CHAPTER VI
THE FIRE
Wind and weather or the destructive freak of some careless boy had certainly cut off the one avenue of escape for the imprisoned boys from the burning building.
Had not the pit yawned far below the ground surface Will would have trusted to a flying jump in the darkness.
Tom Dalton, utterly overwhelmed, sat huddled together on the floor quaking with terror.
The encroaching fire showed through the cracks so plainly now that they could see each other’s faces.
Already the fire was burning the floor beneath them. They could not descend.
“We must climb higher,” said Will, forming a quick resolution. “There are the old stairs yonder. Follow me, Tom.”
The cabin boy obeyed Will’s order mutely, and they found themselves in a large loft at the top story of the building.
Will began to reconnoiter at once, but he found that the distance from the windows to the ground was too great to encourage him to take a dangerous leap downwards.
They might reach the attic or the roof, but that only made their dilemma worse.
At last, after a rapid inspection, he lit a match and surveyed critically an aperture in the side of the building.
The smoke and heat had now become well-nigh intolerable, and occasionally some timber burning in two would make the weakened structure topple and tremble.
“Oh! what shall we do?” moaned Tom, despairingly.
“Get out of this when it comes to the worst.”
“How?”
“By jumping from the window.”
“And kill ourselves by the fall!” cried Tom. “Can’t we call for help?”
“There’s no one in sight on this side of the building, and besides they couldn’t reach us from the river end. Now, listen carefully to me, Tom, for our safety depends on our own efforts.”
“What is it, Will?”
“In the corner yonder there’s an old shute leading to the river.”
“What’s a shute?”
“A long, tightly boarded box. They used it to send rubbish down to the river. It slants down the side of the building about forty feet.”
“You don’t mean to slide down it?”
“Yes, I do. It’s our only chance of escape.”
It seemed a perilous one, and as Will held a match over the end of the shute and explained that a swift descent might terminate in a cold plunge in the river, Tom drew back in dismay.
“I’ll go first,” said Will. “You’ll follow.”
“I’m afraid, Will.”
“Then we’re lost, for the fire—hear that!”
“I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” cried Tom, starting, as one side of the building, the lower props burned away, and sagged to one side.
It was high time for action. Will climbed over the extending top of the shute and lowered himself into it.
Clinging to the edge he gave Tom a warning word:
“Don’t delay a moment in following me.”
“I won’t.”
“Here goes, then!”
Will Bertram experienced a strange sensation as, relaxing his grasp, he shot vertically downwards.
His breath seemed taken away, and his hands, sweeping the bottom of the shute seemed to gather a thousand little slivers.
Then, with a gasp, he felt his body strike the water and become entirely submerged. He was chilled by the shock, but he puffed and struggled, and then clung to a rock and drew himself to the shore, breathless and exhausted.
Splash!
A second echoing plunge followed his own, and in the radiating illumination, he made out a struggling figure in the water.
Tom Dalton had followed his example, and just in time, for a crash told of a floor giving way in the structure they had vacated.
“Tom! Tom! this way!” called Will, cautiously.
But his companion in peril either did not hear him or had determined to follow his own course. He struck out deliberately to cross the river, swam vigorously forward, and, reaching the opposite shore, cast a quick look in the direction of the burning mill, and then disappeared in the darkness outside the radius of its light.
“He’s probably afraid the captain will catch him,” theorized Will. “At all events, he’s safe.”
Will shook the water from his clothes and made a wide detour of the burning.
As he looked back he saw quite a crowd gathered around the building, but determined to evade them, and made his way homeward, walking briskly to restore the circulation to his chilled frame.
He found the lamp turned down when he reached home and was glad to know that his father and mother had retired for the night.
“There’s no use worrying them about what’s happened tonight,” he soliloquized, and he made up a good fire in the kitchen and spread out his soaked garments to dry.
“Is that you, Will?” Mrs. Bertram called from her chamber.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Where have you been?”
“With Tom Dalton. The poor fellow was afraid Captain Morris would find him, and I went with him to try and find him a place to sleep,” with this vague explanation, Will bade his parents goodnight and repaired to his own room.
He dozed restlessly the first portion of the night, and then, unable to sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of his varied adventures and the anticipated expedition of the morning, he wrapped a blanket around himself and stole silently to the kitchen.
He devoted the remainder of the night to drying his clothes. With the first break of dawn, he had donned them and attended to various little chores around the house.
His curiosity impelled him to proceed a little distance down the street, whence a view of the harbor could be obtained.
He was familiar enough with the various craft at anchorage to miss the trim sails and masts of Captain Morris’ ship.
The Golden Moose had sailed during the night; but where was poor Tom Dalton, the runaway?
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