t. The camp itself had been made under a
dozen big yellow pines. A bright little fire flickered. About it stood
utensils from which the men were rather dispiritedly helping themselves.
Bob saw that the long pine needles had been scraped together to make
soft beds, over which the blankets had been spread. Amy herself, her
cheeks red, her eyes bright, was passing around tin cups of strong
coffee, and tin plates of food. Her horse, saddled and bridled, stood
nearby.

"Take a little of this," she urged Bob, "and then turn in."

Bob muttered his thanks. After swallowing the coffee, however, he felt
his energies reviving somewhat.

"How did you leave things at the lower end?" Morton was asking him.

"All out but two or three smouldering old stubs," replied Bob.
"Everything's safe."

"Nothing's safe," contradicted Morton. "By rights we ought to watch
every minute. But we got to get some rest in a long fight. It's the cool
of the morning and the fire burns low. Turn in and get all the sleep you
can. May need you later."

"I'm all in," acknowledged Bob, throwing back his blanket; "I'm willing
to say so."

"No more fire in mine," agreed young Elliott.

The other men said nothing, but fell to their beds. Only Charley Morton
rose a little stiffly to his feet.

"Aren't you going to turn in too, Charley?" asked the girl quickly.

"It's daylight now," explained the ranger, "and I can see to ride a
horse. I reckon I'd better ride down the line."

"I've thought of that," said Amy. "Of course, it wouldn't do to let the
fire take care of itself. See; I have Pronto saddled. I'll look over the
line, and if anything happens I'll wake you."

"You must be about dead," said Charley. "You've been up all night fixing
camp and cooking----"

"Up all night!" repeated Amy scornfully. "How long do you think it
takes me to make camp and cook a simple little breakfast?"

"But the country's almighty rough riding."

"On Pronto?"

"He's a good mountain pony," agreed Charley Morton; "California John
picked him out himself. All right. I do feel some tired."

This was about six o'clock. The men had slept but a little over an hour
when Amy scrambled over the rim of the dike and dropped from her horse.

"Charley!" she cried, shaking the ranger by the shoulder; "I'm sorry.
But there's fresh smoke about half-way down the mountain. There was
nothing left to burn fresh inside the fire line, was there? I thought
not."

Twenty minutes later a