A puff of wind blew the smoke and flames aside for a second, and the two men could look plainly at the thick door of the ammunition building. What they saw caused them to start back, for a tiny whisp of fire was eating away at the edge of the portal.
"Too late!" groaned the colonel. "We must get the boys back! We shall have to let it burn. Get back, boys! Get back!"
"We'll have it out in another minute!" yelled Dick, as he turned on the water from his line. "I'm going to save Grit!"
The fire died down for a few seconds, owing to the increased amount of water poured on it, but it was only for a moment, and then it flared up again. But the cadets fought on grimly. Some were even using pails, dipping water from a nearby cistern, and they would not obey the orders of the teachers to keep back. They did little good, however, as they could not get near enough to make much of the fluid effective.
The door of the powder house was now burning in a larger area, and it seemed that the explosion might come at any moment. All saw it, and while they knew that they themselves could get a safe distance away, and while they realized that even if the powder did blow up, none of the college buildings would be damaged, it was different in the case of their favorite club house—the Sacred Pig—for it was close to the blazing structure.
"It will be 'roast pig' in a few minutes," murmured Paul Drew ruefully.
"I should say yes," agreed Dutton. "But we won't let it happen. If only the water holds out!"
Once more came a howl from the imprisoned Grit.
"Poor dog!" cried Dick, stooping down to see if there was a chance to get in and save his pet. But there seemed to be none.
Almost at that instant the roof of the burning shed fell in, carrying with it part of the half consumed structure. This gave a better view of the powder house door, which was seen to be on fire in several places. Grit's howls of anguish became louder.