It was almost dark now, but the area was bright in the glare of spotlights that had been rigged up to the heavy power line strung from poles at the side of the road. Dick Fellows stopped briefly at headquarters to pick up his walkie-talkie radio, and then they hitched a ride on a jeep truck. They were part of a long caravan of vehicles moving slowly through the woods toward the foot of the ridge where the fire line would be anchored. The boys could scarcely believe that a road had been cut through the timber in such a short period of time. True, it was rutted, and bristled with stumps, and twisted considerably to avoid the biggest trees, but it was quite an accomplishment nevertheless.
“It’s magic,” Jerry exclaimed. “How did they do it?”
“Bulldozer magic,” the ranger said, pointing to the broken and uprooted trees littering the sides of the road. “We even have some brush-breaker trucks that can plow through a grove of trees up to six inches in diameter as if they were matchsticks.”
The caravan ground to a halt before they reached the foot of the ridge, so the dozers and tractors could complete a huge clearing where the vehicles and equipment could assemble. To Sandy, it was a scene of immense confusion and noise. It seemed to him that the gang bosses were trying to outshout each other; the men were getting in each other’s way; and the trucks and tractors were rumbling about aimlessly.
“What a mess!” Jerry groaned.
The ranger grinned. “It just looks that way. This is as smooth an operation as I’ve ever seen. Wait till they get rolling.”
And in no time at all men and machines were peeling off in orderly fashion to the right and left; up the ridge to the northeast; and southwest through the forest, clearing a strip through the trees the width of two bulldozers.
Behind the dozers came the plows, rooting up the thick bed of duff on the forest floor; then the graders, piling up soil and sand in a high bank against the advancing flames. Working by the light of big spots mounted on trucks, agile volunteers—mainly high riggers from the lumber camps—climbed the trees along the edge of the growing line, lopping off low branches that hung across into the danger area.
“Just to make sure our backfires don’t backfire on us,” Dick Fellows said wryly.
The young ranger set up his command post in the headlights of a jeep; it consisted of a folding table, canvas chair and the walkie-talkie. Quiz was intrigued by the little battery-operated receiver-transmitter. Dick pulled the rod antennae out of the top of the little oblong case until they were fully extended, and flipped the switch. There was a crackle of static and a variety of other interference before he succeeded in getting through to Fire Boss Landers at headquarters. Reception was poor and he kept his head bent close to the instrument. The boys were only able to catch snatches of the conversation. Finally he signed off and looked up.