"Kid, we ain't forest rangers," said Herky. "Do you know what you're talkin'
about?"
"Yes, yes! Come on! We'll back-fire!"
I led the way down the slope, and they came close at my heels. I rode into
the shallow brook, and dismounted about the middle between the banks. I
hung my coat on the pommel of my saddle.
"Bud, you and Bill hold the horses here!" I shouted, intensely excited.
"Herky, have you matches?"
"Nary a match."
"Hyar's a box," said Bill, tossing it.
"Come on, Herky! You run up the brook. Light a match, and drop it every
hundred feet. Be sure it catches. Lucky there's little wind down here. Go
as far as you can. I'll run down!"
We splashed out of the brook and leaped up the bank. The grass was long and
dry. There was brush near by, and the pine-needle mats almost bordered the
bank. I struck a match and dropped it.
Sis-s-s! Flare! It was almost like dropping a spark into gunpowder. The
flame ran quickly, reached the pine-needles, then sputtered and fizzed into
a big blaze. The first pine-tree exploded and went off like a rocket. We
were startled by the sound and the red, up-leaping pillar of fire. Sudden
heat shot back at us as if from a furnace. Great sparks began to fall.
"It's goin'!" yelled Herky-Jerky, his voice ringing strong.
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