"It's got to do!" he murmured. "I'll be scorched, I'm afraid, but there's no help for it! Here goes!"
Wrapping the covering about him, he dashed across the barn floor. It was ablaze in several places under his feet. The cataract of fire was now fiercer than ever over the opening of the big doors. Holding the blanket to protect his head, he took a running start, and jumped.
Straight through the big opening he went, and he heard a confused cheer and shout as he appeared. He felt the hot breath of the fire all about him. He smelled the scorching wool, the burning straw and hay. His nose and mouth seemed full of cinders. He felt himself falling down, down, down. He tried to keep himself upright, that he might land on his feet, but, in spite of himself, he felt that he was turning on his back. He twisted and squirmed, as does a diver who wants to cleave the water cleanly. Oh, how Bert wished he was diving into the old swimming hole, instead of into a fiery mass of straw and hay!
He landed on the ground in a crouching position. He seemed to be smothering in a mass of black cinders that rose up in a feathery cloud all about him. He could hardly breathe.
Then he felt some one grab him—several hands began carrying him forward. An instant later his blanket was unwrapped from his head, and he found himself in the midst of a crowd of men and boys.
"Look out! The blanket's afire!" some one called, and Constable
Stickler kicked the burning mass of wool to one side.
Suddenly there was a great crash, and the roof of the barn toppled in.
A great shower of sparks arose, and there was a dense cloud of smoke.
Then the flames seemed to die down, for there was little left for them
to feed on.
"You got out just in time," said Vincent, coming up to Bert, and grasping him by the hand. "Did you get burned any?"
"Just a bit; on one hand. I had to leave it out to hold the edges of the blanket together. How about you?"
"Not a scorch, but I'm wet through from the blanket. It saved me, though."