He tried to roll from the place in which he had been shoved, but Barker had tied him to a pole in the centre of the hay-stack, and he found it impossible to free himself.
“Help! help!” he cried.
No answer came back to his appeal. The spot was out of sight of any house, and it was more than likely that the fire would be well under way before being discovered by any outsider.
“If only Frank would come,” thought Bob. “He ought to be somewhere about.”
Little did the youth dream that his friend was at that moment lying at the bottom of the ditch. The blow upon Frank’s head had been a severe one, and when Barker and Casco left him they expected he would not very soon recover.
The flames near the stack were now mounting higher, and suddenly a puff of wind carried them directly toward Bob, and the youth was almost immediately surrounded by fire.
“I’m a goner now!” moaned Bob.
The fire ate its way swiftly toward the youth’s back—it touched his hands—and he shrieked with pain.
The smoke was thick, and it not only blinded him, but choked him as well.
Bob was almost overcome when the wind shifted and carried the flames another way.