“Let’s get a blanket!” I
yelled at Lester. “Maybe that will smother
the fire.”
“I’ve never seen a blanket
that large!” he yelled back.
“Maybe we should roll on it!”
“Are you kidding?! Lester
yelled again. “I don't care for fire-roasted
cowboy, especially when I'm the cowboy being roasted."
“It might be better than
facing our parents!”
While we formed a committee
to sort out our options, the fire was spreading rapidly, causing us to fear for
our safety. With all the hay going up in
flames, the cows had already resigned themselves to “ordering out.”
Smoke was now billowing out
of the barn. We figured someone might
suspect something, so we decided we would go to the house and get a bucket of
water. The fire was far beyond the
bucket-of-water stage, but we’d run out of other ideas.
We wanted to run and scream “FFIIIIIRRRRREEEEE!!!”, but we knew that would just cause
alarm, so we practiced acting nonchalant.
After several rehearsals, we
nonchalantly walked into the kitchen where Mom and Grams were busy canning, and
talking about the dangerous-looking storm clouds that were filling the valley.
“Looks like we’re in for a
bad storm,” said Grams.
“Maybe worse than that,”
piped Lester.
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