I realized, too, that something more vital than just our three lives was in danger. This building—up the wooden walls of which angry rivulets of fire were now creeping—was an important cog in Uncle Sam's total war effort. Destroyed, it meant loss of precious materiel to the Allies, hundreds of eager hands restrained from putting into employment the tools which forged the weapons of Democracy, thousands of tanks and guns and aircraft withheld from fighters who needed them.
But we were helpless! The more so, now, because our captors were scurrying from the room like rats from a sinking ship. As the gloom lighted to ochre, they hurried to a door, slipped through it—and the clank! of metal upon metal meant they had dropped the lockbar into place behind them.
Trapped! Trapped to die like moths in a flame. But a moth had wings; we had none. Our hands were pinioned to an inaccessible pillory. I writhed again, a moan wrenching from my lips as my shoulder-muscles strained and tore. And then:
And then a calm, familiar voice speaking to me! The voice of Horsesense Hank.
"I wouldn't do that if I was you, Jim. 'Twon't help none, an' it may jest make matters wuss."
I gasped, "Hank! Thank the Lord you're alive. I was afraid maybe you—"
"I'm awright," said Cleaver gently. "Jest stunned a little. I come to a few minutes ago, but I figgered as how I mought as well keep my eyes an' mouth shut. No sense lettin' the enemy know you got y'r wits about you, I calc'late." His eyes studied the ever-fanning flame with incredibly detached interest. "Hmm! Thing's spreadin' fast, hey? Do you reckon the fire department'll be able to ketch it afore it ruins the whole plant?"
"I'd give a million bucks," I told him honestly, "to be here to find out."
"'Pears to me," mused Hank, "like they will. That's green wood, you know. Don't burn as quick as seasoned timber would. Yep, I 'low as how them spies won't do as much damage as they planned on."
"That," I moaned, "will be a great consolation to us when they bury our ashes!"