THE BURNING BRIDGE
“Hugh!” called out Blake Merton a short time later, “did you see that
light flash up ahead of us there?”
“Just what I did,” came the immediate reply.
“Do you think it could be one of the camp fires of the boys, a sort of
vidette post, you might say?” further questioned Blake, eagerly.
“There it goes again, as sure as you live!” ejaculated Bud Morgan at the
wheel, “and, say, it’s a fire, all right—growing stronger all the while.
I wonder what it can mean for us?”
“We’ll soon find out,” remarked Hugh, confidently. “We’re advancing, and
will come to a clear stretch in a minute or so, where the trees happen
to be sparse, and we can see ahead.”
“Perhaps, after all, it’s only some cabin alongside the road, with the
people doing their cooking outdoors,” observed Bud. “I saw that done
heaps of times when my folks took me down to Florida that winter I was
sick.”
Their curiosity grew by leaps and bounds as they proceeded along the
road. The closer they drew to the scene of the illumination, the more
puzzled all of the boys found themselves.
Then suddenly it broke upon them. They must have turned a bend in the
road, for just as though a wave of a magician’s wand had caused the
picture to appear before their eyes, they saw it all.
“Oh! look at that, will you?” shrilled Blake, aghast at the vision.
“It’s a bridge afire!”
“It sure is!” echoed Bud, staring as though he could hardly believe his
eyes.
“See how the flames are creeping along the wooden sides!” continued the
Merton boy, hysterically. “Why, they look like red snakes, that’s what
they do. Hugh, what can we do to get across that river if the bridge
goes down?”
“I can’t tell you just yet, Blake!” snapped the other. “Let her out some
more, Bud. Never mind the risk to the old plug of an engine; we’ve _got_
to get there so as to fight that fire, or we’ll be dished. I know what
stream that is, and it’s a deep one, too, far too deep for us to ever
hope to ford it with this car. Faster, Bud, faster, I tell you!”
Bud Morgan never accepted anything that bordered on a dare. He had held
in thus far principally because he knew Hugh would not be apt to
countenance speed when it necessitated additional risk. Now he “let out
another notch,” as he himself would have expressed it.
The old car shambled along with dizzying celerity, making all manner of
ridiculous sounds, as though protesting against such haste. Still
nothing happened to indicate another breakdown; and at least they were
advancing toward the burning bridge with accelerated speed.
All the while Hugh was wondering what could have caused the fire. It was
very strange, he concluded, that a country bridge should take a notion
to start up in a blaze like this, and just when it became a most
important link in their drive to the concentration camp.
So they arrived on the scene. Bud was evidently for trying to run the
gantlet with a mad rush, but Hugh called upon him to draw up short,
which he did, stopping the car close to the near end of the wooden
structure.
“We might have made it, Hugh!” urged Bud, reproachfully, as though he
regretted the cautious policy of the scout master.
“But there would always be a chance that our gas tank would explode!”
cried Hugh; “look how the flames are driven straight across the bridge
by the wind. Then the fire is along both sides, so we’d have to run a
regular gantlet. No, Bud, old fellow, we couldn’t afford to take the
chances. Out with you all, and let’s see if we can’t save the old bridge
yet.”
“Go to it, boys!” shouted Bud, instantly on the move, for he was a lad
of action, and never happier than when doing things.
“Work on the windward side first!” ordered Hugh, with the sagacity that
leadership in an energetic scout organization is apt to bestow upon any
wideawake youth. “Here, snatch up these old lap-robes, and souse them in
the water. If you beat at the flames just as we did when the woods on
fire that time, you’ll find they can be mastered. Everybody get busy!”
“Whoop! watch my smoke, will you!” cried Bud, starting off with a rush.
There chanced to be some old lap-robes in the car that Bud had managed
to secure, not of any great value, to be sure, so far as things of
beauty went, but bound to be of great value in an emergency like the
present. Each of the three scouts managed to secure possession of one of
these, and it required but a brief time to submerge the same in the
swift flowing and deep stream.
With this soaking cloth in hand the energetic boys started to fight the
fire, slapping at the running flames as they curled along the side of
the bridge in long spirals that resembled creeping snakes.
When three lively fellows get started at a task of this sort it is
wonderful what remarkable progress they can attain. With each stout blow
it seemed as though the fire that was threatening to demolish the entire
wooden structure received a serious setback. The boys fought their way
completely across the bridge, which was not of any great length.
“Good enough for us!” cried the panting Bud. “We’ve licked that line of
skirmishers; do we tackle the other side now, Hugh?”
“One good turn deserves another, so go for it!” advised the leader,
setting a pace himself that kept the others hustling to continue in the
same class.
Success is always encouraging, and, having found that they could get the
better of those creeping flames, the three boys fought all the harder,
determined to crush the fire completely.
“A little more elbow grease, boys, and victory is going to perch on our
banner!” Bud was crying, while he slapped that scorched laprobe again
and again on the railing of the bridge, even mopping up the floor with
it when occasion demanded.
The boys were past masters at this sort of thing. They had served their
time at it on another occasion, when the woods, catching fire not many
miles from Oakvale, they had been called upon to help save certain
isolated farmhouses and crops that were threatened with destruction.[2]
Breathing heavily, the three lads finally had the satisfaction of seeing
the last zigzag line of fire succumb to the vigor of their attack.
Still, Hugh would not be wholly satisfied.
“Let’s go down and wet these rags again,” he told his chums, “and hunt
out every crack where the least bit of fire hides, so that after we go
on it isn’t going to spring up again.”
“Might as well make a clean job of it while we’re about it,” agreed Bud,
as he followed Hugh down to the edge of the river, there to immerse
their “fighting togs” again in the water.
As they walked along, carefully scanning both sides of the bridge for
any evidences of hidden peril, Bud once more broke out, voicing some
suspicion that he had evidently been harboring in his brain.
“Hugh, don’t you think it’s mighty funny how this old bridge could get
afire? Suppose a threshing machine traction engine could have passed
over here lately; but, then, it’s too early in the season for anything
like that to be going around. If a man on a wagon threw a burning match
aside after lighting his pipe, would it start things to burning? Somehow
I just can’t believe this is an accident at all.”
“Oh! do you really mean you suspect it was done _on purpose_, perhaps to
keep us from crossing this deep river, and making us miss connections
with the camp?” asked Blake, apparently thrilled with the thought.
“I’m certain of it,” asserted Hugh, positively. “I’ll tell you why. Just
bend your heads closer here, and take a whiff where this rail has been
only a little charred; what does it smell like?”
“Why, Hugh, it makes me think of home, when the girl is starting our oil
stove going!”
“That’s a fact,” added Bud, gritting his teeth ferociously, “and
somebody’s gone and saturated both sides of this bridge with kerosene,
so as to give the fire a good send-off. Oh! the low-down wretch, what
wouldn’t I give to have a chance to choke him.”
“Try it again over here, and you get the same odor,” Hugh observed,
impressively; “yes, and right there you can see where some of the stuff
spilled, for the spot looks greasy. He must have had a can of kerosene
along with him in his car for just such a purpose as this.”
Each boy in turn dropped on his hands and knees, the better to take a
“sniff” at the discolored spot on the floor boards of the bridge that
had such a “close call.” As they once more regained their feet they
nodded their heads, unanimous in their opinion as to the origin of that
greasy mark.
“Which shows that our good luck still haunts our footsteps,” Blake said,
trying to smile happily, though there was a deep-seated look of
apprehension to be detected in his eyes.
Truth to tell, all of them were more or less impressed with the
malignity shown by this party whom they believed to be in the pay of
Luther Gregory. He was evidently bent upon earning the sum promised him
in case he, by hook or crook, prevented the boys from reaching the
mobilization camp until it was too late to secure that apology from the
quick-tempered Felix.
“Well, do we cross over now, and move along our way?” asked Blake,
unable to conceal the anxiety he naturally felt because of these
numerous delays.
“Nothing to hinder that I can see,” replied Hugh.
“I’ll drive the old car across, presently, while you two wait for me at
the other side,” Bud said, as he climbed aboard. “Take a good look as
you go, and tell me if any of the flooring is burned through.”
As they crossed over, Hugh and Blake kept a good lookout, and reported
all safe; so presently Bud, having coaxed the engine to start again
after some effort, joined his mates on the further side of the stream.
“I certainly do hope,” ventured Blake Merton, with a sigh, as he
proceeded to settle down in his old seat again, “that we’ve run up
against the last obstacle. It’s certain that chap can’t think up much
more evil to turn against us.”
“What’s coming now?” cried Bud. “I can hear shouts, and, Hugh, there
seems to be men running around that clump of undergrowth alongside the
road.”
“I bet you there’s a village along there, and that the people have just
discovered the smoke of the fire here,” advanced Blake. “They know about
the bridge, and are coming to save it. They would have been just too
late if not for us.”
“They ought to give us a vote of thanks, then, for our services,” said
Bud.
“Listen to ’em shouting, will you?” continued Blake. “Why, it sounds to
me like they were real mad at something. Hugh, don’t it strike you that
way, too? Look at some of the fellows in the lead shaking their fists at
us, just as if we’d gone and done something mean. Gee whiz! I hope now
they don’t get the notion into their silly heads that _we_ started this
bridge to burning.”
Quite a crowd was coming wildly toward them, consisting of men and boys,
though there were also a few energetic women. Some of them carried
clubs, and waved these in a suggestive fashion.
“Sit tight,” warned Hugh, sternly; “it means that we’re up against it
again. Above all things, don’t do or say anything to start a fight!”