  Giving up was one of the hardest things for Hugh to do. He had been known to work for a full hour over a boy who had been a long time under water, and then found the reward for his persistence in seeing signs of returning life. Just because the fire had seized upon that straw-stack did not mean they should throw up their hands and cry quits. On the contrary, it offered abundant reasons why they should, every one of them, get busy, and fight to save the pile. Hugh’s voice rang out like the slogan of an old-time Scotch border chieftain, rallying his Highlanders to meet the rush of the foe. He happened to have a bucket full of water in his hands at the time, and with this he dashed straight at the stack. The flames were already having a merry time of it, and given another minute or so of free play, nothing could have been done to save the huge heap of straw. Indeed, it promised to take all the combined energy of the scouts to fight the inroads of those eager flames, once they had taken hold. “Beat it, soak it with water, tear it to pieces if you have to, but don’t let it get the better of you!” shouted the scout master. A number of the boys were attacking the stack wildly. The hired man stood close by and watched operations as though he had never seen anything like it in all his life. Evidently the systematic and determined way in which those energetic lads went at things had made a most powerful impression on him. Once Hugh, seeing him standing there, called out to him to lend a hand and fetch water if he could do nothing more. The man aroused himself and started to do what he was told. It was once on the tip of Hugh’s tongue to ask the boys if any one knew the man with the blackened face, for something about him seemed strangely familiar, although he could not take the time to figure it out, nor did it matter. As it happened, something arose to divert his attention to another point, and he speedily forgot all about the unknown man. Such energy certainly deserved to reap success, and in the end the straw-stack was saved, but it had been a pretty narrow escape. “The worst of it is,” said Hugh between gasps when he felt certain the last threatening spark had been crushed out of existence, “that if this pile had gone there would have been a slim chance for saving any of the other haystacks; and after all of them got to burning we wouldn’t have been able to hold the barn back.” “Chances are even the house would have gone up the flue, too,” declared Billy, who had worked like a good fellow to assist in the work. Billy was a sight by this time calculated to excite the laughter of his chums. What, with his own personal efforts, added to the heat of the fire, he had long been fairly reeking with perspiration. Streaks of black ran across his face and made him look like a Fiji Islander decorated for the warpath. “Talk about the map of Ireland, Billy,” one of the other scouts told him, “you carry it around with you.” “He certainly came from somewhere near Cork,” remarked another fellow, “because he kissed the Blarney Stone before crossing over. Billy can soft-soap you to beat the band. He gets nearly anything he wants.” “Oh! heaps more than I want sometime,” laughed the good-natured Billy. Having gained this hard-fought victory, the boys felt that they must take a rest before starting in again. Hugh surveyed the field, and tried to figure from which quarter the peril might come next. “I’m afraid there’s getting to be a shift of the wind, Hugh,” remarked Arthur, who, being known as a sort of weather prophet, felt it his duty to observe all such things as clouds and wind. “That would make it bad for us again,” asserted the scout master. “You mean the fire is bound to strike us from a new quarter if the wind whips around as it’s trying to do right now; is that it, Hugh?” questioned Arthur. “It’s moving into the northwest,” Hugh told him. “Which would bring it across that patch of dead grass that up to now seems to have kept from burning. Then the woods are closer on that side, and the heat would be greater on the roofs of the barn and house.” “Shall we get busy again and try to wet down everything that faces that way?” asked the other, as though grasping the conditions by which they were now confronted. “It is the only thing we can do,” said Hugh. As soon as he had shouted out the new orders, once more there was a hurry call for the bucket brigade to start operations. Tired though they might be from their late exertions, the scouts never hesitated. The noisy clang of the pump was again heard in the land, and a stream of hustling lads carried water to the new point that was threatened by the insatiable enemy. Hugh had made a correct diagnosis of the case, for as soon as the wind swung around into the northwest, that dead grass began to blaze up and the fire started to travel swiftly toward the outbuildings of the farm. Once more the poor widow saw her cherished possessions threatened with destruction. Unable to remain still, she had again joined the throng of willing workers, and was carrying water as best the conditions allowed. The hired man, too, staggered back and forth with a bucket. He did not appear to be very strong, but then Hugh, on noticing this, supposed he was tired out from his long-continued exertions. Doubtless they had struggled against the encroachment of the fire for some time before the coming of the scouts gave them new hope. It was a lively ten minutes they all put in. Those who did not have buckets in which to carry water stamped on the fire, and fought it with brooms or any other like article they could find. Led by Hugh, they defied the flames to approach closer to the outbuildings than a certain line. Billy was so industriously engaged that he must have overstepped the bounds of personal safety. The first thing he knew he was feeling uncomfortably warm in the rear. Then one of the other fellows gave a shriek. “You’re on fire, Billy! You’re all ablaze! Stand still, and let me whack you with this broom!” “Hey, bend over, and I’ll put you out all right!” cried Jack Durham, and immediately following his words he gave the bucket he was holding a clever toss that shot its contents all over the fat boy. “Now you’re extinguished, Billy!” he told the other, laughingly, as he ran off to the duck pond. It was a satisfaction to Hugh to see that they were mastering the new attack of the devouring element. Several times there had been danger of the barn going, for little blazes started up; but a dash of water finished these. They could hear a cow mooing wildly inside the barn, and a horse was stamping in his stall, being greatly excited by all this clamor. Hugh had already made up his mind that if the worst came they must see to it that the poor animals were given a chance for their lives; should the barn take fire in earnest, and all hope of saving the building be lost, some one must go inside and lead both horse and cow to the outside air. Fortunately things did not reach this desperate stage, for the efforts of the hard-working scouts to save the buildings were crowned with complete success. “Whee! but that was a corking fight, though!” gasped Billy, when it was finally safe for them to stop their labor and breathe more freely. “But we won out, as we nearly always did, you noticed!” suggested Harold Tremaine, who had learned some pretty valuable lessons since becoming a member of Oakvale Troop. “Thanks to Hugh and his way of doing things,” added Ralph Kenyon. “I’ve done no more than the rest of you,” objected the scout master. “Every fellow is justly entitled to feel that he’s had an equal share in the glory.” “There’s enough to go around, all right,” suggested Bud Morgan. “I know I’m as glad as I can be that we came up here. It’s been a picnic fighting the forest fire. If we can’t help extinguish it we’ve helped cheat it out of its prey.” “You have saved me from being ruined, my brave boys,” declared Mrs. Heffner, as she looked at the group. “I’ll never forget it, never. When my Willie and Ben grow up to be big enough I give you my word they shall also wear the uniforms of the scouts. If this is what your organization teaches you to do for others in time of need, every boy ought to belong.” “They would,” said Hugh, “if their folks only took the trouble to investigate for themselves what was going on. But we’re all glad to be here, Mrs. Heffner, glad to be able to help you out. It would have been too bad if you lost your home, after fighting so hard all these years to build it up, and keep a roof over the heads of your family.” “I never could have lived through it again, Hugh,” she told him, beginning to cry, now that the danger seemed over, for up to then she had kept up wonderfully. “What if the wind changed again and swung in from that side over there, Hugh?” asked Arthur just then, pointing as he spoke. “I hardly think it will,” the scout master replied. “But just as you say, there is a little chance, and to make things absolutely sure we must get busy and back-fire.” “What’s that?” asked Harold, who had considerable to learn concerning many things connected with outdoor life. “Why, in the old days out West,” Hugh explained, “when a border man found himself threatened with a fire near his dugout he would himself apply a match to the dead grass. It would eat its way up slowly against the wind, and by the time the big fire arrived there would be a section burned over. This would serve as a protection to him against the roaring fire, which would pass him by on either side.” “Oh! I see now what you mean,” commented Harold, who was anxious to learn many of these interesting things, “we will go around starting little fires wherever we can find a clump of dead grass that hasn’t been water-soaked, and let them burn as far back as they can. Show me how to do it, Hugh; I’d like to have a hand in this back-firing business. It sounds good to me.” The other boys, as well as Mrs. Heffner and the strange hired man, had heard all that Hugh said. No sooner was the word given than a number of them started to run from tuft to tuft of dead grass, applying a firebrand. Where only a few minutes ago they had been trying their best to kill the flames, they were now turning their attention to coaxing them to start up afresh. “Fire’s all right, and a right good thing,” remarked Billy, wisely, “if only you can control it.” “Yes,” said Hugh, “like a lot of other things fire makes a splendid servant but a mighty bad master. We’re going to get it to do our bidding now, and clean off the dead grass on the east side of the buildings. Keep a sharp watch so that it doesn’t give you the slip and surprise us.” “We need fire to keep us warm, and to do our cooking for us,” continued Billy; and then clapping his hands behind him he went on to add: “But when it bites holes through the only trousers you’ve got along it is going a little too far, I say. And I might have been roasted if it hadn’t been for you, Jack; you saved my life with that bucket of water, even if you did make me feel pretty moist.” “Listen,” said Ralph just then. “What did you think you heard?” asked Hugh, when all of them had strained their hearing for a full minute without catching any sound out of the ordinary. “I must have been mistaken,” admitted Ralph, “but it was like someone calling!” |
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