THE FIRE.
“This way! this way!” shouted the clear voice of Merriwell. “Here they
are!”
Instantly Tucker was released by the startled and dismayed fellows who
had been torturing him. The flaring light of a “slut” candle, aided by
the dimly flickering gas jet, showed the rescuers a most remarkable
group huddled there in the basement of that old warehouse. The clown
looked frightened; the bear seemed ready to run; the Turk was crouching
on one knee and feeling blindly for his curved sword; the executioner
had dropped his broad-bladed ax; the owl sought to edge away into the
shadows.
Only Satan stood his ground boldly and defiantly. In front of them all
he stood with clenched fists, glaring at the unexpected and unwelcome
rescuers. The flaring lights made him look very fierce and demon-like.
Involuntarily the rescuers halted and stared at that remarkable group.
“Come on!” yelled Tucker, giving the Turk a savage jab in the ribs and
upsetting the clown by kicking his feet from beneath him. “Get into ’em,
fellows! Give ’em fits! They’ve been giving me fits.”
“We’ve got them foul,” declared Dick. “They’ll have to surrender.”
“Surrender?” snarled Satan. “Not on your life! We’ll fight.”
Fight they did. It was a fierce old battle that took place down there in
the warehouse basement. Dick signaled out the crimson-clothed leader of
the rascals and engaged him. While they were tussling and writhing and
squirming, other struggles were taking place amid the boxes and bales
and dim shadows of the place.
Merriwell found his antagonist strong as a bull, but was finally getting
the best of the fellow when some one kicked over the pot of grease, the
“slut” candle. The burning stuff ran flaring into a dry mass of straw
and excelsior. Fire leaped up in a twinkling, illuminating the entire
basement.
Startled, the boys stopped in the midst of their furious struggles.
“Fire!” yelled one, in a tone of great alarm.
“That’s bad business!” panted Dick, tearing away from his antagonist and
leaping toward the flames. “Quick, boys, let’s see if we can’t smother
it!”
Satan, enraged by what had happened and utterly reckless of
consequences, sprang after Dick and grappled with him again.
“You fool!” exclaimed Merriwell, twisting about. “Let me alone! Don’t
you see what’s happening? The building will go up in flames!”
“Let it go!” rasped the disguised fellow. “You’re the cause, and I’m
going to soak you.”
He struck Dick in the face, although the force of the blow was partly
broken by an upthrust arm. This aroused young Merriwell and made him
furious as a wild creature. With a shout, he broke the fellow’s hold
upon him, seized the chap, snapped his heels into the air, and whirled
him headlong against the stone wall. The crimson figure dropped limply
to the cemented floor and lay still.
“Fellows, fellows!” shouted Dick, realizing that a great many of the
boys were taking to their heels and getting out as quickly as possible.
“Don’t run away. We must smother this fire. We must put it out somehow.”
It was Buckhart who joined him, and they did their best to put out the
flames.
“No use, partner,” said the Texan, “she’s got too much headway. She’s
bound to go. If we stay here, we’ll be caught, and that will be mighty
bad business for us.”
“Come on, Dick—come on!” cried Bouncer Bigelow, making frantic gestures.
“Everybody else has skipped. I’m going. You can’t do anything. Let her
burn.”
The fat boy ended with a choking, strangling cough, for the place was
rapidly filling with a thick volume of pungent smoke. Brad seized Dick
by the collar and literally dragged him toward the door. Not until they
were in the outer air did Dick remember the crimson-clad fellow he had
last seen lying stunned at the foot of the basement wall.
“Follow me!” said Buckhart. “We must get away lively.”
He took to his heels, covering the ground with rapid strides and
plunging into the darkness between two buildings. Instead of following
his friend, Dick turned and rushed down the rotten basement stairs. A
volume of smoke met him, rolling forth from the door and veiling the
interior of the place. Through this smoke the fire sent a dull lurid
glow.
Stooping low, Dick plunged into the smoke. He ran full against a huge
box, but managed to grope his way along until he could see the spreading
flames and feel their scorching heat. Through the yellowish light he saw
something moving. In a twinkling he had the fellow by the shoulder. It
was his crimson-clothed antagonist, who had partly recovered and was
blindly trying to find the way out.
“This way!” wheezed Dick, pulling the bewildered chap toward the door.
“Hang onto me!”
They reached the door and started up the steps just as a burst of fire
behind them sent its flaring gleam out into the darkness of the night.
At the head of the steps stood a huge man, on whose breast gleamed a
badge.
It was the night watchman of an adjoining lumber yard. As Dick appeared
he whipped out a revolver.
“Hold on, you firebug!” he shouted. “Stop where you are, or I’ll bore
ye!”
Then, plainly revealed by the flaring light of the fire, he obtained a
view of the demoniac, crimson-clothed figure at Dick’s heels. To the
superstitious watchman it seemed like the Evil One himself, and, with a
howl of dismay, the man turned and took flight. Merriwell was
unspeakably relieved.
“That was lucky for us,” he gasped. “Now we’d better do some tall
thinking.”
Thinking the chap he had rescued would follow him, Dick imitated
Buckhart’s example by choosing the darkness between two wretched
buildings, reached an old board fence, skulked hurriedly along beside
it, came to the railroad tracks, and for the first time found himself
alone.
“Hello!” he muttered. “That chap didn’t stick by me. Well, I got him
out, and I guess he can take care of himself. That watchman will turn in
a fire alarm, of course. The healthy thing for me to do is to get as far
away from here as possible in a very short time.”
He fled along the tracks until a crossing was reached and he could leave
the railroad. As he cut across an open lot and set his course toward
York Street he heard the fire engines coming whistling on their way to
the fire.
“Bad business! bad business!” muttered the boy. “I don’t suppose any one
will feel very sorry to see the old warehouse burn, but still, I’d
rather it would have happened some other way. What if the lumber yard
takes fire also?”
The question brought beads of perspiration out upon his face. On the
steps of the York Street house he found Brad Buckhart and Tommy Tucker.
The latter was barefooted.
“Lost a good pair of shoes and some beautiful fifty-cent stockings this
evening,” said Tommy. “I can’t afford it.”
“Great horn spoon, I’m glad to see you, partner!” breathed the Texan,
with unspeakable relief. “I thought you right behind me until I hit the
main highway. When I discovered you weren’t with me I didn’t know what
to do. I thought of going back to look for you, but that seemed foolish,
for I knew you wouldn’t turn round after getting out of that old
building.”
“I did turn round, though,” said Dick.
“Did?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“I happened to think of the fellow I pitched against the wall and left
stunned when we made haste to get out. I didn’t really know whether he
had escaped or not. I went back to see.”
“Great tarantulas!” exploded Brad.
“You’re referring to old Sate, I presume?” said Tucker. “Well, I really
hope he got scorched a little. He didn’t quite blister the bottoms of my
feet, but I thought he had.”
“The fellow would have perished in that fire if I hadn’t turned back to
look for him,” said Dick. “I got him out, all right, but we came mighty
near being nabbed by a night watchman.”
Tucker snickered half hysterically on hearing Merriwell tell how the
watchman had yelled and taken to his heels at sight of the satanic
figure.
“Tommy’s been telling me all about it,” said Buckhart. “Why, those
fellows were going to bake his feet. We got there in the nick of time.”
“What I’d like to know,” said Tucker, “is how you happened to get there
at all.”
“I’ll have to pledge you to keep it a secret,” said Dick, “but there is
a chap who used to be mighty thick with that crowd, and he got onto the
plot. He gave me a tip, but made me swear I wouldn’t mention his name.”
“I can guess,” chuckled Tucker. “It was Kid Lee. Am I not right, Dick?”
“Haven’t I just stated,” said Merriwell, “that I promised not to mention
his name?”