Making his way to the door, Matt unfastened it and flung it open. The breeze which swept through the building caused the roar of the fire to increase, giving an added impetus to the flames.
Darting back to the cot, Matt picked up the form and staggered with it out into the night, falling heavily when a few yards from the blazing building.
In the glare that lighted up the vicinity of the boathouse Matt discovered that it was Lorry whom he had carried to safety. Lorry! That meant that it was after midnight, and that McGlory had been outside of the boathouse, on guard.
The fire was not accidental—it could not have been accidental. Firebugs must have been at work. What had become of McGlory that he had not interfered?
It was impossible that the cowboy was in the burning building. Ping, however, should be there. The Chinese usually bunked under the workbench.
Whirling away, Matt started again for the burning building; but, before he reached the door, Ping, coughing and spluttering, his arms filled with clothes, reeled out and fell in a sprawling heap on the ground.
Rushing up to him, and thankful to find that he was safe, Matt grabbed him by the shoulders and drew him farther from the boathouse.
"Where's McGlory?" shouted Matt.
It was necessary for him to talk at the top of his voice in order to make himself heard above the roar of the wind and the flames.
"No savvy," panted Ping, lifting himself to his knees, his terror-stricken face showing weirdly in the glare. "My no makee yell when you makee yell," he added, digging his knuckles into his smarting eyes. "My heap full smoke. My blingee clothes——"