“Now take the buckets, men!” cried the voice of Captain Strong. “We must fight fire with water!”
Instantly a score of stout leathern buckets were brought into requisition, and the boards that covered the well removed.
“A little water for the women, first,” said Levi Armstrong, dropping one of the buckets into the well by means of a rope.
Down, down went the receptacle, and the men stood about with anxious faces. They wanted to know how much water was in the well, for upon a generous supply of the fluid, their lives and the lives of their wives and little ones depended.
At last the bucket was heard to strike water, and old Levi looked up almost despairingly.
“There’s scarcely two feet o’ water in the well,” he said.
“I fathomed four last night,” said Zebulon Strong, confidently. “But quick! draw up, Armstrong, and let more buckets be lowered. The burning arrows shoot from the hill like meteors.”
The next instant the water was at the top, and the settler threw the rope to Matt Hunter.
“This is for the women,” said the old man; “but I’ll taste it first.”
He raised the bucket to his lips, but a moment later ejected the mouthful of water which he had taken, and started toward the well, with flashing eyes.