“I’ll hold ’em,” said Sleepy. “Go ahead.”
Hashknife and Slim threw the lead-ropes to Sleepy, and went galloping toward the Parker home, passing the scattered crowd and jerking to a stop at the gate, where they dismounted and ran toward the house.
As yet the fire was confined to the front of the house, but blazing merrily. The door was open and the flames were billowing out, fanned by a breeze from the rear. The crowd came piling in, knocking down the picket-fence.
They headed for the well at the rear of the house, led by Jim Parker. Slim grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stop.
“Where’s Lila?” demanded Slim.
“God knows!” panted Parker. “She was at home alone. My wife was at the store, and when she came home the house was on fire.”
Slim and Hashknife ran to the back door, dashing through the smoke and found the stairway. Slim pushed Hashknife aside and leaped up the stairs. Hashknife managed to close the door between the hall and the living-room, but not until he had caught a fairly good view of the blazing interior. He caught a glimpse of the center-table, lying on its side, and almost in the center of the room on the floor was the big lamp, which usually sat on the table.
Almost before Hashknife had closed the door, fighting against the smoke-fumes, Slim was staggering down the stair. Together they stumbled out of the house and into the cool night air, where they panted like a pair of Marathon runners. Men were running back and forth from the well, tossing ineffectual buckets of water through the windows, while others shouted advice, which nobody heeded.
“She’s not up there,” panted Slim. “I was in every room.”
Everybody in Red Arrow was there, it seemed, and the word had been passed that Lila was in the house. Mrs. Parker was crying, Jim Parker swearing.