Sherm’s “All right” drifted from him on the run. He was already on his way to the stable. He realized that Jane knew more about fire fighting than he did.
Jane hurried to the cottage. Marian listened to her news, white to the lips.
“Annie can take Jilly. Perhaps I’d better ride over after Mr. Benton.”
“Marian,” protested Chicken Little, “there isn’t time. And if Mr. Benton’s home, he has probably seen it, too, and is trying to protect his own place. No, we’ve got to work fast. Unless we can run a fire guard before the fire reaches that tall grass on the division line, the whole place is a goner! It isn’t coming very fast yet. Here, I’ll run with Jilly 308over to the house and you put on a pair of Frank’s trousers–your skirts might catch. I’ll get that old pair of Ernest’s. Hurry, Marian, hurry!”
Chicken Little gathered up Jilly and started on the run.
Both Marian and Jane reached the stable yard just as Sherm drove the heavy farm wagon clattering out of the gate. They hurriedly climbed in and Sherm lashed the horses into a gallop. As they passed the cottage, Marian exclaimed: “Did you get matches either of you?”
Sherm slowed up the team and examined his pockets.
“A handful.”
“Stop a moment–I’ll run fetch a box. It takes a lot.” Chicken Little was over the wheel before the words were fairly out of her mouth.
She was back in a jiffy with the matches, which she proceeded to divide among them, while the horses leaped forward again.