Only the ridge echoed back faintly, “Yo-ho!” and yet more faintly, “Yo-ho!” Mike’s feet seemed to drag but he kept doggedly on.
“If I stay behind,” he was thinking, “she’ll stay too. An’ that won’t do. She’s worth the two of us.”
They came at last to a spot where, near the crest of the ridge, they were between two fires. The heat here was intense, almost scorching. Plumdum whined piteously.
“Come on,” Florence urged. “It’s our only chance.”
“I—I can’t,” Mike moaned. “It’s me pal, Tony. I—I gotta go back.”
“You can’t,” Florence hissed, seizing his arm. “Not now. You’re going on if I have to drag you.”
“Oh, all right, I’ll come,” Mike replied miserably.
Fifteen minutes later they were past all danger. On the crest of a higher ridge, where there were no trees, only rock, and where a cool breeze fanned their parched cheeks, they watched the fire roaring on beneath them.
“Ton-Tony!” A veritable roar of anguish escaped Mike’s lips.
To their unbounded astonishment there came an answer, “Here! Here I am! What you t’ink?”