Quiz accepted them glumly. By twisting and bending the pliable frames, he was finally able to wear them, though they perched on his nose at a rakish angle. In spite of their predicament, Sandy and Jerry had to laugh.
“You look like a cockeyed owl,” Jerry said.
“Nobody asked you,” Quiz growled. He squinted through the shattered lenses. “It’s like looking through cheesecloth. But it’s better than nothing.”
A blast of scorching air hit Sandy on the side of his face. Because of the smoke and the thickness of this portion of the woods, it was impossible to tell exactly how far away the fire was, but he knew it couldn’t be too far.
“Come on, boys, we’ve got to get back to the hill.”
Quiz’s mind was still a bit hazy. “Hill?” he demanded. “You mean the ridge?”
Briefly Sandy described how the fire had out-flanked them.
“We’re cut off,” Jerry said with a note of doom in his voice. “Surrounded by fire.”
Quiz swallowed hard. “There must be something we can do.” He snapped his fingers as a thought hit him. “Wait a minute! Macauley’s men left a pile of shovels, hoes and picks behind when they were relieved by the Canadians. We can clear a line in the grass on this side of the hill and start a backfire.”
“What are we waiting for?” Sandy said. He led the way out of the forest, which ended about ten yards beyond the abandoned fire line. Directly ahead, the hill rose up like an oversized haystack.