For flames were mingling with the heavy smoke that rolled through the window. Dan ran to the door of the play-house and sent the axe smashing against the lock. Once, twice, and then the door flew inward and Dan retreated against the smother of smoke that assailed him. Inside the house was a dim chaos of swirling clouds illumined by little spurts of flame that ran along the window-casing on one side of the room. Now that door and window were open, the fire, which had almost smothered itself out, took new life. From the burning woodwork came a sound of crackling, drowned the next instant by the hiss of the stream from the extinguisher which the boy was playing through the window.
But Dan was thinking of the dog, and after the first outburst of choking smoke had driven him away he hurried back to the door and peered in. But so heavy was the murk that for a moment his smarting eyes could see nothing distinctly. He called over and over, and from the window the boy added his entreaties. But there was no answering whine. And then, as the smoke lessened, blown upward by a sudden draft of air from the door, Dan saw a dark object stretched motionless on the floor in the farthest corner of the room. At that instant the flames, having reached the top of the window, reached out with a hungry roar and the flimsy ceiling curled apart with a shower of sparks.
[CHAPTER XI]
A RESCUE
“Can you see him?”
The boy had dropped his extinguisher and was peering into the room, his hand clutching Dan’s arm frantically.
“He’s there in the corner by the table, but he won’t come,” answered Dan with something very much like a sob.
“Jack! Jack!” cried the boy. “Come here, sir! Good dog! Come here!”
But there was no answer.