They could see his dark form dimly outlined in the darker night.
"J. R.'s on the scent," remarked Doc. Carson.
Several fellows rose to join him and just at that minute Westy Martin,
of the Silver Foxes, and a scout from a Maryland troop who had been
stalking, came rushing pell-mell into camp.
"The woods are on fire!" gasped Westy. "Up the hill! Look!"
"I seed it," said Jeb. "The wind's bringin' it."
"You can't get through up there," Westy panted. "We had to go around."
"Ye couldn't get round by now. B'ys, we're a-goin' ter git it for sure.
It's goin' ter blow fire."
For a moment he stood looking up into the woods, with the boys about
him, straining their eyes to see the patches of fire which were visible
here and there. Suddenly these patches seemed to merge and make the
night lurid with a red glare, a perfect pandemonium of crackling and
roaring assailed the silent night and clouds of suffocating smoke
enveloped them.
The fire, like some heartless savage beast, had stolen upon them
unawares and was ready to spring.
Jeb Rushmore was calm and self-contained and so were most of the boys as
they stood ready to do his bidding.
"Naow, ye see what I meant when I said a leopard's as sneaky as a fire,"
said Jeb. "Here, you Bridgeboro troop and them two Maryland troops and
the troop from Washin't'n," he called, "you make a bucket line like we
practiced. Tom--whar's Tom? And you Oakwood b'ys, git the buckets out'n
the provish'n camp.
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