Five minutes more, and—
“Gee-whiz!” gasped Ned, transfixed with amazement.
He had reached his goal. Immediately before him lay the lumber yards. Over them rested that black canopy which had been visible from afar, and which, from a-near, was seen to be licked by leaping flames. The air was pungent with the odor of scorched pine. On this side of the railroad tracks which skirted the yards, at the north, were the onlookers; men, women and children—packing every vacant spot, occupying every point of vantage. Beyond the tracks, among the very piles, were the fire-fighters, like groups of pigmies attacking a blaze-vomiting giant.
Above the feverish cries of the spectators, above the hoarse shouts of the firemen, sounded the crackle and roar of the conflagration.
The entire district south of the tracks seemed doomed to be wiped out. Here, in the Mosher yards, were thousands upon thousands of feet of dry lumber. The fire fairly flew from pile to pile, and so intense was the heat that the pitchy material appeared to break into flames all at once, from within.
East of the yards was the river; but west was that section of the town known as South Beaufort, made up, mostly, of the homes of mill men and railroad men. Fine opportunity did these houses, close together and lightly constructed, offer to the fire!
At the outset little wind had been blowing; but the fire was creating a draft, forming a vortex into which poured the cool air in a regular gale. Enormous cinders whirled high aloft, to stream down everywhere. The whole town was endangered by them.
“Here comes Hal,” knocked Bob with his tail against his master’s leg.
“Hello, Bob,” called Hal, who was making for them through the crowd.
“Oh, Hal, isn’t this awful!” greeted Ned.