“The barn on my father’s place,” answered Bateye Jones pantingly.
Some one rang the alarm bell on the tower of the hose house.
The few firemen on duty began to rush about, and hitched up the horses. Other volunteers from nearby houses hastened to the hose house. A red glare could be seen reflected on the sky. The fire department at last had a chance for a run, and the members rejoiced in it, for there had been many days of inactivity. It mattered not that the barn was a worthless structure, better burned than left standing. It was a chance to get out the new apparatus, and must not be missed.
The hose wagon and chemical engine combined rattled out of the house. Men shouted various unimportant directions. The horses were scarcely awake.
“There they go!” exulted Bateye as he and the others prepared to race back to the scene they had so recently left.
“S’pose they find out we did it?” asked Pete.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Bateye. “I got leave from dad to burn the barn, only he didn’t know I was going to do it to-night. He wants to put up a silo for cattle fodder on the place, so the barn had to come down, anyhow, and burning was the easiest way. But I thought we might as well have some fun out of it while we’re at it.”
And then the boys, and scores of others, ran on, while voices multiplied the cry of:
“Fire! Fire! Fire!”