“I don’t know,” he answered. “I looked out, but I couldn’t see any fire. Don’t be alarmed; it must be a long distance away, in another part of the village.”
A man was running down the middle of the street as Osgood dashed from the house, slamming the door behind him. He called to the man, but received no answer. Then he took to the street and followed.
The bell in the Methodist steeple hammered and banged as he raced past the church. Lights were shining everywhere from the windows of houses. Men and boys came running from side streets, questioning one another excitedly without getting satisfactory answers.
There was a crowd in the village square, and, contrasted with the agitated people who came running to join it from every direction, it was strangely calm.
Ned grabbed some one by the arm, as he demanded:
“What is it? What’s the matter? Why are they ringing the bells?”
He recognized Jack Nelson, as the person he had questioned turned to answer.
“It’s Hooker!”
“Hooker!” choked Osgood, aghast.
A fearsome thought smote him. Hooker was dead! But why should they ring the bells in the middle of the night and bring all the people out?