The next minute he was running down the hill like a deer. In less than a minute he dropped, still carrying the half-emptied kerosene can, through the hole in the wharf. Then he waited and saw a warm blaze high upon the hill.
"That fix heem and her," said Pete, intoxicated with his deed and with the alcohol. "That teach heem, damn Shautch Quin, heh! I kill his blother, heh, and burn his house!"
His heart was warm within him as fire. It seemed so good to be revenged. Now they would wake, and perhaps would not escape. All the world would wake and go up there, and then the Mill would be left alone. Already the flame on the hill was so fierce that many must see it.
And, indeed, many saw it, and some came running and there was a growing sound of men, and far off he heard men call. And then from up above there came the sound of firearms, used as an alarm. By this he knew that Quin was up.
"I fix heem and now I fix his Mill;" said Pete hoarsely. He had forgotten all they had told him of the scheme by which a man pays a little so that he shall not lose all. What did it matter? The Mill was Quin's, and he loved it. Pete knew that.
As all the town woke he dropped down stream in his canoe and came to the Mill.
It was built, as all such are when they border on a river or any water, partly on the land and partly on great piles sunk in the river bed. The wharves, where scows and steamboats and schooners loaded the lumber, were even further towards the deep water. At high tide a boat could pass underneath them all, and get beneath the deep shadow of the Mill. There fish played constantly, schools of little candle-fish, the oolachan that the fur-seals love, that is so fat that when it dries it drips oil. And there were places in the Mill that dripped oil, as there are in all works where machinery moves swiftly, and bearings are apt to grow hot. For many years the Mill had never ceased to run, save when heavy frost fixed the moving river in thick-ribbed ice, and it was saturated with all that burns. In every crack dry sawdust lay that was almost explosive: the bearings of belts were fat with oil. Pete knew it would burn like tinder, like dry, dead resinous spruce, like the bark of red cedar.
As he moved in the darkness, over the sound of the lapping water he heard the sound of the waking city. Where so much was built of wood, fire was dreadfully interesting. He knew the world would wake and be upon the hill. Now he saw the glimmer of the fire he had lighted show a gleam upon the water under the sky. He laughed to himself quietly, and, holding on to a pile, listened. Was there anyone above him on the floor of the Mill? Or had even the watchman run to Quin's house to help? He knew how fire drew a man, how it drew all men.
There was no sound above him. He ran his canoe into deeper darkness and left it on the mud and climbed straight among crossing interlaced timbers to the first floor, where the Shingler worked and laths were made. He moved lightly, his feet in silent mocassins, and entered the dark hole under the Chinee Trimmer. Above him was the chute by which matched-flooring came down to the Chinamen, who carried it to the Planers and the machines that worked it. He heard the hum of a far-off crowd and saw the light of the burning house. He climbed into the upper Mill. And as he thrust his head out of the chute at the left hand of the Trimmer, then idle in the casing, he saw the house itself through the great side chute of the Mill, down which he had fallen the day he struck Quin with the pickareen.
The Mill was empty. He looked round cautiously and then leapt out upon the floor. There was sufficient light for him to see by, and he saw that some man had at least taken precautions against him. There were buckets of water here and there: there was even a hose-pipe with a pump, a force-pump. There was another hose coming from the Engine-Room. These things showed him he had been feared: they showed him it would be hard to get away. But he had no time to think. With a savage grin he pulled out his knife and sliced the hose into pieces. He capsized the buckets as they stood. Then he fetched his oil-can from where he had put it, close to the Pony Saw, and emptied it at a spot which he chose, because the oil would run upon the sawdust carrier and go down past the fine cedar dust from the Shingler. Below the Shingle Mill was the water. He knew exactly where to find the spot where the oil would drip into the river. He ran back to the chute by which he had ascended and as he slipped into the chute he heard someone call.