“Who is he?”
“I don’t know; but he’s done for, whoever he is. You ought to heard him screamin’!”
They worked together feverishly for a moment longer, and beat out the last of the flames, but it was evident that the unfortunate man at their feet was far past human aid. He was still moaning and jerking convulsively, but was mercifully unconscious and would no doubt remain so to the end.
“We’ve got t’ git away from here, an’ that mighty quick,” said one of the men, with a glance at the seething inferno beside them. “That car’s loaded with oil, an’ it’s goin’ to blow up in about a minute.”
“How’re we goin’ to carry him?”
“Roll him on my overcoat—we can carry him that way.”
“I don’t want to touch him,” faltered the other. “He—he comes off on your fingers.”
But the first watchman, with an exclamation of impatience, spread his overcoat beside the blackened body and rolled it over with his foot.
“Now, take a hold of that end,” he said, “an’ git a move on.”
They gathered up the burden gingerly, and started away at a trot—not a moment too soon, for they had gone scarcely a hundred feet, when the car exploded with a mighty roar. Blazing oil was hurled over everything in the neighbourhood, and instantly a dozen cars were afire—the flames roaring and crackling furiously before the wind.