“Not yet. What’ll we do?” There was an anxious note in Billy Fenstow’s voice.
“I don’t know yet, but we’ll do something.”
Curt strode forward to the front end of the bus where the male members of the company were grouped.
“Any chance of getting going within the next five or ten minutes?” he asked the director, who was almost buried under the hood.
“Afraid not,” came the smothered reply. “I’ve found the trouble but it’s going to take about half an hour to get it fixed.”
Curt turned and faced Bill Fenstow.
“That’s too long,” he warned the director. “The wind’s getting worse and that fire’s coming fast now. In another half hour this valley will be an inferno. It will be impossible for anyone to live in it.”
“Then we’d better start back for the ranch afoot,” said the director.
Curt’s laugh was hard and thin and Janet, hearing it, thought it was a desperate laugh.
“The fire would overtake us before we could get near the ranch,” said Curt. “We’ve got to make a stand and we might as well make it here.”