CHAPTER III
BOY SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE
Bruce Clifford and the other members of Quarry Troop No. 1, waited onlyto determine the location of the column of smoke that now extended clearacross the sky, then, selecting the short cut across the field by whichthey had come, they hurried pellmell toward the scene of trouble.
"It's down in the factories!" panted Romper as he ran.
"Yes, I think it's Mayor Worthington's woolen mills," shouted Bud.
"By Jove, I guess you're right," yelled Bruce as they turned into WillowStreet and saw smoke pouring from the windows of the big brick buildingat the far end of the street.
It was the worst fire that Woodbridge had experienced in years. By thetime the firemen reached the scene the whole west end of the building wasenveloped in flames and a section of the slate roof had already caved in.From every window long tongues of red flames darted out like hideousserpents' tongues. Great sparks shot skyward as sections of the westwall crumbled and fell into the red hot caldron that had once been thebuilding's interior, and the heat was so intense that windows in thefactory building across the street cracked and crumbled.
It was a fortunate thing for Woodbridge that there was a score ofvisiting fire companies in town, or else the whole south section of thevillage would have been wiped out. Chief Blaney, almost beside himselfwith anxiety, implored the visiting chiefs for their assistance. Andassist him they did. Every company got its equipment into action andlines of hose were strung in some cases nearly half a mile. There wereat least a dozen hand engines and two steamers on the banks of OtterCreek supplying lines to the fire, not to mention the hundreds of feet ofhose that were coupled to the village hydrant system in every direction.
But all that the willing vamps could do seemed to no avail. The firedemon was rampant. He roared full cry through the long brick building,consuming everything in his path. Section after section of roof sagged,then fell with a crash and a roar into the flames, sending aloft a showerof crackling sparks.
"Thank heavens, this was a holiday. There's no one in the building,"Bruce heard Chief Blaney cry as he hurried past in company with theforeman of a visiting company.
But the rubber-coated fire fighter had hardly uttered the words when ashout went up from the crowd at the east end of the building, where thefirm's office was located. Men with blanched faces and trembling handswere pointing towards the big iron barred window that marked the countingroom.
"O-o-h! It's old Uriah Watkins!" shrieked Blaney.
Bruce looked and turned sick at the sight. There, his wrinkled old facepressing against the bars, was the aged bookkeeper of the woolen mills.One hand was extended between the iron grating in frantic appeal. Theother clutched the precious ledgers that the old man had rashly rushedinto the building to rescue. His ashen face was set with a horribleexpression, and his eyes stood out with terror. Bruce saw his lips move,but could not hear his feeble voice above the roar of the flames.
For a moment the scout stood panic stricken. Then suddenly his lipspressed together and his face took on a determined look. In a flash heturned to Bud and gave a few brief orders. Then, elbowing their waythrough the jam and press about them, the youngsters disappeared and leftBruce there alone.
In the meantime a score of vamps had been summoned by Chief Blaney torescue the aged bookkeeper. They attacked the heavy bars on the windowwith sledges and axes, but with no success. They tried to pry away thebricks with crowbars, but this, too, failed, and it was quite apparent toall that if Uriah Watkins was to be saved it could be accomplished onlyby the slow and laborious task of sawing through the bars. Could this bedone? Had they the time to accomplish the task? Already a nearbysection of the roof had caved in! How long would it be before the flamesreached the office and burned the old man alive?
At this point the figure of a boy in Scout uniform broke through the firelines and rushed up to the side of Chief Blaney. Standing at attention,Bruce saluted in regulation Boy Scout fashion and asked briefly:
"Chief, can the Boy Scout Engineers take a hand in this? I'll have thebars cut in two minutes."
"You will what--! Why--!"
"Yes, yes, we can do it; I've sent for our fire department--here comethe Scouts now!"
The shriek of sirens was heard above the din about the factory buildingand the great crowd beheld seven motorcycles tearing down the hill at topspeed. And just behind them bowled "Old Nanc" at her best.
"Have I your permission to take a hand?" demanded Bruce.
"Yes! yes! for goodness' sake do anything you can to free him!" cried thechief.
The line of motorcycles stopped and hose lines were quickly strung. Butthe red automobile rumbled on, to come to a halt within ten yards of thebuilding. Already two scouts were unlimbering the oxyhydrogen tanks andblow pipe equipment. Bruce rushed forward to aid them, while ChiefBlaney looked on quite puzzled for the moment.
Working fast, but with the utmost coolness, Bruce donned a pair ofasbestos gloves that came with the equipment and attached the blow pipe.Romper turned on the gases, while the young leader produced a match andignited the torch. Instantly a tiny blue flame shot out that hissed andsputtered in a threatening manner.
As he advanced toward the window Bruce saw that the old bookkeeper haddisappeared. He knew from this that there was no time to be lost, forthe man had probably fainted and would soon be overcome with smoke.Hastily he shot the blue flame at the base of the first bar. There was ahiss and a shower of sparks as the flame met the cold metal. Brucepressed the blow pipe closer, while he watched with anxious eye theprogress of the flame.
The bar grew red, then gold, then white. The heat was terrific. The barbegan to melt, slowly first, then faster, until the blue flame atecompletely through. Another was attacked, and still another, until thescout had cut a hole in the iron grating large enough for a man to passthrough.
Shouting to Romper to turn off the gas, he dropped the blow pipe, andplunging a handkerchief in a fire pail that stood near by, he tied thecloth over his nose and mouth. Then he hoisted himself through thewindow and disappeared.
Inside the smoke was thick and black, but Bruce could see flames dartthrough at the far end of the room, and he knew that in a few momentsmore the place would be seething.
He groped vainly about for the old bookkeeper. Where was he? He haddropped under the window a moment ago. Had he tried to crawl to thedoor? What had happened?
The smoke was so thick that even the moist handkerchief was of no avail.Bruce began to strangle. Then suddenly he remembered the instructions inhis Handbook. The air was purest near the floor!
He dropped to his hands and knees, and with his face to the boards hebegan to crawl about, blindly groping for the body of the old bookkeeper.His fingers clutched something. He drew the object toward him andpeered at it through the smoke. It was Uriah Watkins doubled in a ball,though unconscious and almost suffocated, the faithful old man stillclasped his precious ledgers.
Bruce knew that unless the man reached the open air immediately he wouldperish. Also he knew that if they were not both clear of the building ina few minutes they would be food for the flames which were even thenthrusting spiteful tongues under the door at the other end of the room.
Here again the instructions of the Handbook stood the scout in goodstead. He knew that it would be next to suicide to stand up and try tocarry the prostrated form to the window. The smoke was so thick evendown there near the floor that he was gasping and choking.
He twisted his hand into the old man's collar and began to crawl, face tothe floor, back toward the gray space that marked the window through thesmoke, hauling Uriah after him. Foot by foot he dragged his burden. Inspite of the handkerchief the smoke was getting into his lungs. Hischest pained him dreadfully. Oh, what wouldn't he give for a single breathof pure, fresh air! The eight or ten feet to the side wall seemed likeeight or ten miles. Would he never reach there!
Finally his hand str
uck the wall and he stood erect. The draught causedby the open window was drawing thick smoke out of the building into theair. Bruce knew he could not stand in that current of gases long.Pulling Uriah Watkins forward, he raised the limp form and forced itthrough the window ahead of him. Willing hands seized the old bookkeeperand lifted him to safety.
Then, dizzy and sick, Bruce clutched at the ledge and scrambled up. Buta dreadful nausea seized him as he knelt on the window sill. His headwhirled. He lost his balance. He knew he was falling backward into theburning building, but he was powerless to save himself. He gave astifled cry of terror, and in answer the loud voice of Chief Blaneyboomed in his ear and strong arms encircled his waist. Then everythinggrew black.
The Boy Scout Engineers never forgot the shout that went up when ChiefBlaney carried the unconscious form of Bruce to safety. They were mightyproud of their leader. But they were prouder still when, a week later,Bruce was summoned into the presence of Mayor Worthington and ChiefBlaney and presented with a parchment charter which officially informedhim that the fire company of Quarry Troop had been officially made amember of the Woodbridge Fire Department, to be known thereafter asChemical Company No. 1, with Brewster W. Clifford as the Chief.
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