The messengers had followed him to the knoll. There they had a first view of the extent of the fire. The glare seemed to light the whole sky to the west. Here and there the flames were in full sight, while above them were rolling masses of smoke.
“Gee-whittaker! Spreadin’ like bad news and travelin’ like Sam Hill! And with this wind blowin’——” The man broke off in mid-sentence; whistled sharply; turned to the boys. “You two hustle along to the cottages. Rout out everybody. And say! Tell ’em from me they’d better get word to town. They’ve got telephones, and now’s the time to use ’em.”
With that the farmer started off, taking the road by which Step and Poke had come; while they, in small need of the counsel he had given, ran toward the pavilion.
The cottage settlement was grouped about the public building. Altogether there were a score of houses, most of them now occupied for the season; so that there promised to be men enough available to make a considerable force of fire fighters. Taking a lesson from their recent experience, the boys raised the cry of “Fire! Fire! Fire!” when they neared the first of the cottages.
The response was prompt. For one thing, there was small need of explanation of the alarm; for from the neighborhood of the pavilion there was an unobstructed view of the opposite shore of the lake and the extent of the fire’s spread. Already the flames were making a wonderful spectacular display, which served as most effective warning to the cottagers of the need of haste in forming their fire brigade. It was almost like a warship’s crew obeying the call to quarters, so hurriedly did every able-bodied man turn out for service. There was some confusion, of course. Poke and Step found themselves in the middle of a little crowd. Two or three were putting questions at once—and not waiting for replies. Plainly, the cause of the fire or the precise point of its beginning was of minor interest and importance, compared with the present danger. There was aimless scurrying to and fro. In one of the houses a woman began to shriek hysterically. Then rose a stern voice of authority. The boys knew the voice. It was that of Mr. Zorn.
“Get axes and spades! Hogan, you’ve got a plow—load it in your light wagon and hitch up on the jump! Mack, you do the same thing! And, Ed!”—his voice rose sharply. “Ed, I say! Hang it! where is that boy?”
There was no reply. Apparently the younger Zorn was not present, nor was his whereabouts known.
Again Mr. Zorn called, loudly and impatiently: “Ed! Ed! I want you!”
There was a brief silence. Then somebody had a suggestion to make:
“Reckon he’s started for the fire—boy fashion—got to see what’s doing, you know.”