"Our rods--what shall we do with them?" asked Lew.
"Throw 'em in the run. Fire can't hurt 'em there and we can get 'em at any time."
Lew rushed over to the brook and put the rods in the water. He set a flat stone on them to keep the current from moving them. Then he dipped his pine bough in the brook and began to beat out the flames, working straight out from the bank. Charley joined him. Rapidly they rained blows upon the fire. Rod after rod they advanced. The heat from even so small a fire was great. The smoke was blinding and stifling. Heat and smoke and their own exertions tired them rapidly.
"We've got to take it easier," said Lew, after a little, "or we'll be all in before we get the fire half out."
Of necessity they slackened their efforts. As they wore out their weapons, they cut new ones. Every little while they rested. They were tiring fast. At the same tune, the wind was beginning to freshen. Here in the open there was nothing to break its force. The flames leaped higher under its breath and began to run over the ground instead of crawling. The fire itself created a draft. The greater the draft, the hotter the flame became, and the hotter the fire grew, the stronger blew the draft.
"We're never going to do it," panted Charley, after a while. "The wind is blowing harder all the time. We must call help."
He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes of seven!" he ejaculated. "How far do you think we are from camp?"
"Two miles, anyway," answered Lew.
"If I can make it by seven, I may be able to get Willie. He said he would listen in every hour."
"Hurry," said Lew sharply. "I'll keep at work here."