Lanky Wallace apparently could find no words to express the feeling of horror that gripped his heart. Never did any boy have a dearer mother than his own "Mom." No wonder the possibility of losing her in such a terrible tragedy seemed to freeze the very blood in his veins.
It was indeed an exciting time at Rockspur Ranch. Men were shouting as they ran toward the burning barn as only big-lunged cow-punchers can shout. The excited cook meanwhile continued to whang away with his big spoon, as though the frying pan he held might be a dinner gong and he meant to summon those who were a full mile away.
Too, the crackling of the leaping flames told that they were gathering fresh headway with every passing second, and these sounds began to be a factor in the conglomeration of noises that had so suddenly sprung into existence on that sunny afternoon in early summer.
Barns were not always to be found on cattle ranches, for it had usually been the habit of cattlemen to let their herds shift the best they could during ordinary winters. Usually there are sheltered nooks on the range where forage may be found with unusual efforts by the stock.
But George Rockford, Lanky Wallace's deceased uncle and the late owner of these hundreds of acres, had a mind of his own. He was not to be governed by what had been good enough for his predecessors.
So he had built a big barn, though lumber was difficult to secure and had to be brought many miles, even from the mountain gorges. In this barn he always kept a certain amount of hay and straw, for emergencies, he explained to the scoffers.
Several times during his occupancy of the place his forethought had been rewarded. When an unusually severe winter rolled around, during which stock out on the ranges suffered grievous losses through deep snows and blustering blizzards, that reserve stock of feed had saved the Rockspur herd from much privation.
Lanky could see some of the cowboys bringing up a hose that was attached to the tank of water meant for household use. The stock were driven to a never-failing creek about two miles away for watering, or, if they were loose on the range, they found their way there by themselves.
In his excitement Lanky made a dive for a bucket, and then gasped in dismay when a furious burst of angry looking flame darted out from a crack in the side of the barn, for all the world like the tongue of some gigantic serpent.
"Oh, Frank! what can we do?" he moaned. Even as he said these words he realized that Frank was no longer at his side.