ed. So he staggered
on through the dusky woods. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes had
passed. He felt sure he had been running an hour and that his watch had
stopped. He held it to his ear. The steady ticking somewhat reassured him.
After what seemed like another long interval he ventured to look at it
again. Five minutes more had elapsed. Five minutes remained before Willie
would be at his post waiting for a possible message. Charley crowded on
all the speed that was left in him. But his feet seemed to be made of
lead. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs. His lungs seemed nigh
to bursting.

"Five minutes more," he kept muttering to himself. "Only five minutes
more. I've got to make it. Only five minutes more."

Suddenly he came to their camp. In his weariness he had not recognized any
landmarks. He could hardly believe it was their camp. But there were the
grub bag hanging on a wire, the dishes piled by the fire, and the wireless
instruments protected by the pack bags.

"Thank God for the wireless!" gasped Charley, as he threw himself on the
ground beside his key. He tried to flash a call, but his hand trembled so
he could not form the letters correctly. He dropped flat on his back to
rest for a moment, glancing at his watch as he lay there. It lacked one
minute of seven.

For sixty seconds Charley lay prostrate, looking at the second-hand on his
watch as it went round. Then he sat up. The minute's rest had steadied him
wonderfully. He moved his switch, pressed his finger on the key, and sent
the bright sparks flashing between his gap points.

"CBWC--CBWC--CBWC--CBC," he called, then paused to listen.

There was no response. An anxious look crept into his eyes.
"CBWC--CBWC--CBWC--CBC," again he called.

No answering signal sounded in his ear. His face went white.
"CBWC--CBWC--CBWC--CBC," he rapped out anxiously. And without listening
for a reply, he repeated the message frantically half a dozen times. Then
a buzzing sounded in his ears. A look of relief came on his face. He
sighed. Willie was acknowledging his call signal.

"Good-morning," continued Willie. "Caught any trout yet?"

"The forest is afire!" flashed back Charley. "Get the district forester on
the telephone instantly. His headquarters are at Oakdale. Tell him the
fire is in the third valley east of Old Ironsides; that the message is
from the two boys he met yesterday; that we are trying to hold it. Ask
what we shall do. I'll wait for h