JUST IN TIME
MARY NESTOR had borne up bravely during the previous trying experiences.
But the discovery that the fire was all about them unnerved her and
filled her with horror.
“Oh, Tom!” she cried wildly. “We’re doomed! If we only could have stayed
up in the air!”
“That couldn’t be done,” Tom said grimly. “We were lucky enough to get
down as we did without being hurt.”
“Yes, I know. But now, Tom, look!”
Shuddering, Mary pointed to the encircling and advancing flames. As yet
no clouds of smoke had blown their way, but it was only a question of
time when the choking, acrid fumes would almost smother them—blind
them.
“There must be some way out!” muttered the young inventor.
Desperately he scanned the ever-narrowing circle of fire about him and
Mary. What could be done?
Dry as the woods were for lack of rain, yet the trees and bushes were
green, and burned in a certain, slow way which alone might prove the
salvation of the two. Had this been fall, with a mantle of dried leaves
on the ground, the fire would have flashed through as though igniting
gunpowder. As it was, the closing in of the ring of fire was gradual.
This, at least, gave Tom a chance to search his mind for some way out.
He gave a last despairing look up into the tree where hung the wreck of
the _Hummer_. Truly, if the crash had not destroyed the little machine
beyond hope of repair, the flames would soon finish her. But Tom was not
a youth to sigh long where it did no good. His chief concern must now be
to save Mary and himself.
“We’ve got to get out of this!” he cried. “It will soon be too hot for
us.”
“But can we get out?” Mary’s lips were white, but she now had control of
herself.
“I think so,” Tom replied. “While it looks as though there was a solid
ring of fire about us, there must be breaks in it here and there—places
where there is comparatively bare ground, big rocks and so on, that will
make a passageway for us. We must try to find one of these places, Mary.
Now follow, but keep right behind me.”
Tom said this because he wanted to be prepared to save Mary should a
sheet of flame suddenly spout up in front of them.
“Wait a minute!” cried the girl, as Tom would have made a dash toward a
place where the smoke and fire seemed less dense and fierce.
“What’s the matter?”
“Can’t we use these? Wrap them about our hands and faces in case we get
too near the fire?” asked Mary.
She pointed to two closely woven woolen blankets that had fallen out of
the forward cockpit of the _Hummer_. Tom had stowed these away to be
used on occasional trips when he went up to such an altitude that it was
very cold, and a blanket about his legs and those of his passenger might
add immeasurably to their comfort. With the tilting of the plane the
blankets had fallen out shortly after Tom and Mary had climbed down from
the tree.
“I’ve often read of persons wrapping their head in wet blankets to pass
through flames,” said the girl. “And these two are wet, Tom, look,
sopping wet.”
“Be careful they aren’t soaking in gasoline!” warned the young man, as
Mary picked up the coverings. “I guess that’s what happened—the gas
tank sprang a leak.”
Mary’s answer was to raise one edge of a blanket to her nose.
“It’s water!” she cried. “Not gasoline at all.”
“Good!” exclaimed Tom. “The radiator burst, of course, and soaked them.
Good enough, Mary. They will be just the thing to protect our heads and
faces. It’s mighty dangerous to breathe smoke-laden air. Now we’ll have
a better chance!”
He saw to it that Mary had the wetter blanket of the two, then, with the
coverings held in readiness to use should they approach too near any
flame, the two in such a desperate plight started in that direction
where the flames and smoke seemed least thick and menacing.
All about the girl and the youth the fire was raging. There was no
difficulty now in hearing the crackling of the flames or the crash as
some big tree, burned through, fell in the path of the raging element.
Tom listened, thinking he might hear the shouts of the fire-fighters,
and it was his hope that they might come to the rescue.
Though there might have been men and boys near the two imperiled ones,
their presence could not make itself known above the roar and crackle of
the flames.
For a time it seemed as if Tom and Mary might win through to safety by
keeping on in the direction they first took. They went on for some
distance, now and then stopping to let what wind there was blow aside a
curtain of choking, blinding smoke.
So far had they progressed that Tom was on the point of calling: “I
think we’re going to make it, Mary!” when, almost as he spoke, a curtain
of smoke was swept aside and they saw a line of flame directly in their
path over which it was impossible to leap and through which it was
certain death to pass. Hitherto they had jumped several little, low
lines of fire, which were low because they had little on which to feed.
But this ahead was part of the main blaze, and it needed only one glance
at it to tell Tom and his companion that further progress was blocked in
that direction.
“No go!” gasped Tom, shutting his eyes a moment to ease the smart and
burn caused by the smoke.
“I should say not!” agreed Mary. “Suppose you go down that way and try a
little to the left. It doesn’t seem quite so smoky there.”
Tom looked, and was of the same opinion.
“Better put the blanket over your head,” he told the girl. “It seems to
be getting hotter and more sparks are falling. They might catch in your
hair.”
The thickly woven blankets, wet as they were with water from the broken
engine radiator, would prove a good protection against sparks.
Accordingly, Mary threw hers over her head and Tom did likewise. Then he
dashed in the direction the girl had indicated. But they did not get as
far along this trail as they had on the other before they were stopped
by a wall of fire.
“Oh, dear!” sighed Mary. “What are we going to do?” She felt helpless
and almost hysterical, but for Tom’s sake, resolutely held herself in
control.
“Got to try some other direction!” gasped Tom, opening the blanket
around his face a little so he could breathe more freely. “We’ve got to
get out!”
Apparently, the only other course was to retreat and try the right,
thought Tom, since the left had proved impracticable. And it was this
decision—the only one possible under the circumstances—which
eventually saved them.
No sooner had Tom taken the lead and gone a few steps down what seemed a
fairly well defined path than he gave a shout of exultation.
“What is it?” cried Mary. “Do you see a way out? I don’t. The smoke
seems thicker than ever!”
“It is,” Tom said. “But we’ll soon be all right. I know where I am now.
I know it by that big rock. A little way down this path is a cave. It’s
near a brook, and though the brook may be dried up, the cave will make a
place in which we can be safe from the fire. It’s always damp in that
cave. Besides, there’s nothing in it to burn. Come on, Mary!”
“Are you sure you’re right, Tom? It looks worse than ever in that
direction!”
“Yes, I know where I am now,” he replied. “We’ll soon be all right!”
Though Tom spoke positively, Mary had her doubts, especially as it got
hotter and smokier as they went down the path and the crackle of the
flames was louder.
But once Tom Swift had been in a certain place, he never forgot it. He
had an excellent sense of direction, and his memory had not played him
false on this occasion.
Running along the edge of a tract of brambles and briars that were
beginning to burn fiercely and looking back to see that Mary was
following, Tom led the way down a little gulch. He seemed to be going
right into the heart of the flames, and had Mary not known him as well
as she did she might have feared to follow.
But she kept on, and a little later Tom came to a stop at the edge of a
black, yawning hole in the side of a hill.
“Here’s the place!” he cried. “And there’s the brook! Some water in it,
too, which is the best luck yet. We’ll have time to wet the blankets and
get a drink! My mouth is parched!”
Mary, too, suffered from thirst, but she had made up her mind not to say
anything about it for the present. Now, however, that there was a chance
to get a drink, the thirst seemed to rush upon her irresistibly.
The fire had not yet reached the little gully, but the trees and bushes
on the top of the ridge beneath which extended the cave were starting to
burn.
“We’ll have a few seconds,” Tom remarked. “Come on down to the brook.”
In spring, following the rains and the melting of snow, the brook was of
goodly size. Now it was much smaller, though Tom knew it widened and
deepened about half a mile farther down.
The two laved their hands and faces in the cooling water, drank
copiously of it, and then soaked their blankets well. Then, as a fiercer
crackling of flames than any yet warned them that the fire was
advancing, Tom cried:
“Come on!”
Up from the edge of the brook they ran and into the cool, dark and
friendly shelter of the cave. They reached it only just in time, for
they were no sooner inside than a shower of sparks and burning brands,
falling into some dry sticks, leaves and grass near the mouth of the
cavern, sent a sheet of flame directly across it.
“Now let the fire burn itself out—and it won’t take long at this rate!”
cried Tom, as he and Mary stood in comparative safety, free from the
menace of fire and out of that blinding, choking smoke.
Then, to Tom’s surprise, Mary burst out crying.