It was a jungle of underbrush, that’s what Harry said. Pretty soon the trail just fizzled out in the bushes. We poked around with our lanterns and found a spring there. I guess the wood between there and the summit must have been where the party got lost. Sometimes we could hear the crackling and sometimes we couldn’t, but we could smell the burning brush all the time.

“Guess we’re pretty near the summit,” Harry said; “let’s call that we’re coming. The breeze will carry our voices.”

So we all called together, “Hello, we’re coming.”

There wasn’t any answer, but anyway, we couldn’t have heard on account of the breeze blowing up the mountain.

That was the only thing we had to guide us now—the breeze. We kept the scarf in the air and just followed it, pushing through the brush. Sometimes we had to stop and tear away an opening, so as to get through. There must have been an easier way or those girls and fellows would never have managed it, but Harry thought it was better to push right up than to be groping around for a path.

All of a sudden, Ralph Warner said, “Look!”

Good night! A long line of fire was coming up the mountain, maybe a quarter of a mile in back of us. First it seemed like a dotted line, kind of, because there were dark spaces. But even while we looked some of these filled up. The thing it reminded me of most of all was soldiers; it seemed like a line of soldiers, all bright and fiery, charging up the mountain. It was coming fast and I have to admit it scared me. Because even if we could get through the brush fast enough, I saw we couldn’t get out of range of it. Kind of, the thought came to me that it was like soldiers who had just scrambled out of the trenches. That was just how suddenly we saw it. I remember I heard Harry say something about wind and fire being allies, but we didn’t stop to talk, only pushed up through the brush as fast as we could, but all the while it kept gaining on us.

Pretty soon I said, all out of breath, “We can’t keep this up; it’s gaining; I can even feel the heat.”

“We can’t flank it, that’s sure,” Harry said; “hustle for all you’re worth; that’s all I can say.”

Gee, I’ll never forget that night. We just pushed on up through the brush, stumbling and falling and lifting each other and trying to run. Our clothes were all torn and we were panting like a lot of dogs.

“Watch and see that no fellow is left behind,” Harry panted.

Every minute two or three of us were just dragging some fellow up out of the brush. I guess it was a case of more haste, less speed; it’s pretty hard running through brush.

Harry just panted out, “Boys, we’re in a pretty tight place; don’t get rattled. Lift your feet high with each step and follow right in my tracks. If anybody falls, shout!”

I said, “We’re losing all the time; what’s the use?”

“We can keep ahead of it for a couple of hundred yards,” he said; “maybe we’ll strike clear land. Anyway, we can’t do anything else than give it a race.”

By that time we could feel the heat and sometimes sparks blew almost over our heads, but they were out when they reached ground. Harry just kept panting out, “Hustle,” and “Keep your nerve.”

By now the crackling was loud and I could taste smoke. I knew there wasn’t much chance for us, but I didn’t say so. Anywhere a blown fire is bad enough, but uphill it just rushes. It seemed funny that I’d have to die on Marjorie’s birthday, and all of a sudden I thought how I had tried to ’phone her. Gee, she’d never even know that.

“Hustle,” Harry said.

“Do you hear a voice?” Dorry asked; “listen.”

As plain as could be, I heard a girl’s voice, crying. It kind of seemed as if it might be Marjorie crying, because I was dead.

Then I heard Hunt Manners say, “Yes, I hear it.”

Harry just panted out, “Never mind, step high and hustle.”