Ernest's.
Hurry, Marian, hurry!"

Chicken Little gathered up Jilly and started on the run.

Both Marian and Jane reached the stable yard just as Sherm drove the
heavy farm wagon clattering out of the gate. They hurriedly climbed in
and Sherm lashed the horses into a gallop. As they passed the cottage,
Marian exclaimed: "Did you get matches either of you?"

Sherm slowed up the team and examined his pockets.

"A handful."

"Stop a moment--I'll run fetch a box. It takes a lot." Chicken Little
was over the wheel before the words were fairly out of her mouth.

She was back in a jiffy with the matches, which she proceeded to divide
among them, while the horses leaped forward again.

"Stop on the backbone where the Santa Fe trail strikes the road."

Precisely four minutes later Sherm pulled up the panting team. Chicken
Little promptly took command. She had been out many times with her
father and brothers and knew exactly what to do.

"Wet your mop--take a bucket of water and fire right along the trail,
Marian,--that buffalo grass burns slow. Call if it starts to get away
from you. I'll begin there by the hedge. Drive about fifty yards farther
on, Sherm,--the horses will stand. Fill all the buckets and wet the
extra mops. We're liable to want them in a rush."

"All right, Jane, save your breath--you'll need it. Careful there, Mrs.
Morton, beat out the flames along the trail as you go. Never mind how
fast it whoops the other way. Caesar's ghost! that fire is getting
close!"

The waving, irregular lines of flame on the hillside were coming
steadily on, now leaping up several feet high as the breeze freshened,
now creeping close to the ground when the gusts died away. The wind was
fitful.

Marian and Sherm both had their trail of fire flickering into a blaze
before Chicken Little got hers kindled. Her hands shook so she could
hardly hold the match. The first flickered and went out, a second, then
a third, blackened, before she could coax the stubbly grass to burn. She
caught up a bunch of weeds, set it blazing in her hand and dragged it
swiftly along the ground. Tiny swirls of yellow flame wavered in her
wake, crackled feebly for an instant in the shorter herbage, then,
reaching out tongues into the longer blue stem beyond, leaped forward
like a frolicsome animal. Sherm's and Marian's lines of fire were eating
their way merrily toward hers on each side.

It was easy to beat out the flame in the Buffalo grass, whic