"I've got to reach him before the fire gets him," he sobbed.
He kept peering through the smoke. "There's another header shooting out toward that log," he said, "but I won't leave the trail. I might miss Lew."
The trail led straight toward the log. Charley increased his speed. As he neared the log he gave a cry of terror and bounded forward like a shot. What Charley had mistaken for a tree trunk was his chum's prostrate form. The flames had almost reached it.
With his brush Charley fell on the fire savagely and beat it out for the space of a rod or two on either side of Lew's body. Then he rushed back to his chum and knelt beside him. Lew was unconscious but breathing regularly. His nose was half buried in leaves and moss. That fact had probably saved his life, for it had given him pure air to breathe.
Charley drew Lew over his shoulder until he had him doubled up like a jack-knife, and could therefore carry him easily. Then, at a steady pace, he set out for the brook. Soon he passed the end of the line of fire. In a few minutes more he reached the stream.
He laid his chum close beside the run, felt his pulse and listened to his breathing. Lew's heart was beating regularly and he was breathing easily.
Charley sighed with relief. "He's all right," he muttered.
Then he filled his hat with water and sprinkled some on Lew's face. Lew's eyelids flickered. Then his eyes opened.
"Where am I, Charley?" he asked. "What are you doing?"
For a moment he lay still. Then suddenly he sat bolt upright.