EIGHTEEN In which
THE CREW OF THE FLASH FIGHTS FIRE WITH FIRE
What good will that do?” demanded Charles. “We can’t possibly cut enough for a decent firebreak!”
Harry unfolded the serrated blade of his sports knife. “It’s not for a firebreak. It’s for fuel.” He grabbed a bunch of the tough prairie grass and sawed off the stems. “Twist it together in a tight bundle, like this, then double it over and tie it with one of the stems.”
“I’ll help.” Elizabeth fished a wicked-looking stiletto from her carpetbag and began hacking off grass and twisting it deftly into miniature sheaves.
Charles fumbled awkwardly with his bundle. “You really think this is going to work?”
“I’d prefer to use wood, but I don’t see any trees, do you?”
“What about buffalo chips?” said Charles.
“Buffalo chips?” Elizabeth echoed.
“Dried manure,” explained Charles. “That’s what the wagon trains used.”
“I don’t see any buffalo, either,” said Harry.
“Got it!” Johnny called, triumphantly holding up the disconnected burner.
“Excellent work, lad!” Harry tossed his grass bundles into the firebox.
Johnny struck one of the lucifer matches he used to light his pipe; the wind promptly blew it out. A second was snuffed out just as fast. “The devil take it!” he muttered.
“Here, I’ll shelter you!” Elizabeth raised the hem of her long skirt high in the air, creating a barrier that blocked the wind. The third match did the trick. The bundles burst into flames, which licked at the bottom of the boiler.
The prairie fire was now no more than a hundred yards away. The smoke from it set them coughing and rubbing at their eyes. Elizabeth transformed her skirt from a windscreen into a basket, scooping into it the rest of the grass sheaves.
“We’ll need to feed them in a few at a time,” said Harry.
“You drive. I’ll feed.” She climbed onto the running board.
“It’s too dangerous!” protested Charles. “You’d better let me—”
“Get in!” she ordered, in a tone that forbade further discussion.
There was enough steam pressure to get them rolling, but just barely. “We would have been better off running!” said Charles.
“Give her a minute or two,” Harry replied calmly. “Johnny designed her to heat up quickly.”
“If we don’t get moving, we’re all going to heat up very quickly!”
“Let’s have some more fuel,” Harry called. Elizabeth clung to the car with one hand and, with the other, stuffed a bundle into the firebox, singeing her fingers.
Though he couldn’t see much through the pall of smoke, Harry knew the flames were almost upon them. If they stayed on the trail, which ran perpendicular to the path of the fire, they were surely lost. He yanked the steering wheel to the right and set off across the open prairie, bounding over abandoned prairie dog mounds. The Flash struck a foot-high anthill, leaped into the air, and came down with a thud that would have broken an ordinary set of springs. “We’ve lost Elizabeth!” cried Charles. “Go back!”
Harry glanced over his shoulder. Elizabeth was on her feet and scrambling after them, still clutching the grass bundles in her skirt. “She’ll catch up,” said Harry.
“She’s injured herself! Look, she’s limping! You’ve got to go back, Fogg!”
Harry pushed in the throttle a bit, and the Flash slowed enough so Elizabeth could overtake them. The moment she was back on the running board, he gave the engine full steam. “More fuel, please.”
Red-faced and panting, Elizabeth crammed another sheaf onto the fire. “There are only a few left!” she gasped.
“That’s all we’ll need.” Harry pointed ahead, where the ground dropped down into a shallow ravine with a line of trees. He barreled down the slope, slackening his speed only a little when they reached the shallow brook at the bottom. The Flash plunged into the water, sending up sheets of spray that drenched them all, then bounded up the far bank.
They stopped at the top of the hill and surveyed the scene behind them. The line of flames swept down the slope as swiftly as the car had. But though the creek was neither wide nor deep, it halted the progress of the blaze. Frustrated, the fire clawed at the trees, scorching bark and low-hanging leaves; when it had consumed all the most flammable fuel, it was reduced to a smoldering mass of blackened grass.
“Well,” said Elizabeth, still breathing heavily. “I certainly have plenty to write about, now.”
“Sorry you were thrown off,” said Harry. “The grass was so high, I couldn’t see the bad spots.”
“I told him to go back for you,” put in Charles. “He refused.”
“No, no, you were right not to stop, Harry. I promised I wouldn’t be a hindrance to you.”
“Not only were you no hindrance,” said Harry, “you were a considerable help.” Taking her wrist, he examined her burned hand. “That must hurt.”
“It does. I was too busy to notice.”
He retrieved a jar of Holloway’s Ointment from their medical bag and gently applied some to her red, blistering fingers. She gave a sharp intake of breath. “Sorry,” said Harry.
“It’s all right. I’m surprised you thought to bring along something so practical as a medical kit.”
“Well, to be perfectly truthful, it would never have occurred to me. My mother insisted upon it.” He wrapped her fingers carefully with gauze and snipped the fabric off with the scissors on his sports knife. “That was quick thinking, holding up your skirt as a windscreen that way.”
“Well, women’s clothing is mainly a nuisance; it’s nice that, for once, it actually proved useful.”
“If you two are quite finished,” said Charles irritably, “may I remind you that it’s going to pour rain any moment now? I think we should be going.”
“My, my,” whispered Elizabeth. “I believe someone is just the slightest bit jealous.”
“I’m afraid he’s not the only one,” Harry replied softly.
Elizabeth glanced at Johnny, who was staring sullenly in their direction. “Oh, the poor boy.”
“Don’t pity him,” said Harry. “He hates that.”
“I won’t.” As they resumed their seats in the Flash, Elizabeth said, “How on earth did you remove the burner so quickly, Johnny?”
“’Tis made that way,” Johnny muttered. “You just loosen a couple of fittings.”
“Well, it was very clever of you. So was designing a boiler that will burn anything. Without it, we’d have been in serious trouble.”
Johnny blushed deeply. Harry glanced back at Charles. He was gazing at Elizabeth as though waiting for her to praise him, too. When she did not, Harry said, “Good work back there, Hardiman. You pitched in and did your part.”
“Oh,” said Charles uncertainly. “Well. Thank you.” Apparently he was unaccustomed to praise. Harry doubted that Julius Hardiman was the sort to offer much approval or encouragement. Well, that made three things the two boys had in common: Eton, The Huge Hunter, and a disapproving father.
“As I recall,” said Charles, “Johnny Brainerd had some close calls, too, when he ran out of steam.”
Harry laughed. “He did at that. It nearly got him scalped, in fact.”
“Who on earth is Johnny Brainerd?” asked Elizabeth.
“The fifteen-year-old dwarf, remember?”
“Oh, bless me,” groaned Elizabeth. “Not him again.”