulsively.
“Young ladies!” called a voice behind them. Turning, they confronted the hermit. “I am a very old man, but, if you will permit me, I will make a suggestion. Save what water is left for the roof, which should be deluged as soon as possible. The trench will stop the fire, but it cannot keep back the sparks and I see a wind has come up that is most dangerous.”