“To the mill!” Wilkinson shouted; “we can do nothing here.”
The men at the mill filed silently to their stations, and the big hoses poured torrents of water on roof and wall. Big jets curved up the hill to drench the dry, hot earth.
In short, quick sentences Wilkinson outlined his plans.
“We will try to stop it on the north at the river, on the south with fire-breaks, and at the track on the east by back-firing. On the west we have to let the fire take its course until it burns itself out on the cliff above.” His voice rose in sharp command as he sent the men to their posts. Donald with twenty men under him was set to work digging a fire-break on the south side. A “fire-break” is made by spading up the leaf-mould and humus down to the mineral soil and raking all inflammable material back from each side.
The fire was advancing rapidly and the heat was terrific. Choking and gasping in the stinging resinous smoke, the men strove in frenzy of haste to complete the fire-break before the flames should reach them.
A deer with a fawn at her heels came bounding in terror through the screen of smoke. Grouse and song-birds made a common escape from a common enemy feared by all. Rabbits, wild-eyed, scuttled in fear; squirrels and chipmunks joined in the hurried flight. Many of these smaller birds and animals would be flanked and lost.
Connie, proud that she could be of assistance, dashed back and forth carrying messages for Wilkinson to the different fronts.
From up the mountain-side came a drumming roar and the rending crash of trees as the fire undermined their roots. Sparks from burning tree-tops crossed the fire-break and started other fires. To combat these, water had to be carried up the steep hillside in pails. Andy was among those delegated to this arduous task. For hours he staggered from stream to hill and back again with a brimming pail in either hand. Scorched by sun and fire, the perspiration streaming down his face and stinging his eyes, the little hero stuck gamely to his task.
“I ’ired on this ’ere job as a cook,” he grumbled, “not as a blinkin’ water-spout. Strike me pink, if the water I’ve carried to-day was sprinkled in ’ell the devil’d be out of a job. Oh, well,” he added resignedly as he filled his pails and turned to again ascend the hill, “as Methusalem said, ‘Every little bit ’elps!’ These two buckets myke exactly four million, two ’undred and six gallons that I’ve carried this d’y.” At this instant his foot caught in a root to send him sprawling on his face rolling down the mossy hillside, the pails clattering after. He lay where he had fallen, flat on his back, with arms outstretched. “There,” he soliloquized, “_that_ was the wisp of straw that broke the elephant’s back. To ’ell with the fire. Let the blighter burn.”