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“I got an orful cold, goin’ in an’ out so orften,” he complained. “There’s a better way,” Billy called, when the deputy leading started to climb back as he had come. “Follow the creek; there’s a trail.” He laughed coarsely. “George Smith’s kid, all right. You’ve got the same high way with you.” In the short moments that had passed since their coming the Sheriff saw that the fire had gained perilously. Instead of sparks great flaming brands dropped all around them; the crests of the ravine were sheets of fire that swept downward, wrapping every tree and shrub in their path, making of the pines huge towers of flame..