back."

He got to his feet, but at first had to be supported. Charley made him lie
down again. In a few minutes his strength seemed to return to him. He got
up.

"I'm all right now, Charley," he insisted. "I mightn't be awake yet if you
hadn't thrown that water on my face. Thanks, old man."

Charley did not tell Lew how near to death he had been. Instead, he said,
"Are you sure you're strong enough to tackle that fire again?"

"Sure as shooting," nodded Lew.

"Then come on. The fire has an awful start on us. The forester wants us to
try to hold the header by back-firing."

As they started toward the blaze Lew said, "We'll have to work some
distance in advance of it. If only we had rakes we might conquer it even
yet."

They made their way to a point well in front of the header. Then they cut
sticks and made little bundles of them to use like rakes.

"I'll clear away the leaves and you start the fire," directed Charley.

He began raking away the leaves, clearing a sort of path about two feet
wide straight across the line of the advancing header. Lew lighted the
leaves on the side of the cleared space toward the header, following close
upon Charley's heels. From time to time he ran back along the cleared
space to make sure the flames had not jumped across it. Wherever they had,
he beat them out with his brush. On the other side of the cleared space
the flames slowly worked their way toward the onrushing header, widening
with every minute the barren area where the flames could find no fuel to
feed upon.

Rod after rod Charley cleared a narrow lane and Lew kept close behind him
with his torch. With amazing rapidity they extended their line.

"If only we had the Wireless Patrol here," panted Lew, "we'd lick this old
fire to a frazzle."

On and on they went. To save their strength they exchanged tasks at
intervals. Every few minutes they faced about and ran back over their line
to make sure no flames had crossed the cleared space. The air was dense
with smoke, but the heat from their back-fire was trifling in comparison
with that of the main conflagration. The stand of timber grew thicker,
breaking the force of the breeze more and more. Their back-fire ate its
way into the wind much faster, and the real fire came on slower. It seemed
to be getting farther and farther away.

"We've passed the header," cried Charley exultantly. "We ought to be able
to hold the main fire."

They rested a moment, then went at the