Dickson and his wife, half-dressed, were rushing madly about, empty water-pails in their hands. Already the red flames were leaping through one of the windows; and, as they looked, a heavy jet of black smoke, swiftly followed by a long tongue of fire, shot out from the roof above the flaming window.
"Buckets! Buckets!" yelled Ham. "Form a line tew th' spring an' pass buckets of water from it tew th' house. Here, you," he cried, as his eyes caught sight of Thure and Bud, "back tew th' house an' git everything in it that'll hold water—pails, gold-pans, kettles, anything—Hurry!"
Thure and Bud turned instantly and sped back to the house, their hearts thumping with excitement. They knew the value of moments in a case like this. Thure was a little longer-legged, a little the swifter runner, and he reached the open door perhaps a rod ahead of Bud and sprang through it, thinking only of how he could get hold of the kettles and the pails and the pans in the quickest manner possible.
The room was dimly lighted by a ruddy glow from the coals still burning in the fireplace; and by this light, Thure, the moment he sprang through the door, saw a figure start up suddenly from near the bunk where he slept and turn a pock-marked, face, white with fear, toward him; and then, as his momentum carried him into the room and before he could lift a hand in self-defense, he saw the right hand suddenly swing up a heavy club, as the figure leaped toward him, and—a blinding crash and he knew no more for the present.
Bud was more fortunate. He saw the figure, saw the blow hurriedly aimed at him, in time to spring aside; and then, with a yell of rage, for he, too, had caught sight of the pock-marked face of his assailant, he hurled himself toward him.
But Pockface had had all of the fight he wanted; for, the instant he struck at Bud and failed to hit him, he sprang through the door.
Bud, in his mad rush to get at the man, failed to see the body of Thure sprawled out on the ground at his feet, and, as he sprang after the fleeing scoundrel, his feet struck the body and pitched him head-first to the ground, where he lay for an instant, stunned by the fall. When he jumped to his feet and sprang excitedly to the door, Pockface had vanished completely into the darkness of the night.
There was no use now of trying to follow him. Besides, there was Thure! What had happened to him? He—he might be dead! And, with fingers that trembled with anxiety and dread, Bud hurriedly lit a candle and bent over Thure, for the moment forgetful of the fire and of everything else but the condition of his friend.
A great bump on the top of Thure's head showed where the blow had fallen; but he was breathing, and Bud's experience in such matters quickly told him that he was only stunned.
On a box in a corner of the room stood a pail, filled with water. Bud quickly seized this pail, and, in his excitement, dumped its whole contents directly down on the white face of Thure.