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CHAPTER I
filled his eyes nnd his
S MOKE
throat. Heat, so Intense that
it seemed to be fluid, poured over
them. The sound of the speeder’s
motor and the clatter of Its wheels
on the uneven rails wus almost
drowned in the raging voice of the
fire; and Tod, an arm around him.
holding him close as they rocked
and swayed down the grade, was
trembling.
But he wasn’t going to cry, even
if he was more scared than he ever
had been in his seven years of ex­
perience. Not much, he wasn't!
He hugged the precious letter-tile
with old Jack's pay-roll in it closer,
and tried to look ahead; and when
he saw living flames from the burn­
ing cars of chemical wood swept
across the track like a curtain, he
threw himself flat and squeezed his
eyes shut and held his breath, and
did not complain with so much as
a grunt when Tod's big body,
sprawling suddenly over his small
one, made his ribs bend out of
shape. No, sir! This was no time
to act like a baby!
Headquarters was going, sure
enough, but they were getting good
old Jack’s money out to safety.
That was his Job: to help save
good old Jack from going bust.
When you've got a Job like that,
for a man like that, you can't let
on you’re scared, can you? No;
not even at seven, you can't!
He had been outside the office,
standing In the deserted camp
clearing, staring off up the road
which Jack and the crew had talien
before daylight, and where the
cook had just gone with dinner
for the fire-lighters, when the book­
keeper called to him.
"Listen, Kerry,” Tod had said.
"I want you to sit right here un­
til I call you or come back. Wind’s
getting worse.”
His big, ordinarily good-natured
face was white, and fine beads of
moisture pricked out above his eye
brows.
“Sure,” said Kerry Young, and
swallowed, Ills heart going faster
with Tod looking so scared.
"Now, listen, careful. I took the
payroll out of the cash drawer,
see! It’s In this letter-file — this
one, right here.” He laid his hand
on the brown box on top of the
safe. Another file was on the desk,
and more on a shelf above it; but
Tod put his hand right on that
special one. “I’m goln’ out to scout
around. It anything happens, It
may happen fast. The speeder’s
right on the track, now—right by
the water-tank, there. If I yell, you
bring the file and come a-runnin'.
Understand that?”
“Sure, Tod,” said Kerry, and
swallowed again, even If his mouth
was drier than ever.
“Good boy! Everybody’s got to
do bls part, time like this."
He went out, then, and Kerry-
sat down on a chair with his
breath flattery in his throat Re­
sponsibility sat heavily on his small
shoulders, but he’d do just what
Tod had told him to do. That pay­
roll was old Jack’s money, nnd he’d
break bls neck to help old Jack,
he would! Good old Jack, who
had found him in the house the
day before his mother died, ami
got the doctor and did all that he
could do, and who, after it was all
over and he was alone, brought
him to camp. That had been win­
ter before last, nnd it looked ns If
he was going to stay with Jack
forever. He certainly hoped so.
Nobody In the world could be so
kind to a little boy who had no­
body else to look out for him as
could old Jack, nnd breaking your
neck for a man like that would be
little enough to do.
Jack had been so worried since
the fire started, day before yester­
day! He had been In town when
It came up, and had cotne back.
driving the engine himself, snak­
ing the empties over the steel tit
to shake the stakes out.
The crew was on tlie fire then,
of course, and old Jack's voice,
generally so good-natured, was
sharp as a knife when he ques­
tioned Tod who was telephoning
lor more wardens. Jack stuffed
the payroll money into the safe as
lie talked, and then, telling Tod
certain things to do all in one
breath, he jumped into the waiting
buckboard and galloped to the
southward, where a mlle-wlde front
of slash fire advanced toward
camp.
Kerry waked tip when Jack came
In that night. Their room was next
the office, with a big bed and a lit­
tle one; and he lay In his little one
and looked through the open door­
way and saw Jack standing by the
desk, shirt all scorched, hair
singed, talking lowly to Tod. It
was bad, he said. He'd brought
"Kid, Which File Did You Bring?”
half the crew In to get some rest;
he’d turn In himself and try to
catch a wink, because with all that
chopping afire, tomorrow was go­
ing to be hell Itself. . . .
And tomorrow was, with the tel
ephone ringing and help from town
coming through all day, and the
smoke thick and thicker.
But at breakfast tills morning,
eaten before the first crack of
dawn, Jack had said:
“We got an even break, now.
We’d ought to hold her, but you
never can tell. Why, yesterday,
some of them damn’ birch stubs got
burnin’ clean to the top. 'nd I’ll
bet they was throwin’ live brands
half a mile ahead of ’em."
“And they might go further than
that,” Tod West commented.
They might, another said; not
likely, but still they might and
then Jack pulled Tod to one side
where nobody but Kerry could hear
and said:
"Since tills thing broke I've
thought no more about pay-roll
than the boys have about pay day.
Shows I’m gettln' old. You’ll be
here. Tod. Somebody with a head
on ’em’s got to stay by the tele­
phone again. • It ain't likely she’ll
get away from us. If she does, it
nin't likely she'll get clean to camp
in a hurry. But if anything should
happen, you get that pay-roll into
town. Sliver's all right, but it's
mostly bills and bills'd burn sure
In that old safe of mine.”
"They sure would," agreed Tod.
Then Jack had looked at Kerry.
“Be good boy, son I” he said
cheerily, as If he were only going
out on the Job and not to a fire
line. "Be good boy,”—and tweaked
Kerry’s ear playfully.
“And him,” he said to Tod, sud
denly sober and jerking his head
at the lad. "Twenty-two hunderd.
small as it Is, ’d bust me right now,
so get that out if anything pops.
But him ... If you get a chance,
send him Into town anyways." . .
So Kerry knew that Jack thought
more of him than lie did of going
bust.
He sat there a long time, feeling
important. it wasn't much that
he could do for Jack ever, but
now, watching that tile, he knew
that if fire should come into camp
he’d grab that box and get to the
speeder faster than he had ever
gotten anywhere before In his life.
He rose finally and looked through
the window toward the water tank
where the speeder waited.
Tod
West was just then coming up
from the alders along the creek,
looking around in a funny way,
as If he expected to see somebody
or something alarming;
When, only minutes later, he
heard Tod bawling his name, his
lieart went fllppety-flop and almost
choked him.
"Kerry 1 . . . Kerry! . . . A run
nln’, Kerry!”
And he was running desperately,
hugging the file against his belly.
He threw a look to bls left where
a streamer of thick, white smoke
was coming up to mingle with the
blue haze which had been drifting
through camp for three days. Brush
was on tire south of the barn.
Tod began trying to save the
cook shanty and Kerry wondered
why lie didn’t throw water on the
office, which was In greater danger,
but Tod, too, was terribly excited.
“She's goln’!" Tod yelled. “Old
office's goln’, Kerry!" His voice
was funny, for all the world ns
though he were glad because the
office was being licked by hungry
fast-devouring flames.
He did not start away at once.
He stood there priming the motor
slowly, spilling gasoline, because
his hands shook so much. He kept
his eyes on the office where flames
were licking at the roof, eating
Into the hewn log sides.
"She’s goln’, Kerry 1” he said and
gave a queer laugh which made
the boy wonder if-grown men, also,
sometimes laughed when they fell
like crying.
He glanced at Kerry, then, and
at the letter-file and licked his
lips.
“Sure you got the right one?"
he asked.
"The one you told me,”—stout­
ly. “We'd better haul, hadn’t we?”
“Just a minute, now!”
He waited, standing there and
watching while a part of the of­
fice roof tumbled in. Only then
did he shove the speeder ahead un­
til the motor caught and coughed.
And then they were zooming past
the siding, and he screamed from
the heat that beat upon him; op­
ened his throat and yelled and
writhed against the weight of Tod's
body. Then, suddenly, the torture
was past and he was half sitting
up and they were hitting It down
the grade.
Then lie felt better and they
were clicking over the switch
points and here was town and the
motor stopped and Tod West was
calling out to somebody with a lot
more excitement than he bad
shown back at camp that Jack's
headquarters were burning.
A group quickly gathered, mostly
old men and boys, because the best
man power of town was out on the
fire line, and they followed Tod
and Kerry across the street to the
bank.
They crowded Into the bank nnd
a man rose from bis desk behind
the counter.
“Jack's headquarters are gone,”
said Tod. handing the file to the
man. “But we brought in the pay­
roll. Did my damnedest to save
something of camp but I was alone.
Kerry, here, lugged the money out
of the office Just in time.'*
“That's fine,” said the banker,
pressing the catch of *he file.
"That's sure lucky! I happen to
know that if Jack should lose—”
He stopped short, then, and Tod
leaned forward and the others
pressed up close, attracted by the
look on West’s face, likely. It was
a look that even a seven-year-old
boy would notice.
“Why,” the banker said, “why,
Tod, It’s empty!”
A moment of terrific silence fol­
lowed and then Tod looked down at
Kerry and said In a queer, un­
friendly wny:
“Kid, which file did you bring?"
The boy swallowed, with a new
sort of thrill running his small
frame.
“Why,” he said, “why, I fetched
. . . You told me the one on the
safe. Tod!”
The bookkeeper swore slowly un­
der Ids breath and looked at the
banker.
"Good God, I trusted him!” he
said in a whisper.
The other clicked his tongue.
•‘Oli-h!” lie said, long-drawn. "But
he's only a little boy,” he added
and slapped the file shut “That
surely is going to be tough for
Jack 1”
Kerry’s knees were shaking and
there seemed to be a vacant place
in his middle.
"Tod, what’s the matter?" he
asked shrilly. “Tod, Is the money
back yonder? Did it burn up, Tod?"
And then, summoning nil Ills vigor,
“Tod, I done just what you told
me 1”
West shook his head, "No, you
didn't understand,” lie said In a
moan. "You didn’t understand, and
the. money’s burned sure as heli
Ket/in fa now____
FLAME in the FOREST
A Big Woods Serial With Action
By Harold Titus
Start right here on one of
the swiftest, smackin’est
adventures of your whole
life. Never before has even
this noted writer of out­
door adventure stories
reached the peak of two-
fisted he-man action of
FLAME IN THE FOREST.
Begin today with Kerry
Young in his determined
search for the man who
wronged him when he was
only a boy—you’ll never give
up until you’ve finished the
last thrilling chapter! Start
FLAME LN THE FOREST
now.
THIS IS THE
FIRST INSTALLMENT
Begin now and follow FLAME IN THE
FOREST every week in this newspaper
and ... My God, boys, It’s my
fault I”
Someone said: “It ain't your
fault. Tod. The kid, he got rat­
tled.”
Another said: “It’U be all day
with old Jack now 1”
They all looked at the boy and
he knew they were blaming him.
All but Tod. Tod did not look his
way; there was something funny
about Tod’s eyes.
His nostrils smarted and a lump
swelled In his throat suddenly. A
helpless feeling ran his bones and
a sense of having been put-upon,
abused, outraged. Jack had gone
bust because his pay - roll was
burned up but he had done Just as
he had been told to do. . . .
And before he knew what he
was doing, he was sobbing just
that:
“I fetched the one you told me I
I did! I did!”
He got that far before his sobs
choked him and he slunk to a cor­
ner, burying his face in his arms.
Old Jack was bust and they said it
was because he got rattled when
he had done as he’d been told and
tried his best to help 1
CHAPTER II
RAINED toward evening and
I T Jack
Snow got to town at dusk.
He had heard about his camp, of
course, but he had not heard about
the loss of his pay-roll. And when
they told him he said nothing for,
perhaps, a quarter of a minute but
In those seconds he aged. Before,
men had called him Old Jack be­
cause they loved him. . . After­
ward, he was an old man, In fact.
The first thing he said after he
knew the worst that had happened
referred to Kerry. He looked at
the boy and winked and managed a
sort of grin and said: "But you're
all right, son!” as if that were all
he would admit as being of any Im­
portance.
And after that he said but lit­
tle for days. He appeared to lis­
ten when people talked but If he
heard he seldom answered prop­
erly.
Once he said to Kerry, when they
were alone In their room at the
mill boarding house:
“Tough, to let a coupla thousand
bust you. . . . But it was that
dost.”
He managed to rustle enough to
pay off the crew; that Is, those
who would take what they had
coming.
He began to be feverish and
talked at night In his sleep, holding
the little boy close In his arms
while the tremors ran through him.
Tod Wdst came to say good-bye
and declared again that it was his
fault, that he should have fetched
the letter-file himself.
Jack roused from his lethargy.
“Fault, hell?" he snorted and spit,
the way he used to do.
"You
dfine your damnedest, both of
you!’’
(TO BE CONTINUED)