“Oh, we won't hurt your old cinder pile!” called the inventor jocosely, as the wreck of the Anti-Fire-Fly swooped down with a rush.
“But the cinders!” howled the man. “Bedad! They're into it! Mike! Mike! Bring the hose! The hose!”
And we were into it.
A final rush of air and we struck the pile with a thud. And for my part, I had no sooner landed than I bounced to my feet with a shriek, for that cinder pile was about the hottest proposition it has ever been my misfortune to meet.
The cords were all about me, and as I pulled wildly in one direction, I could feel Hawkins pulling as wildly in the opposite.
“Let go! Let go, Griggs!” he screamed. “Come my way! Lord! I'm all afire! Come, quick!”
“I'm not going to climb back over that infernal heap!” I shouted. “You come this way!”
“But my feet! They're burning, and——”
A mighty stream of water knocked me headlong to the ground. Sizzling, steaming on the red-hot cinders, it caught Hawkins and hurled his panting person to the other side, Anti-Fire-Fly and all. Mike had arrived with the hose.
After a period of wallowing in water and mud I regained my feet.