FIGHTING FIRE
"THIS," said Tim presently, "is a bit dull, if you ask me. I came out
for some excitement. Let's do something."
"What?" asked Clint, yawning loudly.
"Let's eat."
The others groaned.
"That's all right for you chaps, but I'm getting hungry," Tim asserted.
"I thought we were going to have a feed. They'll be closing this place
up the first thing we know. How about a rarebit, fellows?"
"Oh, let's wait awhile," said Don. "Let's take a walk and get up an
appetite."
"Walk!" jeered Tim. "Gee, I've walked enough. And there's nothing the
matter with my appetite right now. Tell you what----" Tim paused. An
automobile was stopping in front of the Inn. The headlights suddenly
dimmed and the single occupant, a tall man in a light overcoat, got out,
walked up the path, ascended the steps and passed into the house. "Now,
who's he?" asked Tim. "Say, I wish he'd loan us his car for awhile."
"Run in and ask him," suggested Tom. "He looked kind."
"Maybe he'd give us a ride if we asked him," pursued Tim. "It's a peach
of a car; foreign, I guess."
"It's a Mercy Dear," said Tom.
"Or a Fierce Sorrow," hazarded Clint.
"Bet you it's a Cheerless," said Don, "or a Backhard."
"Don't care what it is," persisted Tim. "I want a ride in it."
"Let's go down and stand around it with our fingers in our mouths," said
Tom, with a chuckle. "Perhaps he will take pity on us and ask us in."
"Or we might open the door for him," offered Don.
At that moment Clint, who had left his chair to lean across the railing
and gaze past the end of the porch, interrupted with an exclamation.
"Say, fellows, what's that light over there?" he asked eagerly.
"Fire, by jingo!" cried Tim.
"That's what!" agreed Tom. "Say, you don't suppose it's the school, do
you?"
"Of course not! The school's over that way. Besides, that fire's away
off; maybe two miles. Come on!" And Clint started for the steps.
"Wait!" called Tim. "I want to see the engine come out. Bet you it's a
fine sight! Anyway, we can't foot it two miles."
"Maybe it isn't that far," said Don. "Fires look further than they are
sometimes."
"Yes, and nearer, too," replied Tim. "Think we ought to run over and
tell them about it?"
But that question was speedily answered by the sudden clanging of a gong
inside the fire house, followed by the sound of running footsteps and,
an instant later, the wild alarm of the shrill-tongued bell in the
little belfry.
"My word!" exclaimed Tom. "I didn't know there were so many folks in the
town!" Already a small-sized crowd had gathered in front of the fire
house, some fifty yards up the street. The doors rolled open and a
figure pushed through the throng and loped across the street and
disappeared. The bell clanged on and on. Don and Clint and Tom made a
dash for the steps. Tim slid over the railing. But before any of them
had more than reached the sidewalk the tall owner of the automobile
catapulted himself down the steps, hailing them as he came.
"Where is it, boys?" he shouted.
"Over there," answered Clint, pointing. But the glow in the sky was
scarcely visible from the sidewalk and they all swarmed back to the
porch again.
"I see," said the man. "Some farm house, I guess. They'll know at the
fire house." He sprang down the steps again, the boys streaming after
him. He was already in the car when Tim asked breathlessly: "You going,
sir?"
"Sure! Want to come? Pile in, then. There are some packages in there.
Look out for them."
Clint had already put his foot down hard on something that, whatever it
might be, was never meant to be walked on, but he made no mention of the
fact. The car leaped forward, swung to the right, stopped with a jerk
six inches from a lamp-post, backed, straightened out and careened along
to the fire house. All was excitement there. Men were rushing into the
building and rushing out again, agitatedly donning rubber coats and
hats. Speculation was rife. A score of voices argued as to the location
of the fire. The throng swayed back and forth. The man in the car
demanded information as he drew up at the curb and a dozen answers were
flung at him. Then a small, fat man ran up and leaned excitedly across
the front of the auto. "Hello, Mr. Brady!" he panted. "You going out
there?"
"Yes, but I've got a load, Johnson. Where is it?"
"Don't no one seem to know. Jim Cogswell knows, but he's gone for the
horses."
"Look out! Here they come!" "Get that auto out of the way there!" "Stand
aside, everyone!" "Get a move on, Jim!" A lean little man in his shirt
sleeves suddenly appeared leading two jogging horses, while a third
horse trotted along behind. The crowd scampered aside and the horses
beat a tattoo on the floor as they wheeled to their places. Mr. Brady
jumped from his seat, pushed his way through the crowd as it closed in
again about the doorway and disappeared. Tim whooped with delight.
"What did I tell you?" he demanded. "Didn't I say it would be a great
sight? Gee, I haven't had such a good time since I had the measles!"
Mr. Brady reappeared, scrambled back to his seat and slammed the door
behind him. "Jim says it's Corrigan's barn," he said. "Sit tight, boys!"
The car leaped forward once more, took the first corner at twenty miles
an hour, took the next at thirty and then, in the middle of a firm, hard
road, simply roared away into the starlit darkness, the headlights
throwing a great white radiance ahead. Tim, on the front seat, whipped
off his cap and stuffed it into his pocket. Behind, the three boys
huddled themselves low in the wide seat while the wind tore past them.
"Must be going ninety miles an hour!" gasped Clint.
"Suppose we bust something!" said Tom awedly.
Don braced his feet against the foot-rail. "Let it bust!" he answered
exultantly.
That was a memorable ride. Tim owned afterward that he thought he had
ridden fast once or twice before, but that he was mistaken. "I watched
that speedometer from the time we turned the second corner," he
declared, "and it never showed less than fifty-three and was generally
around sixty! If I hadn't been so excited I'd been scared to death!"
Now and then one of the boys behind looked back along the road, but if
anyone was following them the fact wasn't apparent. Almost before they
were conscious of having travelled any distance the car topped a slight
hill at a dizzy speed and the conflagration was in sight. A quarter of a
mile distant a big barn was burning merrily. The car slowed down at the
foot of the descent, swung into a lane and pitched and careened toward
the burning structure. Other buildings were clustered about the barn and
a good-sized white dwelling house stood in dangerous proximity. Between
house and barn, standing out black against the orange glow of the fire,
was a group of women and children, while a few men, not more than a
half-dozen it seemed, were wandering hither and thither in the radiance.
A horse with trailing halter snorted and dashed to safety as the
automobile turned from the lane and came to a stop under an apple tree.
"Far as we go!" shouted Mr. Brady. "Come on, boys, and lend a hand!"
The lights dimmed, the engine stopped and the occupants of the car
scrambled out and ran up the lane. "They can't save that barn," panted
Mr. Brady, "but they'd ought to save the rest of them."
A man attired principally in a pair of overalls and a flannel shirt and
carrying an empty bucket advanced to meet them.
"Is the engine coming?" he asked listlessly.
"They hadn't started when I left," answered Mr. Brady, "and I guess you
needn't look for them for fifteen or twenty minutes. Got any water handy
when it does come?"
"I've got a tank full up there, and there's a pond behind the house. But
I don't know's they can do anything. Looks to me like everything's bound
to go. Well, I got insurance."
"Got plenty of buckets?" asked Mr. Brady, peeling off his coat. "How
many men are here?"
"About six or seven, I guess. Yes, there's buckets enough, but the
heat's so fierce----"
"Animals all out?"
"There's some pigs down there. We tried to chase 'em out, but the plaguy
things wouldn't go. We got the horses and cows out and a couple o'
wagons. All my hay's done for, though. And there's a heap o' machinery
in there----"
"Well, we can save the other buildings, can't we?" asked Mr. Brady
impatiently. "Get your buckets and your men together, Corrigan. Here are
five of us, and we can make a line and keep the roofs wet down until the
engine comes, I guess. Send the women for all the pails and things
you've got. Get a hustle on, man!"
Mr. Corrigan hesitated a moment and then trotted away. The water supply
was contained in a wooden tank set some ten feet above ground, and high
beyond that, dimly discernible through the cloud of smoke, the spectral
arms of a wind-mill revolved imperturbably. Mr. Brady, followed by the
boys, went on around to the further side of the burning building. It was
a huge hip-roofed structure. One end, that nearest the house, was
already falling, and the tons of crackling hay in the mows glowed like a
furnace. The heat, even at the foot of the wind-mill, a hundred feet or
more away, was almost intolerable. A row of one-story buildings ran
along one side of the barn, so near that the flying sparks blew over
rather than on to them. Several other detached structures stood at
greater distances. Mr. Brady, surveying the scene, shook his head
doubtfully.
"Guess he's right," he said. "There's not much use trying to save those
nearer buildings. We couldn't stay on those roofs a minute. I guess the
chief danger will be from sparks lighting on the house and that creamery
there. Things are mighty dry."
Four or five men dangling empty buckets, one of them Mr. Corrigan's son
and the others neighbours, came up and asked about the fire department
and Mr. Brady repeated what he had told the older man. "What we've got
to do," he continued, "is to keep the roof on the house and the dairy
wet. Those sparks are flying all over them. What's that small building
over there?"
"That's the ice-house, Mr. Brady."
"Well, we won't bother about that. How many are there of us?"
"Six, I guess," said one of the men, but another corrected him.
"Old Man Meredith and Tom Young just drove in," he announced. "That
makes eight of us, and there's five of you----"
"Well, come on, then," Mr. Brady interrupted briskly. "You fellows get
your pails full and look after the dairy. Get on the roof, a couple of
you, and keep it wet down. The rest can lug water. Got a ladder handy?
All right. Somebody fetch it in a hurry. Hold on! Isn't there water in
the dairy?"
"Yes, sir, plenty of it."
"Then fill your buckets inside and hand them up to the men on the roof.
I'll take my gang and go over to the house."
The following half-hour was a busy time for the four boys. Mr. Brady and
Don stood precariously athwart the ridge of the house roof while Tim and
Clint and Tom, later assisted by others, filled buckets in the kitchen,
raced up two flights of stairs and a short ladder--often losing half of
their burden on the way--and passed them through a skylight to those
outside. A dozen times the dry shingles caught fire under the rain of
sparks, but Mr. Brady, climbing along the ridge like a cat, tossing
buckets of water with unerring precision, kept the fire at bay. It was
warm work for all. On the roof the heat of the fire was unpleasantly
apparent, while in the house it was stiflingly close and the work of
carrying the pails up and down stairs soon had the three boys in a fine
perspiration and badly off for breath!
When the engines arrived, heralded by loud acclaim from the onlookers,
who had by then multiplied remarkably, the barn was merely a huge pyre
of glowing hay and burning timbers, only one far corner remaining erect.
The piggery and adjoining buildings were ablaze in several places. The
creamery roof had caught once or twice, but each time the flames had
been subdued. If the engine and hose-cart and two carriages bearing
members of the volunteer fire department had been slow in arriving, at
least the fire-fighters got to work expeditiously and with surprisingly
little confusion. Don, pausing for a moment in his labour of passing
buckets to look down, decided that Brimfield had no cause to be ashamed
of its department. In a jiffy the hose-cart was rattling across the
yard--and, incidentally, some flower beds--in the direction of the pond
behind the house, and a moment or two later the engine was pumping
vigorously and a fine stream of water was wetting down the roofs of the
threatened structures. Axes bit into charring timbers, sparks flew,
enthusiastic, rubber-clad firemen dashed here and there, shouting
loudly, the audience cheered and the worst was over!
With the collapse of the remaining section of barn wall the danger from
sparks was past, and, emptying one final bucket, Mr. Brady, followed by
a very wet, very tired and very warm Don, crept back through the
skylight and joined the others below. Mr. Brady rescued his coat, led
the way to the kitchen pump and drank long and copiously, setting an
example enthusiastically emulated by the boys. Tim declared that if he
drank as much as he wanted there wouldn't be enough water left to put
out the fire with!
"Well, boys," said Mr. Brady, finally setting down the dipper and
drawing a long breath, "I guess we did pretty well for amateurs, eh? I
don't know whether we get any thanks, for I've a suspicion that Corrigan
would have been just as pleased if everything had gone. From the way he
talked when we got here I guess he wanted the insurance more'n he did
the buildings!" Mr. Brady chuckled. "Well, we put one over on him in
that case, eh? Want to stick around much longer? I guess most of the
fun's over; unless they're going to serve some of that roast pig!"
"They got the pigs out," chuckled Tim. "They were running around here
awhile ago like crazy. About twenty of them, big and little, squealing
and getting between people's feet. Those pigs had the time of their
lives!"
"Well, then, suppose we start along home?" said Mr. Brady. "You fellows
ready?"
They agreed that they were. The remains of the barn were already
blackening, and, while the firemen, evidently determined to make the
most of the occasion, were still swinging axes and pouring water on the
already extinguished and well-soaked buildings, there was no danger of
further trouble. Mr. Corrigan, surrounded by a group of sympathetic
neighbours, was cataloguing his losses and Mr. Brady called to him as
they passed.
"Good-night, Corrigan! Sorry for you, but you've saved your house
anyway!"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Brady. I'm greatly obliged to you, sir, and them young
fellers, too. It's a bit of a loss, sir, but there's pretty good
insurance."
"That's fortunate. Good-night!" Mr. Brady chuckled as they went on into
the darkness of the orchard. "Bet you he's downright peeved with us,
boys, for wetting that roof down! I happen to know that he's been
losing money on this place for five years and been trying to sell it for
a twelvemonth."
"You don't suppose," began Tom, "that he--er--that he----"
"Set the fire? Well, I'd rather not suppose about that. As there's no
evidence against him we'd better give him the benefit of the doubt, I
guess."