"Wal, stranger, you can reckon on this old stager for one," answered a familiar voice.
Dennis turned and recognized his old friend, the Good Samaritan.
"Why, Cronk," he cried, "don't you know me? Don't you remember the young man you saved from starving by suggesting the snow-shovel business?"
"Hello! my young colt. How are you? give us yer hand. But come, don't let's stop to talk about snow in this hell of a place with that young filly whinnying up there."
"Right!" cried Dennis. "Let us find a ladder and rope; quick—"
At a paint-shop around the corner a ladder was found that reached to the second story, and some one procured a rope.
"A thousand dollars," cried another familiar voice, "to the man who saves that woman!"
Looking round, Dennis saw the burly form of Mr. Brown, the brewer, his features distorted by agony and fear; then glancing up he discovered in the red glare upon her face that the woman was no other than his daughter. She had come to spend the night with a friend, and, being a sound sleeper, had not escaped with the family.
"Who wants yer thousand dollars?" replied Bill Cronk's gruff voice. "D'ye s'pose we'd hang out here over the bottomless pit for any such trifle as that? We want to save the gal."
Before Cronk had ended his characteristic speech, Dennis was half-way up the ladder. He entered the second story, only to be driven back by fire and smoke.