“What if the wind changed again and swung in from that side over there, Hugh?” asked Arthur just then, pointing as he spoke.
“I hardly think it will,” the scout master replied. “But just as you say, there is a little chance, and to make things absolutely sure we must get busy and back-fire.”
“What’s that?” asked Harold, who had considerable to learn concerning many things connected with outdoor life.
“Why, in the old days out West,” Hugh explained, “when a border man found himself threatened with a fire near his dugout he would himself apply a match to the dead grass. It would eat its way up slowly against the wind, and by the time the big fire arrived there would be a section burned over. This would serve as a protection to him against the roaring fire, which would pass him by on either side.”
“Oh! I see now what you mean,” commented Harold, who was anxious to learn many of these interesting things, “we will go around starting little fires wherever we can find a clump of dead grass that hasn’t been water-soaked, and let them burn as far back as they can. Show me how to do it, Hugh; I’d like to have a hand in this back-firing business. It sounds good to me.”
The other boys, as well as Mrs. Heffner and the strange hired man, had heard all that Hugh said. No sooner was the word given than a number of them started to run from tuft to tuft of dead grass, applying a firebrand. Where only a few minutes ago they had been trying their best to kill the flames, they were now turning their attention to coaxing them to start up afresh.
“Fire’s all right, and a right good thing,” remarked Billy, wisely, “if only you can control it.”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “like a lot of other things fire makes a splendid servant but a mighty bad master. We’re going to get it to do our bidding now, and clean off the dead grass on the east side of the buildings. Keep a sharp watch so that it doesn’t give you the slip and surprise us.”
“We need fire to keep us warm, and to do our cooking for us,” continued Billy; and then clapping his hands behind him he went on to add: “But when it bites holes through the only trousers you’ve got along it is going a little too far, I say. And I might have been roasted if it hadn’t been for you, Jack; you saved my life with that bucket of water, even if you did make me feel pretty moist.”
“Listen,” said Ralph just then.