By this time, however, the whole of Paloma appeared to be lighted up with the brisk blaze. Tongues of flame shot skyward from the burning hotel, while small blazing embers dropped freely into the street.
“Is everyone out? Everyone safe? Anyone missing?” panted Carter, the young proprietor of the Cactus House.
The disturbed guests ranged themselves about Carter, who looked them over swiftly.
“Where are Mrs. Gerry and her two babies?” demanded the hotel man, his cheeks blanching.
None answered, for no one had seen the woman and her children.
“They must be in the house,” cried Carter.
At that instant a woman's face appeared, briefly, at a window on the third floor. Her piercing cry rang out, then her face vanished, a cloud of smoke driving her from the open window.
“Hustle the ladders along!” begged the hotel man hoarsely. “We must rescue that woman and her children. Her husband will be here in morning. What can we say to him if we allow his wife and children to perish in the flames?”
In a few moments a long ladder had been hauled off the track and brave men rushed it to the wall, two men starting to ascend the moment it was in place.
In another moment they came sliding down, balked. Flames had enveloped the upper end of the ladder. It had to be hauled down, buckets of water being dashed over the blazing sides.