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Nan Sherwood at Pine Camp

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<h2> Chapter XXVI. BUFFETED BY THE ELEMENTS </h2> Nan knew she had never seen it rain so hard before. The falling water was like a drop-curtain, swept across the stage of the open tract of sawdust. In a few minutes they were saturated to the skin. Nan could not have been any wetter if she had gone in swimming. "Oh!" she gasped into Tom's ear. "It is the deluge!" "Never was, but one rain 't didn't clear up yet," he returned, with difficulty, for his big body was sheltering Nan in part, and he was facing the blast. "I know. That's this one," she agreed. "But, it's awful." "Say! Can you point out that tree that smoked?" asked Tom. "Goodness! It can't be smoking now," gasped Nan, stifled with rain and laughter. "This storm would put out Vesuvius." "Don't know him," retorted her cousin. "But it'd put most anybody out, I allow. Still, fire isn't so easy to quench. Where's the tree?" "I can't see it, Tom," declared Nan, with her eyes tightly closed. She really thought he was too stubborn. Of course, if there had been any fire in that tree-top, this rain would put it out in about ten seconds. So Nan believed. "Look again, Nan," urged her cousin. "This is no funning. If there's fire in this swamp." "Goodness, gracious!" snapped Nan. "What a fuss-budget you are to be sure, Tom. If there was a fire, this rain would smother it. Oh! Did it ever pelt one so before?" Fortunately the rain was warm, and she was not much discomforted by being wet. Tom still clung to the idea that she had started in his slow mind. "Fire's no funning, I tell you," he growled. "Sometimes it smoulders for days and days, and weeks and weeks; then it bursts out like a hurricane." "But the rain" "This sawdust is mighty hard-packed, and feet deep," interrupted Tom. "The fire might be deep down." "Why, Tom! How ridiculously you talk!" cried the girl. "Didn't I tell you I saw the smoke coming out of the top of a tree? Fire couldn't be deep down in the sawdust and the smoke come out of the tree top." "Couldn't, heh?" returned Tom. "Dead tree, wasn't it?" "Oh, yes." "Hollow, too, of course?" "I don't know." "Might be hollow clear through its length," Tom explained seriously. "The butt might be all rotted out. Just a tough shell of a tree standing there, and 'twould be a fine chimney if the fire was smouldering down at its old roots." "Oh, Tom! I never thought of such a thing," gasped Nan. "And you don't see the tree now?" "Let me look! Let me look!" cried Nan, conscience-stricken. In spite of the beating rain and wind she got to her knees, still clinging to her big cousin, and then stood upon the broad tongue of the wagon. The horses stood still with their heads down, bearing the buffeting of the storm with the usual patience of dumb beasts. A sheer wall of water seemed to separate them from every object out upon the open land. Behind them the bulk of the forest loomed as another barrier. Nan had really never believed that rain could fall so hard. It almost took her breath. Moreover, what Tom said about the smoking tree began to trouble the girl. She thought of the fire at Pale Lick, of which she had received hints from several people. That awful conflagration, in which she believed two children belonging to her uncle and aunt had lost their lives, had started in the sawdust. Suddenly she cried aloud and seized Tom more tightly. "Cracky! Don't choke a fellow!" he coughed. "Oh, Tom!" "Well" "I think I see it." "The tree that smoked?" asked her cousin. "Yes. There!" For the moment it seemed as though the downpour lightened. Veiled by the still falling water a straight stick rose high in the air ahead of them. Tom chirruped to the horses and made them, though unwilling, go forward. They dragged the heavy cart unevenly. Through the heavy downpour the trail was hard to follow, and once in a while a rear wheel bumped over a stump, and Nan was glad to drop down upon the tongue again, and cling more tightly than ever to her cousin's collar. "Sure that's it?" queried Tom, craning his neck to look up into the tall, straight tree. "I, I'm almost sure," stammered Nan. "I, don't, see, any, smoke," drawled Tom, with his head still raised. The rain had almost ceased, an intermission which would not be of long duration. Nan saw that her cousin's prophecy had been true; the ground actually smoked after the downpour. The sun-heated sawdust steamed furiously. They seemed to be crossing a heated cauldron. Clouds of steam rose all about the timber cart. "Why, Tommy!" Nan choked. "It does seem as though there must be fire under this sawdust now." Tom brought his own gaze down from the empty tree-top with a jerk. "Hoo!" he shouted, and leaned forward suddenly to flick his off horse with the whiplash. Just then the rear wheel on that side slumped down into what seemed a veritable volcano. Flame and smoke spurted out around the broad wheel. Nan screamed. The wind suddenly swooped down upon them, and a ball of fire, flaming sawdust was shot into the air and was tossed twenty feet by a puff of wind. "We're over an oven!" gasped Tom, and laid the whip solidly across the backs of the frightened horses. They plunged. Another geyser of fire and smoke spurted from the hole into which the rear wheel had slumped. Again and again the big horses flung themselves into the collars in an endeavor to get the wheel out. "Oh, Tommy!" cried Nan. "We'll be burned up!" "No you won't," declared her cousin, leaping down. "Get off and run, Nan." "But you—" "Do as I say!" commanded Tom. "Run!" "Where, where'll I run to?" gasped the girl, leaping off the tongue, too, and away from the horses' heels. "To the road. Get toward home!" cried Tom, running around to the rear of the timber cart. "And leave you here?" cried Nan. "I guess not, Mr. Tom!" she murmured. But he did not hear that. He had seized his axe and was striding toward the edge of the forest. For a moment Nan feared that Tom was running away as he advised her to do. But that would not be like Tom Sherwood! At the edge of the forest he laid the axe to the root of a sapling about four inches through at the butt. Three strokes, and the tree was down. In a minute he had lopped off the branches for twenty feet, then removed the top with a single blow. As he turned, dragging the pole with him, up sprang the fire again from the hollow into which the wheel of the wagon had sunk. It was a smoking furnace down there, and soon the felloe and spokes would be injured by the flames and heat. Sparks flew on the wings of the wind from out of the mouth of the hole. Some of them scattered about the horses and they plunged again, squealing. It seemed to Nan impossible after the recent cloudburst that the fire could find anything to feed upon. But underneath the packed surface of the sawdust, the heat of summer had been drying out the moisture for weeks. And the fire had been smouldering for a long time. Perhaps for yards and yards around, the interior of the sawdust heap was a glowing furnace. Nan would not run away and Tom did not see her. As he came plunging back to the stalled wagon, suddenly his foot slumped into the yielding sawdust and he fell upon his face. He cried out with surprise or pain. Nan, horrified, saw the flames and smoke shooting out of the hole into which her cousin had stepped. For the moment the girl felt as if her heart had stopped beating. "Oh, Tom! Oh, Tom!" she shrieked, and sprang toward him. Tom was struggling to get up. His right leg had gone into the yielding mass up to his hip, and despite his struggles he could not get it out. A long yellow flame shot out of the hole and almost licked his face. It, indeed, scorched his hair on one side of his head. But Nan did not scream again. She needed her breath, all that she could get, for a more practical purpose. Her cousin waved her back feebly, and tried to tell her to avoid the fire. Nan rushed in, got behind him, and seized her cousin under the arms. To lift him seemed a giant's task; but nevertheless she tried. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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