When he reached the nearest gang, a big man who seemed to be directing the operation swung his flashlight full on Sandy’s face. “Hi, son, what’s up?”
Sandy explained that he was scouting for Ranger Fellows.
“I’m Ed Macauley,” the gang boss introduced himself. “Everything looks pretty good from here. We’re clearing a strip about ten feet wide just below the crest on the far side here. We’ll start our backfires down there in that tall grass at the edge of the woods. Then for good measure we’ll light another one along the top of the ridge.”
Sandy was puzzled. “One thing I don’t understand. Why are you making the fire line on the slope away from the fire?”
Macauley grinned. “Because fire burns a lot faster and picks up more momentum going uphill than it does going downhill.” To illustrate, he took a long wooden match out of his pocket and lit it with his thumbnail. When he tilted the lit end down, the flame blazed up brightly, licking greedily at the unburned stem. Then he tilted the end up and the flame changed direction and flickered feebly at the blackened stub and finally died out. “See, there’s less chance of the fire jumping our line if it’s burning downhill.”
Suddenly he frowned and poked his nose into the air like a scenting hound. “Hey, you feel that?” He wet his forefinger in his mouth and held it up.
At that moment Sandy was aware of a cool, gentle breeze on the left side of his face. When Macauley spoke, his voice was tight as a bowstring.
“Wind’s picking up, and it seems to be swinging around to the southwest. That could mean the fire will veer smack into this here ridge.... Hey, you better relay that news back to the fire boss fast. Maybe they’re just wasting their time on that south line.”
“Won’t they realize the wind’s shifting?” Sandy asked.
“Maybe not. On account of the elevation here, we’d feel it first.”