“That’s just it,” the girl explained. “The first pump will force the water up to the first barrel. Then we will put the short hose of the second pump in that barrel and draw the water out. That second pump will carry the water another thirty feet to the second barrel.”
“And so on and on to the top,” someone exclaimed. “It’s a grand idea. Think of a girl workin’ that out all by herself! Come on. Let’s get goin’.” And they did.
It was with a feeling of deep satisfaction that Florence saw this first task well begun. This first ridge, with its sparse growth of fir and balsam, could be well soaked down before the fire arrived. The battle was not won, but a good beginning had been made and Florence, as she studied the youthful faces about her, knew that her little army would stick to the last.
“There are chickens on board,” she said so they could all hear. “Twelve large, fat chickens in the boat’s refrigerator. They were meant for a Lodge. We’ll roast them all over the coals of this fire when the battle is won.” A low, hoarse cheer greeted these remarks. Then, at a word, five sturdy young pumps, each with the power of ten outboard motors, began passing water from barrel to barrel until it shot forth in a broad stream.
Fired with new hope, boys not needed at the pumps seized axes and began slashing at the taller trees and dragging them away. When at last the fire, fanned by a fresh breeze, came sweeping down the highest ridge into the narrow run, then started climbing the “last desperate hope,” that lower ridge, a thin line of grim-faced, determined boys met it half-way. Such was the influence of one girl who refused to give up!
With all the pumps manned by the lightweight boys, the powerful Katie and Florence seized axes and rushed down to add their bit. It was then that a flaming spruce tree, toppling to a fall, pinned a smoke-blackened boy beneath its branches.
“Katie! Quick!” Florence screamed. “He’ll be burned to death!”
With power born of desperation, the girls wrenched away flaming branches, then dragged the boy clear. His shirt was on fire. Florence tore the garment from him and stamped it into the damp moss. Then half dragging, half carrying the injured lad, she removed him to safety.
It was only after the danger was over that she recognized the youth she had saved. She truly did receive a shock!
“Mike! It’s you!” she exclaimed.