He ran to open to him, explaining breathlessly about the fire and the wires as they hurried up the walk.
“You take the hose and watch while I hunt where those wires are cut. I believe we shall need the fire engine.”
“It won’t do any good; you can’t mend the cut if you find it. Better break into the house and bring out the women now.”
“Wake them to all this turmoil, when it may not be necessary? No. I’ll find and splice those wires someway.”
“You’ll get shocked, crippled, if not killed.”
“Telephone wires don’t shock to hurt.”
Without more parley Billy hurried out of the enclosure and around to where the line entered the grounds, finding what he expected. The wire had been cut near the pole. It was easy to tie the long end to the fence, but he was puzzled how to manage the other.
The man—how had he reached the wire so high? He must have had a ladder—that was where the ladder went! Or—could he have brought one? Climbers! Of course. Billy’s heart sank, but rose again when he remembered that all poles at Tuk-wil-la were of iron.
While thinking, he was hunting, slowly he thought, yet actually flying from place to place, diving into the greenery along the fence and leaving more than one drop of blood as tribute to the barbs. He found the ladder at last, a flimsy thing, and placed it against the pole.
Wire! He must have wire. Like lightning his mind flashed from point to point of his difficulty. The clothes-line,—that was copper! He started back, running and thinking. How could he cut it? Must he take time to twist it in two, even supposing he could? It was such heavy wire. Tools in the garage? Yes, perhaps, and the chest locked; and while he hunted, precious moments would be going.