The Safety First Club fights fire

When Sam and the Shark plunged into the brush, it was with full belief that they were close upon the trail of the fugitive. Supposedly, too, each had heard the same sounds. It was a curious circumstance, therefore, that they did not keep side by side, but almost from the start drew apart, a fact which escaped Sam’s notice for a little. So intent was he on the pursuit that he failed to observe that the Shark was no longer at his elbow; and discovery of this was delayed until he became aware that the sounds by which he had tried to guide his course had died away. Then, pulling up, he peered eagerly about him. The growth was dense enough to shut off the glare of the fire, and he could make out nothing but lumpy shadows of thickets and black pillars of tree trunks. Even the Shark had vanished in the gloom.

Sam whistled softly, then called. The answer came promptly.

“This way, Sam! You’re off the track.”

“Not a bit of it,” Sam retorted. “But where are you trying to go?”

There was an instant’s pause. Then Sam heard twigs crack under foot, and, presently, made out the Shark approaching.

“What are you waiting for?” the younger boy demanded impatiently.

“You—for one thing,” said Sam. “What did you stray off so for?”

“Stray yourself! I chased a noise till it stopped. Then I stopped, too.”

“Same here! But it’s mighty funny——”

“Huh! I call it exasperating.”

“We won’t fight over words. What I mean is, in a case like this, when two chaps whose hearing is all right, spread like the prongs of a sling-shot—well, it’s queer.”

“I get you. But there’s one explanation: we must be hunting two fellows instead of one. Each of us got after one, and as they scattered, we scattered, too.”

“But where are the two?”

“They’ve either slipped us or outrun us. Or one may have got away, and the other may be hiding within a dozen feet of us.”

“It’s not impossible,” Sam admitted. “But if we search——”

To the left—but not far—something stirred. Sam sprang in the direction of the sounds, which at once grew louder and unmistakable. The hunt was on again, and the quarry was fleeing with more thought of speed than of secrecy.

The Shark was hard on Sam’s heels. On they went, recklessly and almost blindly; for the chase led through dense growth and kept well away from the fire for a time. It bore toward the lake; turned back; sought the deeper woods. Once their course skirted the forefront of flames, and in the glare the boys had glimpses of the fugitive. Then it drove straight through thickets they might have thought impenetrable at any other time. The country grew more irregular in surface. Twice they skirted marshy spots among the hillocks. They climbed low ridges and dashed down into little valleys. In spite of their best efforts they could not be sure they were gaining. They might be running like hounds on a fresh scent, but the game was traveling like a frightened rabbit. Yet, though they might not draw up on the fugitive, they were so close to him that he no longer had a chance to drop unnoticed and let them overrun his hiding place.

For a second time they found themselves on the shore. Then the hare doubled, and led them in an irregular course toward the broken ground. And now the Shark was dropping behind, but Sam was beginning to gain. He could hear the heavy panting of the one who fled before him. Again he had glimpses of the scurrying figure. The light was increasing; for the fellow seemed to be heading straight for the fire. Sam spared breath for an astonished exclamation. He was nearing certainty that he recognized Jack Hagle!

Why should Hagle take so much trouble to avoid a meeting? Sam puzzled over the problem even as he ran. He raised his voice and called, not loudly, to be sure—he lacked wind for a shout—but with sufficient strength to make sure that the hail reached Hagle’s ears. And Jack’s only response was a desperate spurt, which for a moment increased his lead.

Doubt of the other’s sanity seized Sam. Jack now was following a course which bade fair to carry him right into the heart of the conflagration. A second call produced even less effect than the first; for Hagle couldn’t spurt again. Sam began to close the gap between them. It was to be measured in feet rather than in yards; then it was a case of inches intervening between Sam’s outstretched hand and Jack’s shoulder. But the fire was very near now. The glare was all about them; the heat was becoming oppressive; the roar of the flames was in their ears.

“Stop! Stop!” Sam panted. “You—you crazy loon—what’s the matter with you?”

Hagle didn’t stop. Instead, he dodged. The movement saved him from Sam’s descending hand. He plunged blindly down a slope into one of the tiny, pocket-like valleys of the region, which at the moment chanced to be like a peninsula in a sea of fire; for the brush about it was ablaze on every side except that by which he entered.

Sam saw the danger, and was convinced that fear must have driven Hagle mad. He checked his pursuit; Jack was running straight into a trap. He called out, “Come back! Come back!” but Jack gave no heed. He appeared, though, to wake to the peril. At least, he changed course slightly, to avoid a miry pool which lay at the bottom of the depression.

It was as if Sam were looking into a cup, down the slope of which Hagle was slipping. He saw the boy stumble, recover balance, slide to the very edge of the pool; hesitate for a fraction of a second; begin to struggle wildly. There was an instant in which Sam failed to grasp the other’s predicament. Then he perceived that Hagle had been caught in the treacherous footing of the bog; that in spite of his frantic efforts to extricate himself he was sinking rapidly; that already he was mired to the knees.

Sam knew something of the very real peril of the case; quicksands were hardly more engulfing than some of these swampy spots; while the fire added immensely to the need of prompt and efficient aid.

He paused long enough for swift survey of the hollow, of the trees overhanging it, of the advancing flames. By his reckoning there was still time to rescue Hagle, though there was not a moment to waste. He caught a stout branch extending over the pool; clinging to it with one hand, he swung himself down the bank. The branch bent under his weight, but it was sound and of tough fibre. With its help he found that, keeping his feet on comparatively firm ground, he could lean toward the bog and grasp Jack’s collar.

“Steady, there! Keep your head. Try to work one leg free at a time, and we’ll wiggle out, somehow,” he encouraged.

Hagle yielded obedience. Whatever he might have feared from Sam was a trifle compared with his new, and wholly reasonable, fear of the bog and the fire. He did his best to carry out orders; of that there could be no question. But it was no slight task which was to be accomplished. Left to himself, Jack must steadily have sunk deeper in the ooze, and even with Sam’s assistance he could do little more at first than check the sinking. He caught desperately at roots and brush within reach. He floundered almost in the fashion of a novice treading water, now bringing a foot to the surface only to feel its mate becoming more deeply submerged. Sam tugged and pulled, now this way, now that, testing at once the resistance of Hagle’s weight, plus the pull of the bog, and the elasticity of the bough, which was his own dependence in the emergency.

Then the fire came over the ridge, which formed the lip of the cup-like depression. Sam had realized that this soon must happen, and that it had not happened earlier was due to some lucky combination of circumstances, including a greater degree of moisture near the pool than on higher ground. Now, though, a fierce gust caught the flames and swept them along. Little trails of yellow gleamed on the trunk of the tree nearest him, as the bark caught and blazed up. A heap of woodsy debris burst into flame. The heat grew intense. Hagle, in new panic, let go of the brush and clutched wildly at Sam. There was a second in which the branch, bending under its double burden, threatened to break; but, though it creaked dismally, there was no sharp crack of fracture which Sam dreaded to hear. And then, like a most timely reënforcement to a sorely pressed army, came the Shark, panting from his run, half blinded by sweat and smoke, but with his brain in perfect working order.

What the Shark did was simple, but it was done quickly. He picked the best footing that was to be had—it was none too sure footing, at that. He tore off his jacket, tossed an end of the garment within Hagle’s reach.

“Hi there! Let—let Sam alone and hitch on to this!” he shouted, briskly, if brokenly.

Once more Hagle obeyed. He caught the coat and clung to it as a drowning man might cling to a rope. The Shark braced himself as well as he could, and pulled. Sam gave an extra tug at Hagle’s collar. Their combined efforts began to count. Jack succeeded in freeing one leg from the mire, and in keeping it free. Then slowly but surely he managed to draw the other from its imprisonment. The Shark threw every ounce he had into a final magnificent pull. Sam at precisely the right instant relaxed his grip on Jack, who half fell, half was dragged toward the Shark, went down at full length, floundered frantically—and crawled and sprawled to firmer ground. The Shark helped him to his feet, and Sam, who had swung himself down from his bough, got an arm about him.

There still remained an open path for escape from the fire, though it was clear that this way would soon be closed; for the flames were flanking the hollow much as they had surrounded the camp. There was no need to urge going while the going was good. Jack did not dare to look back, but Sam and the Shark, when they mounted the slope, paused to survey swiftly the magnificent, if terrifying, spectacle. Far to left and right ran the surf-like blaze, rising and falling in long billows, breaking as combers break, with showers of fiery spray driving before the strong wind. Involuntarily Sam caught his breath. The savage splendor of it all laid hold upon him, fascinated him. It was left to the Shark to recall him to the practical aspects of their situation by a speech which, oddly enough, was no more practical than Sam’s stirring fancy.

“Huh! Wonder how many millions are going to waste! Geeminy! but I’d like to figure it out!”

“Millions? Millions of what?” Sam asked in bewilderment.

“Huh! Thermal units, of course!” quoth the Shark.

“Ther—ther——?” Sam began; checked himself; laughed explosively; wheeled and began to lead Jack down the pitch on the farther side of the rise.

The Shark followed. He made no effort to resume the discussion, and seemed to be content to hurry after his companions.