His voice did not carry, but Tom Reade and his wearied helpers were doing all that could be done by strong, willing hands.
Another and longer tongue of flame leaped out through the shattered window, and again Dave's swinging feet were all but bathed in fire.
"Thank heaven we've got you up here, old fellow!" panted Tom Reade fervently, as Dave was hauled over the roof's edge, helping himself a little.
Dave, as soon as the noose had been slipped over his head, got up on his feet, though he staggered a bit dizzily.
"We must all get back up to that roof," ordered Dave, pointing to the roof down from which they had leaped a while before.
"We can't," retorted Reade. "We'll have to wait for the firemen and their ladders."
"Ladders—-nothing!" retorted Dave, though his voice was weak and husky. "We'll make our own ladders. You, Holmes, get over against that wall. Hazelton, you beside hind Reade you climb up onto their shoulders. Now, Dan you climb up on Reade's shoulders, and you'll reach that roof up there!"
Darrin's orders were quickly carried out. This trick of wall scaling was really not difficult for football men in daily practice. Dan's head was quickly above the gutter of the next roof. He pulled himself over the edge.
"Stand by to catch the rope, Dan," shouted Dave. "Throw it to him, Tom."
Whizz-zz! whirr-rr! That rope was over the edge and in Dan's hands. Dalzell raced to a chimney, taking two or three turns around and making fast.