Sacks hung limply from tired fingers, every nerve and muscle quivered with fatigue. The girls rested, convinced that the battle was all but won.
“Do I look as bad as I feel?” asked Amy, vainly trying to stretch her cracked and parched lips into some semblance of a smile. “I can’t make my muscles behave.”
“My eyes!” moaned Nell.
“You girls worked like Trojans!”
It was Burd’s voice, and they turned to find him regarding them with bloodshot but approving eyes.
“Do you think the worst of it is over?” asked Jessie, looking out toward the flames, which, unconquered, still roared upward.
“If the wind doesn’t change again we are safe enough,” said Burd. “The fire won’t find much to feed on in the burned territory.”
“Oh, but look at that!” cried Amy, in sudden new terror. “It is coming this way again. The wind has changed!”
A startled glance proved that she was right. The fickle wind swept the flames again in their direction. The tongues of fire reached out eagerly, lapping at the branches as though the temporary lull had merely whetted its appetite.
“Girls, Burd, Fol—look over there!” almost screamed Jessie, as she pointed toward the swamp. “That crowd of people!”