Two streams of people were set in motion—the one flowing tumultuously toward the cloud of smoke, the other speeding frantically for the nearest hose house, headquarters of the Pole Star Volunteers.
Ned, with Bob barking and leaping about him, fell in with the latter current. Very soon, you may be sure, he arrived at the hose house. He found a large throng of men and boys collected before the door.
“Where’s the key? They can’t find the key!” he heard announced from every side.
The town marshal mounted the steps of the outside stairs, so that he could look over the crowd.
“Does any one know where the key is?” he bellowed, searching the faces of the jostling mob which, brimming with excitement, was constantly increasing.
“Where’s the key? Who knows where the key is?” echoed the people, to each other, screaming the query as loud as they could.
“I know—it’s hanging behind the door in Fleischmann’s grocery!” volunteered a youngster of ten years, barefooted, in faded blue overalls and dingy checked waist. And off he scurried, importance showing in every flap of his overalls against his bare ankles.
“It’s in Fleischmann’s grocery—the boy’s gone to get it,” volleyed a chorus, to the marshal.
“Here it comes!” was shouted, in a moment. “Let the lad through—you fellows out there!”