“Hold your horses, Bud,” Hugh told him. “I’ve got an idea we’re going to get all we need before a great while. Half an hour’s drenching rain would put out nearly every fire there is. Even if a few old stumps did smoulder afterward they couldn’t do any more damage, things would be so well soaked. By the time we get to the farm-house it ought to be starting in.”
“Huh!” grunted Bud, “I’d be willing to stand the worst kind of a ducking if that would hurry things up any.”
“Well, nothing that we can do or promise will make the least difference,” Hugh went on to say, with a laugh, “so we might as well keep our coats dry and be comfortable.”
“We’re much more than half way there now, I should say, wouldn’t you, Hugh?” Don wanted to know.
“Two-thirds of the distance you had better put it,” added Jack.
Hugh nodded, and then surprised them both by saying:
“I’ll see what I can do to help things along. I remember that leaning birch over there on the left. We struck it after we had left the stone wall just five minutes, so you see by that time we ought to be back there, which would mean the farm-house in as many more. So we’re over the worst of the journey, and three-quarters of the way back.”
“Every little helps,” admitted Jack, “and I’m going to keep a bright lookout for that old stone wall. It’ll sure seem like a good friend to me; and the kids will be glad to get in a house again after all they’ve passed through.”
“That’s queer now!” Don was heard to say, half to himself.
“What did you think you saw, Don?” asked Hugh, noticing that the other seemed to be staring straight ahead.