Then Will Dawson spoke up. He never talked very much, but he was a good scout just the same. He was breathing so hard he just gulped. “Do either of you girls or fellows know where the man who lived here got his water? There must be water here somewheres or they wouldn’t have built the house here.”
“We can’t stem this advance with spring water,” Harry said; “we’d need a reservoir. Come on!”
“But if we could find the spring,” Will said, “we could follow the trickle and get into a brook lower down. How are we going to find our way down the other side of the mountain? It’s worse than this side. The west side of the mountain is always worse.”
“The fire won’t climb down as fast is it climbs up,” Harry panted; “it doesn’t work that way. The mountain itself acts as a wind shield. We’ve got to get over the top blamed quick. I’ll find a way down. Don’t let’s waste time here!”
Will just said, “The best trail in the world is a brook. It goes the quickest way. If it takes us fifteen minutes to find the spring, even then it’s best. It’s better than getting lost. The brook knows its way and we don’t. Water is a scout.”
“Who says so?” Harry said, kind of impatient.
“Kit Carson said so,” Will said.
“Well, I guess you’re a pretty good scout, too,” Harry said; “hike around, only hustle!”
In about two minutes we found the spring, about a hundred feet from the house.