Carl had apparently dismissed the subject, however, for he was throwing his knife with a dexterity that only an Indian could have displayed. His action invited competition, and soon there was a lively contest in progress. Mr. and Mrs. Giles withdrew and left the boys to their game.
"Say, what's that?" exclaimed Dunk suddenly, in a voice of alarm.
"Smoke," yelled Jerry, jumping to his feet.
"Fire in the machine shop!" fairly screamed Carl as he started off on a run.
"The aeroplane!" gasped Fly.
"Get your buckets, quick!" ordered Fred, the coolest one of the bunch.
The boys ran to the side of the old barracks, just south of the machine shop, where the buckets were kept, yelling "Fire! Fire!" at the same time.
As they turned the corner of the barracks sharply they unexpectedly bumped into the mysterious red man, who was crouching and feeling his way along the wall. They were too excited to attach any importance to the occurrence at the moment, and the Indian was soon making swiftly for the open prairies to the west.
Aroused by the commotion, people were now running from all directions, and in an incredibly short time there was a good-sized crowd at the scene of the fire.
Carl had gone immediately to the shop. "Get a hose," he shouted to some idly gaping Greasers and soldiers who stood looking at the smoke which poured from the cracks of the doors and windows.