“Oh, Tom!” she cried wildly. “We’re doomed! If we only could have stayed up in the air!”
“That couldn’t be done,” Tom said grimly. “We were lucky enough to get down as we did without being hurt.”
“Yes, I know. But now, Tom, look!”
Shuddering, Mary pointed to the encircling and advancing flames. As yet no clouds of smoke had blown their way, but it was only a question of time when the choking, acrid fumes would almost smother them—blind them.
“There must be some way out!” muttered the young inventor.
Desperately he scanned the ever-narrowing circle of fire about him and Mary. What could be done?
Dry as the woods were for lack of rain, yet the trees and bushes were green, and burned in a certain, slow way which alone might prove the salvation of the two. Had this been fall, with a mantle of dried leaves on the ground, the fire would have flashed through as though igniting gunpowder. As it was, the closing in of the ring of fire was gradual. This, at least, gave Tom a chance to search his mind for some way out.
He gave a last despairing look up into the tree where hung the wreck of the Hummer. Truly, if the crash had not destroyed the little machine beyond hope of repair, the flames would soon finish her. But Tom was not a youth to sigh long where it did no good. His chief concern must now be to save Mary and himself.
“We’ve got to get out of this!” he cried. “It will soon be too hot for us.”
“But can we get out?” Mary’s lips were white, but she now had control of herself.