Back of Piodie, on the other side of a high ridge, is a deep valley hemmed in by rock-rimmed walls. Its area is about ten or fifteen acres.
The McClintocks climbed the ridge and looked down into the park. It was filled with dead and down piñon. Two years before a fire had started there, had raged furiously for a day, and had died down before the persistent attack of a heavy snowstorm. Since that time a new growth of underbrush had come up.
Scot and Hugh circled the rim, studying carefully the contour of the slopes. The upper half of these were rock-ribbed. The timber had climbed up to these boulder outcroppings and had there given up the fight to reach the summit, driven back by the lack of soil in which to root. Down in the basin the dead trees had crashed and lay across each other in confusion.
“The fire never could have got out of the valley even if the snow hadn’t stopped it,” Scot said.
“That’s how it looks to me,” Hugh agreed. “The only thing that could make it dangerous would be a high wind.”
“It would have to be a gale to spread the fire outside. The rocks made a break as safe as a fireplace.”
They covered every inch of the rim to make sure of this. They did not want to take any chance of setting fire to the town. Before they left the valley they were satisfied that a fire inside it could not do any damage.
Budd and Byers, who knew the people of the town better than the McClintocks did, set about gathering allies for the night campaign. Piodie was full of lawless adventurers ready to take a hand in any enterprise directed against the Dodsons. The difficulty was not to get enough of them, but to select the ones with cool heads not likely to be carried away by excitement.
As Vicky was walking home from school she met Hugh.
“Tell me everything. What have you done? Did he let you see the contract? Have you plans made yet?” In her eagerness the words of her questions tumbled over each other.