A NIGHT OF DISASTER
BILLY looked after him a moment thinking it rather a pleasant fancy to
call mother and daughter “the girls,” but the situation quickly claimed
his attention. It was still light, and May Nell might come to the garage
and discover him; he would go to see the viaduct.
He went by the lower gate and skirted the river, a river in volume,
though called Tum-wah Creek. As he walked he mentally constructed the
scene as it would look when Mr. Smith’s enterprises possessed the
valley,—he heard the hum of mills and factories; on the peaceful lake
below saw ships entering the canal from the Sound to load for ports, for
the world’s far ports.
He looked back at the beautiful mansion; it would be a pity to see it
desecrated, made into a boarding-house, perhaps. Yet Mr. Smith would
move his summer home farther on. It was the way of this vast growing
city,—to-day’s lovely suburb was to-morrow’s mart of business.
Billy had barely walked around the viaduct, marvelling at the swiftness
and secrecy of its building, when a low whistle halted him, and the
tramp-philosopher came from the woods.
“Hello, Billy! Back in time for the rumpus, are you?”
“What rumpus?”
“Hasn’t the boss put you wise? It’s coming sure.”
“What’s coming?”
“There’ll be a row down there to-night when the old man starts to close
that gap in the rails.”
“Oh, I guess not.” Billy turned away with more jauntiness than he felt.
“See here, boy!” Billy could see that the man was serious and sober. “I
know—those hounds have it in for Mr. Smith.”
“But surely he is prepared.”
“For what will happen down there,” he pointed to the valley, “but not
here. The ladies—they came home.”
“Mr. Smith didn’t expect them. It can’t be helped now.”
“Not helped? Why doesn’t he send them to town?”
Billy thought hard. Why didn’t he, to be sure? There must be some
reason,—perhaps it must not be known that Mr. Smith expected
trouble,—but whatever his motive Billy must stand by him, stand by May
Nell and her mother. “He had his reasons; it’s not for you or me to
question them.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Are you going down there?” Billy nodded toward the railroad.
“No. He needs help here. They’d like to see this viaduct go up in smoke,
those Tum-wah rascals.”
“Gee! Will they do that?” Billy thought a minute. “Say! If you should
need me, blow this whistle twice; but don’t do anything that will let
the two at the house know I’m there. See?” Billy handed over his
whistle.
“I’m on. If you hear shots don’t be scared. I’m heeled.” He showed a new
revolver.
They separated, and Billy hurried back to his place. So far there was
nothing unusual in the quiet evening scene. Through the foliage he could
see May Nell and her mother in their summer white, sitting on the
veranda; could hear the soft murmur of their intermittent conversation,
though no words. The evening was warm, and the fragrance of honeysuckle
and mignonette heavy on the air. For years afterwards Billy never
smelled them that he did not live over again the events of that awful
night.
Many times he made the rounds, stealthily, keeping most of the time near
the garage lest he should be called. When he went in once for something,
the clock said eleven; and the next time he looked toward the veranda,
they were gone. The lower house was dark, but upstairs lights twinkled
from two of the rooms; shortly they, too, were dark.
Two men entered the radiance of the gateway lamps. Billy hastened down
the drive to see if they went toward the viaduct; but they kept on up
the road that led through the woods to some small ranches.
For more than an hour all was quiet. Billy hoped the two in the house
were sleeping calmly; hoped no hint of this night’s anxieties would ever
come to them. Suddenly, unbidden, came the thought of fire! He knew how
the stairways ran, how he could reach those rooms unless both stairways
were cut off. In that case—was there a ladder? He measured with his eye
the more than twenty feet between those windows and the sloping ground.
He remembered seeing a ladder at the back of the garage, and went to
look for it, but it was gone; and he wondered if it could have been
placed in the basement for safe keeping while the servants were away.
As he returned to his beat again, a ringing of metal struck through the
darkness. It was the hammers! They had begun to lay the rails!
Regularly, beat on beat, came the blows. Dozens of lanterns were bunched
each side of the track, shedding a dim light. Billy wondered why Mr.
Smith had not strung electric lamps on a sliding wire. Perhaps he did
not want the Green Hills Power Company to know,—since he must buy power
of them until his own plant was completed.
Billy crept quickly back to his post near the garage, thinking Mr. Smith
might call him. Again he saw the two men in the lamplight going by on
the road, this time headed for Tum-wah. An uneasy suspicion came to him:
What business had taken those men to the isolated ranches and back so
late at night?
A dozen answers,—business, illness, a telegram,—many legitimate errands
might be theirs for this midnight trip. Yet Billy could not rid himself
of his suspicion.
The sounds from below came regularly, but more rapidly, as if some force
were hurrying the workers. He could see the bent backs, and occasionally
the glint of metal in the lantern light; could see the helpers move the
stacked lights on, and hear the ring of the rails as they were dropped
on the ties.
The moon, red, lop-sided, and ragged, appeared over the Cascades. That
meant it was past twelve o’clock. Billy was creeping carefully by the
house to patrol the farther line of fence, when the hammering below
suddenly ceased; some of the lanterns went out, and noises of another
sort drifted up to him,—angry voices, the whack of sticks and clubs, and
then a shot.
It had come,—the protest of blows! He could see the confused commingling
of forms, hear louder voices, and again the dull crash as of wooden
weapons; and in a moment a detonation—a blast.
The road-bed—they must be blowing it up! Yet while Billy strained his
eyes to catch the location of the blast, and the meaning of the turmoil
that seemed a tragedy, he noticed a sudden stilling of the commotion,
and the shifting of the forms. One by one the lanterns were lighted
again, and soon the hammers rang, now more rapidly than before.
Billy understood. Mr. Smith had been prepared. He had seen that the law
should be ready to aid him as soon as assistance was needed. The work
would go right on, and Billy felt sure Mr. Smith would find a speedy way
to repair whatever damage might have been done. This outrage so promptly
met would surely stop any others that might have been contemplated.
Relieved, he ran into the garage and picked up the sandwich and bottle
of milk that were to be his lunch, and went out again where eye and ear
might still be on duty.
He did not eat. As he stepped out, a flame shot up at the side of the
house. He rushed into the garage to call up the fire department; but the
moment he took down the receiver he knew the wires had been cut,—the
telephone was “dead.”
A cold horror swept him. Whatever was done he must do himself. He ran to
find the garden hose and soon had a stream of water playing. The force
was good, and he could see that he made headway against the flame. Ought
he to cry out? Wake the sleepers? If he did, they would see—hear—No one
could tell what might happen down there in the valley before the coming
of the sun. He was gaining—the fire would soon be out. He would let them
sleep.
But this might not be the end. Those wires—where would the cut be? Near
the grounds surely, for anywhere else they were in plain sight of all
passers following the road.
He was looking for the last hidden sparks and considering it safe to
leave when a shot from the direction of the viaduct proclaimed that
malevolence that night was missing no property belonging to Mr. Smith. A
second shot rang out, and a third; and presently two men emerged from
the forest running, the forward one stumbling and recovering only to
fall again and rise no more. The second came toward the garage drive,
and Billy knew him to be the tramp.
He ran to open to him, explaining breathlessly about the fire and the
wires as they hurried up the walk.
“You take the hose and watch while I hunt where those wires are cut. I
believe we shall need the fire engine.”
“It won’t do any good; you can’t mend the cut if you find it. Better
break into the house and bring out the women now.”
“Wake them to all this turmoil, when it may not be necessary? No. I’ll
find and splice those wires someway.”
“You’ll get shocked, crippled, if not killed.”
“Telephone wires don’t shock to hurt.”
Without more parley Billy hurried out of the enclosure and around to
where the line entered the grounds, finding what he expected. The wire
had been cut near the pole. It was easy to tie the long end to the
fence, but he was puzzled how to manage the other.
The man—how had he reached the wire so high? He must have had a
ladder—that was where the ladder went! Or—could he have brought one?
Climbers! Of course. Billy’s heart sank, but rose again when he
remembered that all poles at Tuk-wil-la were of iron.
While thinking, he was hunting, slowly he thought, yet actually flying
from place to place, diving into the greenery along the fence and
leaving more than one drop of blood as tribute to the barbs. He found
the ladder at last, a flimsy thing, and placed it against the pole.
Wire! He must have wire. Like lightning his mind flashed from point to
point of his difficulty. The clothes-line,—that was copper! He started
back, running and thinking. How could he cut it? Must he take time to
twist it in two, even supposing he could? It was such heavy wire. Tools
in the garage? Yes, perhaps, and the chest locked; and while he hunted,
precious moments would be going.
The lawn-mower! Perhaps that would do the trick. He knew right where it
was, and ran for it. Now he was at the line, pulling the end loose from
its staple, and wishing all the time the moon would get a move on and
shine up brighter. Length by length he tore the wire from the arms of
the clothes tree, each staple “in harder than the last,” it seemed. He
thought he had never been so weak, so slow.
At last he had enough, and made a bight in it. Would the lawn-mower
“play up”? Yes! It cut the line in two, and Billy ran up the ladder,
soon making the connection. He got several light shocks and for a
panic-stricken moment trembled lest he could not let go, and should be
marooned in the air. Yet he came safely through his task, and ran with
his ladder to the garage to try the wire.
Before he arrived he heard the bell ringing. The ’phone was alive!
He went in and took the message. It was to say that Mr. Smith had gone
to town and would be back in an hour. Billy knew this was from the
Tum-wah office; and he told them there what had happened. He wondered if
he should call the fire department on the chance of what might occur,
but decided against it.
Fatal mistake. He started toward the house to tell the other what he had
done, beginning to speak at some distance, when a boom shattered the
very air around them, lifting and enveloping them. It came from beneath,
almost at their feet it seemed, and both men staggered back half
blinded.
For an instant neither could understand what had happened. But for an
instant only—less than a breath. The whole interior of the house flashed
into light. Each window was a red and angry eye.
“The fire department—South 687—call them up!” Billy commanded, grasping
at the hand of the man and running with him,—he was going for the
ladder.
But the other pulled away. “The fire department can’t manage this! We
must get the women out! Come, quick! They’ll be burned!”
“Do as I tell you!” thundered Billy, breaking loose. “I’ll get the
ladder. Come to me as soon as you ’phone.”
While he was shouting he had found the ladder and was hurrying back.
Both knew that a mine had been laid into the house, into the basement.
The fire outside had been but a “flash in the pan.” They knew the house
must go; and such a large fire at that season would endanger the forest,
and many homes near. Tuk-wil-la was just within the city limits, and
entitled to the services of the department; they must stop the fire
there.
It was but a few seconds from the time of the explosion before Billy was
placing his ladder at one of the windows where the lights had twinkled
so shortly before, calling May Nell’s name in tones that rang through
the night.
He knew that both stairways were cut off; whoever had prepared the mine
had seen to that. “May Nell! Come to the east window!” Billy called
again and again as he climbed nimbly, and plunged into the smoke and
heat.
“Yes, I’m here—in mama’s room—she’s fallen—I can’t lift her.”
Billy heard the suffocation in her voice, the weakness. He knew the
room, and groped his way on, calling, “Come this way! The ladder is at
the other window! Come quick! I’ll bring your mother!”
Billy’s own words were choking, sputtering even though he was holding
his head down. Where was he? Surely he had made no mistake, was going
the right way. “May Nell! Where’s the door? Where are you?” But no voice
answered, and for a breath Billy believed he could not go on. They were
caught, lost!
Yet that thought nerved him. Those two suffocating—burning—The little
girl he had succored once before, the brightest, loveliest—Yes, in that
instant his soul flashed a clear vision! She was the one. She had been
the inspiration to the noblest deeds he had ever thought or hoped. She
was the star of his life!
Some instinct guided him,—or was it his own soul? Something besides
conscious volition led him through an open door, kept him calling,
calling frantically, and crouching around the room to find the prostrate
woman. “May Nell! May Nell! Speak! Where are you?”
It was enough. Some shock from his soul to hers galvanized her to
consciousness. She roused, answered feebly, and moved toward the bed
where her mother had fallen.
[Illustration: “Give her to me; I am fresh,” he said, attempting to
take Mrs. Smith from Billy’s arms.]
Billy lifted the insensible woman, turned swiftly back, and called
encouragingly to May Nell. “Hold fast to me, girlie!” And when he felt
her grasp relax from his arm, “Brace up! Be game, Nell! We’re getting
there!”
Then he lost sense of time, of rational movement. Even the dead weight
of his burden did not signify. He felt no emotion. He seemed only to be
plodding on stolidly, while behind him flames roared and floors crashed.
He felt the timbers sag suddenly, knew the fire was close upon them, yet
he could not hurry.
But while smoke and heavy burden and heat dulled his mind, he was
actually making incredible haste. He felt the clearer air before he saw
the open window, and arrived there to find the tramp waiting, the only
one who had dared to enter the furnace. He had broken out the window for
them, sash and glass.
“Give her to me; I am fresh,” he said, attempting to take Mrs. Smith
from Billy’s arms.
He was a small, slender man, and Billy dared not trust him. “Not her;
here!” He pushed May Nell forward.
But the little girl shrank back. “No, no! Mama first.”
“Go!” Billy commanded, and thrust her into the awaiting arms. His brain
was clear enough now. The lighter pair must go first; the ladder would
certainly bear them, if not the heavier two. Well, he must see that his
own charge was somehow safely landed.
They obeyed. People did obey Billy when he used that tone. Those who had
gathered from the nearest houses steadied the ladder while the first two
came down, and held out glad hands to receive them.
But to Billy the rescuer below him seemed to creep. Would he never reach
the ground? The floor trembled with a new shock. Billy heard the crash
of another wall, saw the fire leap through the gap behind him, and
daring the lesser danger he climbed out on the ladder. Even as he passed
to the first rung a sheet of flame burst upon them shrouding them,
reaching for them like some red, cosmic tongue that would lap them into
the mouth of destruction.
But they emerged. Billy felt the spring of the wood that announced its
release from the weight of the other two, and hurried on with his
precious freight, knowing the danger, yet hoping the ladder would hold.
Midway between fire and earth he heard a crack, a splintering, and felt
the sag.
“Catch her!” he shouted hoarsely, and reached her down.
His cry fixed attention on the descending woman, and she was safely
caught and carefully borne to coolness and friends. But for Billy they
were too late. Relieved of responsibility for others, he made no attempt
to direct his fall—perhaps he could not have done so—but landed heavily
in an inert heap.
They lifted him tenderly. Almost at once he regained consciousness, and
asked anxiously of May Nell and her mother. It was not till he was
assured by his own eyes that both were safe, and that Mrs. Smith’s hurt
was from a light fall that temporarily had stunned but had not harmed
her, that he realized the meaning of the limp arm at his side.
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