Shuddering, Mary pointed to the encircling and advancing flames. As yet no clouds of smoke had blown their way, but it was only a question of time when the choking, acrid fumes would almost smother them—blind them. “There must be some way out!” muttered the young inventor. Desperately he scanned the ever-narrowing circle of fire about him and Mary. What could be done? Dry as the woods were for lack of rain, yet the trees and bushes were green, and burned in a certain, slow way which alone might prove the salvation of the two. Had this been fall, with a mantle of dried leaves on the ground, the fire would have flashed through as though igniting gunpowder. As it was, the closing in of the ring of fire was gradual. This, at least, gave Tom a chance to search his mind for some way out. He gave a last despairing look up into the tree where hung the wreck of the _Hummer_. Truly, if the crash had not destroyed the little machine beyond hope of repair, the flames would soon finish her. But Tom was not a youth to sigh long where it did no good. His chief concern must now be to save Mary and himself. “We’ve got to get out of this!” he cried. “It will soon be too hot for us.” “But can we get out?” Mary’s lips were white, but she now had control of herself. “I think so,” Tom replied. “While it looks as though there was a solid ring of fire about us, there must be breaks in it here and there—places where there is comparatively bare ground, big rocks and so on, that will make a passageway for us. We must try to find one of these places, Mary. Now follow, but keep right behind me.” Tom said this because he wanted to be prepared to save Mary should a sheet of flame suddenly spout up in front of them. “Wait a minute!” cried the girl, as Tom would have made a dash toward a place where the smoke and fire seemed less dense and fierce. “What’s the matter?” “Can’t we use these? Wrap them about our hands and faces in case we get too near the fire?” asked Mary. She pointed to two closely woven woolen blankets that had fallen out of the forward cockpit of the _Hummer_. Tom had stowed these away to be used on occasional trips when he went up to such an altitude that it was very cold, and a blanket about his legs and those of his passenger might add immeasurably to their comfort. With the tilting of the plane the blankets had fallen out shortly after Tom and Mary had climbed down from the tree. “I’ve often read of persons wrapping their head in wet blankets to pass through flames,” said the girl. “And these two are wet, Tom, look, sopping wet.” “Be careful they aren’t soaking in gasoline!” warned the young man, as Mary picked up the coverings. “I guess that’s what happened—the gas tank sprang a leak.” Mary’s answer was to raise one edge of a blanket to her nose. “It’s water!” she cried. “Not gasoline at all.”