As long as the darkness of night held down the
temperature, this spark merely smouldered. When, however, the rays of
the sun gathered heat, it had burst into flame.
This sun made all the difference in the world. Where, in the cool of the
night, the flames had crept slowly, now they leaped forward with a
fierce crackling; green brush that would ordinarily have resisted for a
long time, now sprang into fire at a touch. The conflagration spread
from a single point in all directions, running swiftly, roaring in a
sheet of fire, licking up all before it.
The work was fierce in its intensity. Bob, in common with the others,
had given up trying--or indeed caring--to protect himself. His clothes
smoked, his face smarted and burned, his skin burned and blistered. He
breathed the hot air in gasps. Strangely enough, he did not feel in the
least tired.
He did not need to be told what to do. The only possible defence was
across a rock outcrop. To right and left of him the other men were
working desperately to tear out the brush. He grubbed away trying to
clear the pine needles and little bushes that would carry the fire
through the rocks like so many powder fuses.
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