Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] by Keep a Little Secret Page B

hell,” John swore beside her.
    Before their eyes, at the edge of the corral pens southof the livery stable and beside the first cluster of worker cabins, bedlam reigned. Within the nearly impenetrable smoke that
     pulsed and billowed into the blue sky, flickering tongues of red and yellow flame showed through, racing ever forward, with
     the fences caught in its advance already ablaze. Shapes ran around wildly in the gloom, releasing the stock. As she watched,
     horrified, Charlotte could hear the unmistakable sound of the fire’s onslaught, a crackle and popping punctuated by an occasional
     human shout or a horse’s terrified whinny, even over the ticking of the truck’s engine and the pounding of her own heart.
     John had been right to worry.
    “What… what do we do?” Charlotte asked.
    John grimaced, his hands tight on the truck’s steering wheel. “We damn well better stop it, that’s what.”
    John brought the truck to a skidding halt just before the large barn that housed the ranch’s horse tack. Though she was only
     a few feet from the open doors, Charlotte could hardly see the saddles, stirrups, bridles, reins, harnesses, and bits that
     lined the walls, so dense was the smoke. From the Becks’ cottage where John first sensed something was wrong, it had looked
     as if the smoke was just gently rising up into the sky, but now, down on the ground where the fire raged, swirling, hot winds
     pushed the flames, choking out the light of the summer sun and gagging those unfortunate enough to inhale it. Charlotte coughed
     involuntarily, even as she held the sleeve of her blouse againsther nose. Carefully, she moved around the truck as John shouted angrily.
    “What in the hell happened?” he bellowed.
    “We ain’t rightfully sure, Mr. Grant,” a man answered. Blinking in the stinging smoke, Charlotte thought that it might have
     been Dave Powell but couldn’t be certain. “Come up outta nowhere, all sudden like, and ’fore we knew it, it was right on top
     of us! Been a struggle ever since.”
    “Any idea what started it?”
    “None, sir.”
    “How broad is it? Is it all the way across the western flank of the ranch?”
    “No, sir, it ain’t. From what I can tell it’s in a pretty narrow strip, just right here around the pens and barn. Thank the
     Lord that there ain’t much of a wind or who knows how big a mess we’d have. If the wind was gustin’, I’d be worried ’bout
     it reachin’ all the way to Sawyer.”
    All around them, men darted about in the churning smoke, frantically shouting instructions. Charlotte felt terror rising within
     her. Just driving to the tack barn had been frightening, but barreling full speed into the teeth of a fire in dense, choking
     smoke was crazy! They might run headlong into something or someone they couldn’t see. Frantically, she peered through the
     blaze for John. His reaction was remarkable; though he was clearly upset, he remained focused on getting control of the fire.
    “Where’s Del?”
    “He was one of the first ones out to fight the blaze,” the man replied. “Got one hell of a burn up his arm for his troubles.”
    John frowned. “Did anyone set about startin’ a backfire?”
    “Hale’s got a group of men over at the well haulin’ buckets back to where the worst of it is,” Dave answered; Charlotte was
     finally certain that it was he. “Blankets are bein’ doused in the horse troughs and handed out and we talked ’bout that, ’bout
     startin’ a backfire, but it ain’t done that I know of.”
    “It’s probably too damn late for that anyway,” John said. “The fire’s too close to us out here at the barn for it to do us
     any good, but keep it in mind if we think the ranch house is in danger.”
    “What’s a backfire?” Charlotte asked.
    “Backfirin’s when you light a couple of small fires in the direction you think the big one is headed,” Dave answered; John’s
     attention was elsewhere, his determined gaze