“It’s the store!” cried Tom as he gazed at the raging fire, “something terrible has happened.”
“Mutiny and riot!” struck in Mr. Chillingworth, as a wild noise of shouts and yells and confused shooting was borne to their ears.
CHAPTER XXIII.
HEMMED IN BY FLAMES.
“I guess that this is as far as it will be safe to come.”
It was Mr. Chillingworth who spoke. The little party had, by painfully creeping forward down the side of the jutting headland, managed to reach a position in the rear of the big shed which housed the Chinese under ordinary conditions. It now appeared, though, that it was empty. Doubtless its occupants had either fled in terror or had joined in the mad rioting.
From their point of vantage they had a clear view of all that was happening within the settlement itself, lit up as the place was by the glare-light.
They could see men rushing about the streets, if such the thoroughfares between the shanties could be called. The red glow of the flames shone on their faces, swollen and heated by the fire and excitement, and perhaps by liquor, too. For they could see where a group had gathered about a big cask and was broaching it freely.
“Good heavens,” exclaimed the rancher, “if they have started drinking what will happen?”
The professor uttered a groan. Anxiety for his boy was preying cruelly on him. He had all he could do to keep himself from rushing out from their hiding place and boldly demanding the lad, be the consequences what they might.
Hitherto, however, the counsel of the others had prevented his taking such a mad step. In the present mood of the men there was no telling to what lengths their folly might lead them. All felt that it would be dangerous to cross any of them for the present at least.