Will gave a whoop and immediately vanished again inside the tent. He had not gone to rescue any of his clothes, nor did he even think of getting into them; but when he reappeared it was with his camera hugged tightly in his arms.
Meanwhile the others had set to work with a vim. There was fortunately no wind, so that the fire had burned sluggishly. Then again the late storm had wet the dead leaves then on the ground, and they had not as yet become thoroughly dry, so it took quite some time for them to get over smouldering, and burst into a vigorous flame.
"We're getting it down, fellows; keep right along hitting it hard!" called Frank, cheerily.
Even old Toby had appeared from under the fly where he slept. He had been dreadfully scared at first, doubtless under the impression that the mate to the dead bob-cat had invaded the camp, intent on revenge. This feeling soon gave way to the desire to see the camp saved, and he labored faithfully with the rest.
Scattering the smouldering leaves, beating out the fire with any sort of thing they could snatch up in their excitement, they managed to get the flames under control after a little while.
It had been a most exciting experience, however. Bluff was swinging his blanket vigorously, and thrashing the fire with it effectively; though he might later on have some difficulty in getting rid of the smudges that this process necessarily produced.
"Victory!" shouted Jerry, when the last vestige of the fire had gone under.
Bluff threw his blanket around his shoulders and strutted about with the air of a conqueror;
"They have to get up early in the morning if they expect to beat us,'' he said, proudly.
"Talk about your hot times, that was a scorcher!" cried Jerry.