"Where are fires?" replied Mr. Morton.
"South and west of fire-tower. In valleys both sides of fire-tower mountain."
"How far away?"
"About two miles--maybe three."
"How big are they?"
"Still small. Can put out before wind rises. Must have help quick."
There was a long pause. Then came this message, "Have sent neighbor with his automobile to notify forester. Will rush crew. Hold fire best you can. Good-bye."
With a cry of relief that came from his very soul, Charley threw over his switch and leaped to his feet. He seized his rifle, then stood a second, hesitating.
"No," he said decisively, "the man who set those fires won't wait around to be seen, even if he is a desperate man."
He slipped his rifle under a clump of bushes and buckled on his little axe. Then he started down the fire trail at a fast pace. Now running, now walking, advancing as fast as he could without exhausting himself, Charley hastened toward the fire. Long before he reached the nearest blaze, Charley smelled smoke. As he drew near the fire, he studied it as best he could. He rejoiced that it was so small. The mist bank and the heavy fall of dew had so moistened things that the fire crept but slowly.