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.