This was no idle talk. He meant it.
It will be remembered that Nick wore a pair of high wading boots, which were of leather below and up to his knees, with rubber above, covering his thighs.
There is little doubt that these stout, high boots did a large part in enabling him to reach Chick. They protected him to some extent, where low shoes and trousers would surely have meant painful, if not fatal, burns.
He plowed through the awful smoking mass till he found himself standing right over his unconscious assistant.
“Now, Chick! If only you were a little like yourself, how easy it would be!” muttered Nick. “But there is no use in wishing. I’ve got to take him the best way I can.”
Stooping over and getting a firm hold, he lifted the young man and swung him over one shoulder. Then, without stopping to look one way or the other, he began his journey back to the window.
It took him five minutes to accomplish this feat, and more than once, when a quantity of burning rubbish came tumbling about his ears, he believed it was all up with him and his helpless burden.
But in some almost miraculous way he got through, and resting Chick on the stone coping at the window opening, looked around for a means of escape.
“Chief!” shouted Patsy, from his boat among the rushes. “Wait a moment! I’ll be there!”
“That’s what you won’t!” roared Larry Dugan, in impotent wrath. “You ain’t going to run me into no such risks as that. If you want to put me in jail, all right. But——”