Somebody caught the bow of the boat. Step and Poke turned on their seats to behold Orkney, knee deep in the water, grinning at them. There was a decided increase in the glare from the big fire, and they could make out his face plainly. Back of him, on the sand, were the Trojan and Herman Boyd, their arms full of blankets and other camping paraphernalia.
“Saved what we could,” Orkney tersely explained. “Touch and go getting what we did, at that.... What are you doing with two boats, though? Never mind! The ark in back will do for the freight. Chuck the stuff into her, fellows!”
The punt was drawn in and swiftly loaded. Then Orkney and his followers joined Step and Poke in the lighter boat.
“You’ve stirred up the cottagers, of course?” said Tom.
“You bet we have!” Step declared. “We had ’em going, all right! And they’ve sent on the alarm to town. Jiminy! but they’ll need everybody they can call in from fifty miles around! But, I say! Where’s Sam?”
“He took the Shark and went scouting yonder,” Orkney answered.
Poke stood up in the boat. He peered long and anxiously at the shore.
“I should think Sam would be working back,” he remarked. “Fire looks as if it was worse over that way. Those two fellows couldn’t fight that sort of a whirl any more than they could fight the wind.”
“Right you are,” said Orkney soberly enough.
The boats had drifted away from the beach, and their passengers could survey a wide stretch of burning woods. Nowhere had the fire quite reached the water’s edge, but here and there it had drawn very near to it. Moreover, such tremendous headway had been gained by the flames that it was clear that the growth along the bank was doomed. Whatever the fire-fighters might accomplish would have to be done at the ends of the line.