AT DEAD OF NIGHT.
Some one, violently shaking him, brought Cuthbert once more to his
senses, and he aroused to the fact that it was Eli, who kept shouting in
his ear:
"Wake up--wake up, there's the dickens to pay--pile out and help, old
man--they need us bad--get up, I say, get up!"
That was certainly quite sufficient to thoroughly arouse any one, no
matter if he had been a sluggard, and surely Cuthbert could never be
called that; so, with a toss of the blankets, he scrambled to his feet;
then, remembering that he was in his socks, he hastened to snatch up his
boots and pull them on.
All this only took a few seconds of time, but during the brief period
Cuthbert was dazed with the awful clamor that was making the welkin ring
without, for it seemed as though every known sound had been accumulated
to help carry out the idea that Gabriel was blowing his last trumpet,
with the end of the world close at hand.
He knew men were shouting madly, and from the voices it was plain that
those who thus gave tongue were both Cree Indians and Canadian
_voyageurs_, for the latter had gone back to their French tongue with
the advent of excitement--then it struck the Virginia lad that another
sound which he had heard was very much along the line of the roaring
flames, and immediately the conviction forced itself upon him that in
some manner the forest close by had been fired, perhaps by some enemy of
the factor, such as Dubois or Stackpole, and that there was danger of
the conflagration leaping the barrier and attacking the houses within
the compound.
No sooner had he thrust his nose outside the tent than he gave utterance
to an exclamation of mingled surprise and consternation.
It was a fire all right, but not of the species he had suspected--the
roaring sound was produced by the wind whipping the flames into the
angry flood, but it was hewn timber, not erect trees, that were ablaze,
one of the houses, in fact, with an end a seething mass of flames.
Cuthbert knew not what to think, save that possibly some enemy had done
this; but he was quick to lend his aid to save whatever the contents
might be.
Accordingly he hastened in that quarter.
Already he had discovered that while he slept a storm had swept down
upon the region of the Saskatchewan, and was howling through the forest
and over the waters with demoniac glee, though as yet not a drop of rain
had fallen, or a flake of snow descended, though one or the other must
come in time.
But that mad breeze was a bad thing for a fire, since it would whip the
flames until they tore loose from all human control, to carry ruin in
their train.
Cuthbert was not alone in his rush toward the burning building, since
from various directions human figures were to be seen centering in that
quarter, for the employes of the fur company were certainly loyal and
willing to do all that men might in order to save property or lives.
At first Cuthbert imagined that it was the storehouse, and while the
burning of its contents might cause some inconvenience, there was still
time to replenish the stock before winter set in fully, so that it
seemed to be only a question of a money loss at the most.
But as he advanced, his eyes trying to pierce the cloud of smoke that
hung all about the burning building, he began to sense the import of the
wild cries that were being uttered about him, a Cree shouting to a
_voyageur_, or it might be one of the French halfbreeds to a fellow, and
as the nature of their shouts broke in upon his intelligence, he felt a
new thrill of alarm.
It was not the store building, but the residence portion that was afire,
and Cuthbert remembered like a flash that the little cousin of Owen had
her quarters there, as well as the old factor.
He looked around hurriedly, expecting to see both close by, but to his
horror failed to do so.
What could it mean--where was the sturdy head of the post, the
Scotchman, who, despite his age, had seemed to the boys so like an
oak--was it possible, after all, there could be something fiendish back
of this conflagration, and that Alexander Gregory had been first of all
stricken in his house before the match was applied?
It was an awful thought, enough to make Cuthbert's blood run cold, but
before he could communicate his fears to any one he heard a roar as of a
lion, and saw the factor come tumbling through smoke and flame--he
rolled over upon the earth once or twice, while the Virginia lad fairly
held his breath in suspense, fearing that the valiant old chap might
have received his death wound while battling with the flames; then, to
the delight of Cuthbert, the factor struggled to his feet and began to
hobble around as if he had a broken leg, meanwhile shouting out orders
in that foghorn voice that made men spring to obey.
But the little one. Where was she? The factor evidently believed Jessie
must have come forth some time back, for he was not ordering the men to
_try_ and save the stricken building, but to devote their energies
toward keeping the flames away from the storehouse.
Even as Cuthbert watched as in a dream he saw the factor try to walk,
but immediately fall down, to be assisted to his feet again by a couple
of the men.
Then came a flying figure up to his side--it was Owen, who had once
vowed never to speak to this relative again so long as he lived, but
whom Cuthbert knew had just recently repented of this resolution and was
ready to meet his grandfather half way in the morning.
He seemed to seize upon the old man and shout something at him--just
what it was Cuthbert could not hear, so furious was the whoop of the
wind and the roar of the sweeping flames; but he guessed it to the dot,
for he knew beyond a doubt that the Canadian lad was demanding to be
told where the girl slept, for she had not been seen since the fire
broke out.
Old Gregory became a frantic man on the spot, for his whole life was
wrapped up in the little fairy; he tried to rush forward himself, but
went down in a heap, struggled to his knees, with Owen gripping his arm
fiercely and continuing to shrill that question into his ear, until at
last in despair the old factor thrust out his hand and with quivering
finger pointed at the end of the burning domicil, being utterly unable
to frame a single word, speech failing him.
It was quite enough for Owen.
Like an arrow shot from the bow he sped straight into the smoke and
flame.
Cuthbert gave a gasp and feared he had seen the last of his new chum,
but he felt a thrill of admiration because of the daring act--it was
worth while to realize that his first estimation of the Canadian lad had
been correct, and that when the occasion called for an exhibition of
valor Owen had risen to meet it in a way that must excite admiration
among all men who honored true bravery.
The picture was one that would never fade from the mind of
Cuthbert--leaning up against one of the palisades Alexander Gregory
seemed turned into stone, as he watched the spot where the lad had
vanished, wringing his hands in the intensity of his anxiety--twice he
made a spasmodic movement as though intending to hobble forward and
plunge into that vortex of fierce flame himself, but each time a groan
was forced from his lips when he discovered that his leg was really
useless, the sprain being serious.
Cuthbert wished he knew of something that he could do to assist, but
since the other had vanished there was no sign, and to simply follow
after him would mean a triple tragedy, an altogether useless sacrifice.
Eli was at his elbow and together they pushed as close to the burning
walls as possible, eagerly scanning the windows above for the first sign
of Owen and meanwhile shouting at some halfbreeds, who were staggering
under the weight of a ladder which they had found close by and guessed
might be useful in some sort of an emergency.
Cuthbert held his breath.
He really had very little hope of ever seeing his new friend again, for
there did not seem to be one chance in a dozen for any one to issue
forth from that fiery furnace alive, since this was not the day of
miracles.
It was like an age to him, though in all probability but a minute had
really crept by since Owen vanished through the doorway, and yet during
that interval the fire had gained more headway, despite all efforts of
the gathered employes of the Hudson Bay Company to smother it with
water, pumped through a hose and by means of an old hand engine kept
against just such an emergency.
A hand gripped Cuthbert's arm and turning his head quickly he found that
it was Eli who had thus unconsciously caught hold of him--possibly the
tremendous excitement had weakened the backwoods lad, so that he
clutched at support; but he was staring upward toward one of the
windows, as though some movement might have caught his attention there.
His campmate naturally enough cast his eyes in the same quarter, as if
sudden hope had sprung into existence; but it was to see the flames
shoot out of the window in a manner that must have utterly precluded the
possibility of Owen making an exit there.
Cuthbert groaned aloud, filled with dismay--it was a horrible thought
thus thrust upon his mind, for there is something unusually agonizing in
a death by fire; and it seemed as though the last chance had gone when
the demon of the flames thrust his grinning visage out of that window.
Then Eli gave vent to a sudden shout close to his ear, so that he heard
what was said even above the frightful roar of the wind and crackle of
flames:
"The roof--look up yonder over the eaves--hurra, he's got her--bully
for Owen, I say!" was what Eli shrieked.
Wonderful to say, the brave Canadian lad had indeed pushed out through
some sort of trap or scuttle in the sloping roof, the presence of which
seemed to be unknown to him; and just as Eli had declared, he was
carrying a little limp figure in his stout and willing arms, none other
than his cousin Jessie, the darling of the old factor's heart.
Cuthbert was stricken dumb for the moment, it all seemed so like the
hand of Providence directing things so that the wandering boy might come
into his own.
Gregory gave out a cry that was more like a roar of exultation, for he
had been down in the depths of despair, and the sight of his lissome
lassie still in the land of the living acted like a spur upon him--he
stretched out his arms in the direction of those upon the roof, and
again endeavored to hasten toward them, only to fall over once more
helpless upon the ground.
Then Cuthbert awoke to the fact that while his chum had done a bold
thing, and for the moment cheated the flames of their intended
sacrifice, he was not yet safe, for all around the flashing tongues of
fire gathered for a last effort at accomplishing the dread work, so
that the twain above seemed hemmed in.
So Cuthbert shouted to those who carried the hose, and forced them to
turn the stream of water upon one spot where the fire was weakest;
rushing at those who were staggering forward bearing the ladder, he
seized hold of the blessed thing and urged them to raise it against the
wall at that particular point.