Sandy started up the crest of the ridge, but the ranger called to him, “Better circle around in back. It’s pretty hot up there.” He looked at the surface fire advancing slowly through the underbrush toward the clearing on the flank of the big blaze. “It won’t be long before we’ll have to get out of here. Better send back a couple of boys to move those trucks off the line.”
“Right,” Sandy said, and circled around behind the ridge.
The protected slope was teeming with men and machinery. Bulldozers scurried up and down like huge beetles, clearing off everything inflammable. Tank-trucks were moving slowly along the foot of the slope, their crews sweeping big firehoses across the face of the forest. Trees were doused from crown to root. Other smoke-eaters with hoses were lined up on the crest of the ridge like soldiers, dwarfed by the monstrous flames that seemed to arch over them threateningly. Whenever a flaming bough or a mass of burning foliage came toppling to the ground nearby, they would train a jet of fine, foglike spray on it. Watching this panorama, Sandy was once again impressed by the fact that the fire behaved at times with what seemed like animal intelligence. Time and time again, treacherous fingers of flame would stretch out to the men, driving them back behind the safety of the ridge. One such streamer actually did dart across the crest like a snake, badly burning a dozer operator.
Sandy relayed the communiqué from Fire Boss Landers to all the gang chiefs. He found Ed Macauley about a half mile down the ridge. His crew had started to build a hasty fire line at right angles to the ridge in an attempt to stop the fire racing down the edge of the forest, but they had finally abandoned it.
“Nothing short of a miracle will stop her now,” he told Sandy hopelessly.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” the boy asked, his voice tinged with panic.
Macauley shrugged. “Not till she runs into the big firebreaks. There’s another road about two miles north of the ridge; runs east to west. With enough men we can bottle her up between the two roads. But she’ll burn off better than a thousand acres before she’s finished.”
The fire was now abreast of where they stood on the crest. A scorching wave of heat swept up the slope, bringing tears to their eyes, and forcing them to retreat behind the ridge. No longer did the men need lights to work by, for the glare of the flames lit up the countryside with an unearthly reddish glow.
Sandy was surprised to see Quiz come staggering breathlessly up to them. He handed Macauley a message. “New plan from headquarters,” he gasped.
Macauley frowned as he read it, then crumpled the paper up into a ball. “Darn waste of time, I call it.”