every spark in the distance they had covered.  Only at one point did he find fire smouldering.  He beat out the sparks and went on.  He could see almost nothing.  The smoke grew thicker and thicker.  Through it he began to distinguish the red glare of the flames.  Ever louder sounded the crackle of fire.  From a low, humming sound it grew, as he drew near, into a subdued roar.  Then all other sounds were lost in the greater tumult of the forest fire.

Now he came close to the flames.  The heat was terrific.  The smoke choked him.  He could hardly breathe.  The roar of the fire was terrifying.  Hitherto he had felt no fear.  Now a feeling of alarm suddenly seized him.  What if Lew had been overcome by smoke and burned in his absence?  The possibility had never occurred to him before.

“Lew!  Lew!” he shouted at the top of his voice, and started along the line of the fire.  There was no reply.  At least Charley heard none.

“Lew!  Lew!” he cried.  “Where are you?”

But no voice answered through the smoke.

“If he’s down, I’ll find him or die trying,” muttered Charley to himself.

His face was grim and set as he started along the line of the fire again, paying no heed to the flames but looking only for his chum.  Every few yards he stopped and shouted.  But no answer ever reached him.

On he went, rod after rod, keeping as near the flames as he dared.  He saw nothing of his friend.  He came to a point where a tongue of fire had run far in advance of the remainder of the blaze.  It seemed to be traveling twice as fast as the rest of the flames.

“The header!” he cried to himself.  “Here’s where we ought to be at work.  But I must find Lew first.  He certainly never got beyond this header.”

Charley stopped and called.  Again and again he shouted.  There was no response.

“Maybe he went back to look for me and I passed him in the smoke,” thought Charley.  “I’ll go back to the brook.”

He turned to retrace his steps.  Something suddenly flashed into flame close beside him.  It caught Charley’s attention.  He saw it was a pine bough.  Then he noticed that it had been freshly cut.

“It’s Lew’s brush,” cried Charley.  “He must have been here.”

He sank on his knees close to the blazing bough, and heedless of smoke and flame began to examine the ground carefully.  He ran his fingers lightly over the leaves, feeling for footprints.  At first he found nothing.  Then he discovered the impression of a heel.  He could not be certain which way the footprint pointed.

With the heel mark as a centre, he began to feel about in a circle two or three feet wide.  He judged that would be the length of his chum’s stride.  Twice he felt around the circle before he found a second footprint.  It was in the direction of the brook.  He moved forward and searched where he thought the third step should have fallen.  Here he distinctly saw the mark of a foot.  When he rose to his feet his coat sleeve was beginning to smoke and his face was blistered.