Ah, yes, Florence was ready to fight for Chippewa Harbor. And at this moment it was in great need of a champion. For by great misfortune, this would be the first tiny settlement to be reached by the fire if it came, and at that moment it was coming fast. They could see it crawling, leaping, rushing along the ridges. They could hear it snapping and roaring not two miles away. So sudden had been its advance that no fire fighters had yet arrived. Only the Wanderer, with her one small pump, was standing by.
The entrance to Chippewa Harbor is narrow and rocky. A storm was roaring in from the lake. In an hour it might be impossible for the Wanderer to leave the harbor. Perhaps, too, in that hour, the roaring fire would be upon the fishing village.
“I think,” said the fisherman, scanning first the fire, then the sky, “that you better put out into open water.”
“But your home, your cabins, everything you have!” Dave protested. “Our pump may save them!”
The fisherman shrugged his shoulders, but did not speak. About him was gathered his family—his wife, Ve and Vi, and three small sons. They, too, were strangely silent.
“No,” said Dave. “We stay!”
Darkness fell. Only the leaping flames lighted the dark waters of the harbor. It was a dramatic moment. Even Jeanne, always so full of life and chatter, was silent. Indeed, during the days that had passed, Jeanne had seemed a little strange. She took small part in their planning for the future. It was almost as if she were an honored guest aboard the Wanderer. The time was to come, however, when she and Plumdum would do their bit. But for the moment, even the curly-haired dog, awed by the roaring lake waters close by and the glare of the fire some distance away, was silent.
“Look!” Florence exclaimed in sudden consternation, as she pointed toward the crest of Greenstone Ridge that, rising a full three hundred feet, extends from one end of Isle Royale to the other. “Look up there! A fresh fire is starting!”
“Another fire,” the fisherman murmured hoarsely, “how do they start?”
At once Florence recalled those mysterious words spoken in the dark—“‘Dese fires dey iss bein’ set.’” Were they?