“I can swim better than I can climb, Bill.”
“We’ve only a quarter of a mile and downstream at that. And the current here would float a keg of nails.”
“How about rocks, Bill?” asked Bucks, peering dubiously toward the roar of the rushing river.
“All up-stream from here,” returned Dancing, edging down the shelving table toward the water. “Lock arms with me so I don’t lose you, sonny. What in Sam Hill is that?”
Far down the river the two saw a tongue of flame leaping into the sky. They watched it for a moment. Dancing was the first to locate the conflagration, which grew now, even as they looked, by leaps and bounds. The two stood ready to plunge into the river when a fire of musketry echoed up the gorge. The lineman clutched Bucks’s arm.
“There’s fighting going on down there now. What’s that smokestack? By Jing, the roundhouse is on fire!”