The boys tightened their grip on the rope. They leaned forward, prepared to spring at the command.
"Go!" shouted the umpire, and the four companies were off as one.
Over the open field they dragged the engines, the big wheels rumbling like subdued thunder. The crowd began to cheer, men and boys calling to their favorite companies to beat in the race.
Nearer and nearer to the blazing shacks came the fire-fighters. The company from Northville Centre was slightly in the lead, for their engine was lighter, and there were a score of men on the rope. Next came the Lakeville lads, while those from Weedsport were in the rear.
Suddenly there sounded a crash, and Bert, turning his head, saw the foremost of the Weedsport men stumble. An instant later the engine, striking a rut, overturned, dragging the whole company down.
"That—puts—them—out—of—the—-race!" panted Cole, who, in spite of his fleshiness, was keeping well up with his companions. But he was beginning to get out of breath. "We've—got—a—better—chance—now," he said.
"Don't talk," advised Bert. "Save your breath for running, Cole."
Which advice the young engineer followed.
It was now an even race between the Lakeville, Jamesville and Northville Centre departments. The members of the Weedsport crew were trying to right their engine.
"They've—got—her—up! They're—coming!" spoke Cole, as he looked back to see how their unfortunate adversaries fared. The three contestants were now about as close as they dared go to the blazes.