Apparently, the only other course was to retreat and try the right, thought Tom, since the left had proved impracticable. And it was this decision—the only one possible under the circumstances—which eventually saved them. No sooner had Tom taken the lead and gone a few steps down what seemed a fairly well defined path than he gave a shout of exultation. “What is it?” cried Mary. “Do you see a way out? I don’t. The smoke seems thicker than ever!” “It is,” Tom said. “But we’ll soon be all right. I know where I am now. I know it by that big rock. A little way down this path is a cave. It’s near a brook, and though the brook may be dried up, the cave will make a place in which we can be safe from the fire. It’s always damp in that cave. Besides, there’s nothing in it to burn. Come on, Mary!” “Are you sure you’re right, Tom? It looks worse than ever in that direction!” “Yes, I know where I am now,” he replied. “We’ll soon be all right!” Though Tom spoke positively, Mary had her doubts, especially as it got hotter and smokier as they went down the path and the crackle of the flames was louder. But once Tom Swift had been in a certain place, he never forgot it. He had an excellent sense of direction, and his memory had not played him false on this occasion. Running along the edge of a tract of brambles and briars that were beginning to burn fiercely and looking back to see that Mary was following, Tom led the way down a little gulch. He seemed to be going right into the heart of the flames, and had Mary not known him as well as she did she might have feared to follow. But she kept on, and a little later Tom came to a stop at the edge of a black, yawning hole in the side of a hill. “Here’s the place!” he cried. “And there’s the brook! Some water in it, too, which is the best luck yet. We’ll have time to wet the blankets and get a drink! My mouth is parched!” Mary, too, suffered from thirst, but she had made up her mind not to say anything about it for the present. Now, however, that there was a chance to get a drink, the thirst seemed to rush upon her irresistibly. The fire had not yet reached the little gully, but the trees and bushes on the top of the ridge beneath which extended the cave were starting to burn. “We’ll have a few seconds,” Tom remarked. “Come on down to the brook.” In spring, following the rains and the melting of snow, the brook was of goodly size. Now it was much smaller, though Tom knew it widened and deepened about half a mile farther down. The two laved their hands and faces in the cooling water, drank copiously of it, and then soaked their blankets well. Then, as a fiercer crackling of flames than any yet warned them that the fire was advancing, Tom cried: “Come on!”