Forward Pass: A Story of the "New Football"

by Ralph Henry Barbour

“He will be burned to death!” shouted the boy in Dan’s ear. “I must get him out!”

“You can’t,” answered Dan miserably. “You’ll be burned yourself if you try it.” The heat and smoke were driving them further and further from the door.

“But he’s my dog,” cried the boy, turning a white, scared face to Dan, “and I told him I’d rescue him!”

“Well, you can’t,” answered Dan, angrily, half crying. “You had no business shutting him in there! You ought to be burned up yourself! You—you—”

But no one was listening to him, for the boy had suddenly darted through the doorway and was already lost to sight in the dense smoke.

“Come back! You mustn’t do that!” cried Dan. “You’ll be burned up! Do you hear?”

He ran to the door and looked in, forgetful of the fierce heat that assailed him. He heard a sound as from an overturning chair or table and, he thought, a faint cry. But he could not be certain, for the flames were roaring across the ceiling and the little room was filled with a lurid gloom that baffled sight. Dan reeled away from the door, his eyes smarting and streaming, his lungs gasping for air. For an instant longer he waited, watched, his heart thumping chokingly. He was dreadfully frightened. He wanted to turn and run, run until the sight and sound of the burning building were miles behind him. But he mustn’t do that, he mustn’t even seek help at the house or the stables! He was the only one who could help, and he knew it; knew that unless the boy came out in the next instant he must go in there for him! His knees weakened at the thought of it, and it seemed that to play the part of the coward was the most desirable thing in the world! It wasn’t his affair; the boy was no friend of his! Why should he risk his life?

These thoughts came and went in a moment, while his eyes regained their sight and his breath came back to him. Then he was tying his handkerchief across his white face with fingers that shook so that they could scarcely make the knots. He looked toward the house in the forlorn hope that help was in sight. But the stretch of shrubbery and lawn was empty of life. He turned his face toward the doorway, took a long breath and dashed forward.

The next instant he was on his knees at the end of the room. His head was already reeling, but he opened his eyes and, in the brief moment that he could see, the sprawled shape of the boy met his sight. He had only to stretch out his hand to reach him. But now, somehow, the idea of rescue was slipping from his mind. It was easier to lie there, face down upon the floor and keep his eyes tight closed. The heat beat down upon him and the smoke was filling his lungs, but it didn’t seem to matter any more. And then there was a sharp twinge of pain in his right arm that brought his senses rushing back to him. His sleeve was on fire. He beat out the smoldering flames, got a firm hold on the boy’s coat collar and, squirming and tugging, made for the gray oblong that was the doorway.

The place was a veritable furnace, and although there was but a few feet to traverse, it seemed that he must certainly fail. For the boy seemed to weigh tons, and the heat was like a living monster that sought to beat him to the ground with its fiery breath. More than once the thought of loosing his hold on that hateful thing behind him that was keeping him back assailed him, but each time he set his teeth and groped blindly on. And then a breath of fresher air met him, and [he staggered to his feet, stumbled blindly through the doorway] and finally fell flat upon his face on the grass.