The river went down as rapidly as it had come up, but left upon the clap-boards of the Diamond Jo warehouse a line of mud in token of its visit. People in the low-lying portions of the city hastened to move back into their accustomed quarters, now soaked by the flood. Many a cellar was pumped out. And at the levee Commodore Jones’ flock of skiffs was once more tethered in its usual place before the little boat-house.

Much to Ned’s disgust the eleven loads of wood arrived promptly at the Miller premises—eleven great loads of wet slabs, making a mountain higher than the alley fence, and filling all the space between the wood-shed and the next back-yard!

These slabs were to be loosely laid, one upon another, in long, parallel piles, so that the air could circulate freely between them. When the wood had dried, it was to be split, and put in the shed, for use.

It seemed to Ned an endless task, to dispose of such a mass, stick by stick. However, he had accomplished it in previous summers, and although each June it loomed into sight afresh, yet somehow by pegging away he managed to struggle through it.

Having for several days dolefully eyed the mountain, on the morning of the Saturday succeeding the Bob rescue he began, with a groan, the base of his first pile. But he knew that groaning was of no use; he was expected to devote this Saturday morning, and the next Saturday morning, and two hours a day during the coming long vacation, to the work until it was finished.

Bob, having industriously trotted hither and thither through the yard, and having gazed right and left along the street, in search for amusement, came and sat on his haunches near Ned, and with a puzzled, wondering expression, surveyed his movements.

A week had effected quite a change in Bob’s appearance. The warm welcome which he had received at the Miller home, and the food and petting which he was being accorded, already had slicked his coat, and covered his ribs. That confidence in humanity which he had lost while confined in the barn on Eagle Island, now had returned to him. He was a very happy dog.

For a few moments he watched Ned intently. Presently, getting no encouragement to frolic, and doubtless disgusted that upon such a bright morning his master should be given to so stupid an employment, he curled up in the sun, against the wood-shed, and fitfully dozed—one eye at a time, in order that he might be on the alert, should something happen.

And something did happen!

Bob had been napping for but half an hour when suddenly the unearthly shriek of the fire-whistle pierced the still air. The Beaufort fire-whistle was a most appalling sound—running up and down the scales, at one instant a shrill tremulo, at another a deep bass. Under favorable conditions it could be heard, folks claimed, fifteen miles!

With the first note Ned poised in his hands the slab which he was transferring from heap to pile, and waited, breathless, to see whether it was the water-works’ alarm, or only a steamboat. With the second he dropped his slab, and straightened. Yes, indeed, it was the fire-whistle! Bob lifted his nose, and howled vigorously. This was the influence of the whistle upon all dogs within ear-shot: it made them howl and howl, but nobody knew why.

Ned scanned the horizon. In the southeast, topping the maples which bordered either side of the street, he caught a glimpse of a huge cloud of black smoke, sluggishly unfolding and spreading.

The spectacle electrified him. In a second he and Bob were rushing wildly through the yard, and out of the front gate.

“It’s the lumber yards—it’s Mosher’s lumber yards!” he cried, to his mother, who was standing, anxious-faced, on the porch.

“Oh, Ned!” she exclaimed.

No more wood piling on that day!

The pretty, modest resident street was all astir. Heads popped from windows, voices called and answered, and young and old hastened upon walk or horse-block, or into the road.

“It’s Mosher’s lumber yards!” was repeated, from lot to lot, and from corner to corner.

The bell of the Congregational church pealed forth its clamorous warning.

Two streams of people were set in motion—the one flowing tumultuously toward the cloud of smoke, the other speeding frantically for the nearest hose house, headquarters of the Pole Star Volunteers.

Ned, with Bob barking and leaping about him, fell in with the latter current. Very soon, you may be sure, he arrived at the hose house. He found a large throng of men and boys collected before the door.

“Where’s the key? They can’t find the key!” he heard announced from every side.

The town marshal mounted the steps of the outside stairs, so that he could look over the crowd.

“Does any one know where the key is?” he bellowed, searching the faces of the jostling mob which, brimming with excitement, was constantly increasing.

“Where’s the key? Who knows where the key is?” echoed the people, to each other, screaming the query as loud as they could.

“I know—it’s hanging behind the door in Fleischmann’s grocery!” volunteered a youngster of ten years, barefooted, in faded blue overalls and dingy checked waist. And off he scurried, importance showing in every flap of his overalls against his bare ankles.

“It’s in Fleischmann’s grocery—the boy’s gone to get it,” volleyed a chorus, to the marshal.

“Here it comes!” was shouted, in a moment. “Let the lad through—you fellows out there!”

A dozen hands reached to grasp the urchin by the shirt and pull him ahead.

“Pass up the key,” ordered the marshal.

“But I ain’t got it—it wasn’t there,” explained the boy, as rapidly as he could. “They said they didn’t have it any more!”

“Sold it for old iron, I bet you,” remarked a joker. His hearers laughed, and as this hit at Fleischmann went from mouth to mouth guffaws went, too.

“Break in the door! Bust the padlock!” suggested a stout, white-aproned man—Schmidt, the butcher.

“Smash a window and climb in,” suggested somebody else.

“What good would that do?” inquired Mr. Schmidt, scornfully.

“Here’s the key—here’s the key!” arose the cry, and the throng eddied and swirled as a man elbowed his path through to the door, and applied a key to the lock.

The crowd pressed forward when, with an impatient motion, the man jerked open the padlock, and hurled aside the sliding door. So many zealous helpers offered themselves that much confusion resulted.

“Keep out! Keep out! Hang it all, give us room!”

The mass upon the threshold separated violently to right and left, and out from the dim, cool interior (smelling strongly of damp rubber) was rolled the cart, guided by every person who could lay finger upon it.

Ere it had fairly emerged additional hands fought for the privilege of grasping the ropes attached to it. Shoved and buffeted and trod upon, Ned squirmed into the thick of the struggle, and was rewarded by feeling his fingers close upon a rope. But what was his position he did not know.

Now the cart burst away from the mob, and into the street. With a whoop and a hurrah, clangor of gong and tooting of trumpet, up the thoroughfare it trundled, drawn by two long lines of people—youth and age yoked in a common cause. Those unlucky and envious people who, owing to lack of space, were denied a place in the team, valiantly formed a running escort.

As it happened, Ned had been particularly favored when he had grabbed the rope, for his place was just behind the leader. This leader was “Sandy” Baxter, Beaufort’s foot-racer. He headed the two lines, and set the pace; next came Ned, on the right, and Tom Walker, the attorney, on the left. Who followed, Ned did not have time to see. He had all he could do to hold his own, and not prove a drag. However, hold it he did, for he was the best runner among all the boys of his neighborhood, and he had a reputation to sustain.

Furthermore, plain in view, straight down the street, was that ominous volume of smoke, ever swelling, like the terrible breath of a volcano. Wasn’t that enough to spur any boy’s legs? Certainly!

“Sandy” seemed not to care whether or not his team-mates could keep up with him. He started in at a tremendous gait, and he did not abate it in the slightest. He had no mercy. The lumber yards were burning!

Along the ropes short-winded persons began to fall out; some, grown clumsy through their exertions, stumbled on the heels of their file-leaders, thus promoting disorder and profanity.

“Spurt her up! All together!” urged the marshal, amid the lines.

“Hurroo! Hurroo!” responded his associates, with failing, husky voices.

A loosened tire of the cart rattled loudly.

“Clang!” sounded the rusty, cracked gong, at every turn of the wheels.

“Bow wow! Wow, wow, wow!” yelped Bob and several other canine enthusiasts, outstripping, now and then, the whole crew, and halting, with lolling tongue, for it to catch up.

The cart had been hauled, in this manner, three blocks, when on a sudden an empty lumber-wagon dashed athwart its course, and came sharply to a standstill.

“Pass the ropes aboard, boys,” commanded the marshal. “Quick!”

The ropes were thrown into the wagon-box, were rudely fastened, the marshal and “Sandy” Baxter clambered in to watch them. “All right!” called a score of voices; the driver leaned forward from his seat and lashed his steeds, and very nearly before the cart had stopped it was once more upon its way, this time attached to the jolting, swaying wagon drawn at a gallop by the heavy horses.

The folk whose occupation had thus been taken from them pursued as best they might.

Ned, panting but determined, lustily labored on in the wake of the cart, Bob loping beside him. The smoke cloud waxed larger and larger. They could see an immense swarm of people collected apparently beneath it, and could hear a medley, now faint, now quite distinct, of shouts and cries.

The Congregational church bell was ringing without stop—just as if by this time all Beaufort was not thoroughly aroused and bound, helter-skelter, for the scene!

Five minutes more, and—

“Gee-whiz!” gasped Ned, transfixed with amazement.

He had reached his goal. Immediately before him lay the lumber yards. Over them rested that black canopy which had been visible from afar, and which, from a-near, was seen to be licked by leaping flames. The air was pungent with the odor of scorched pine. On this side of the railroad tracks which skirted the yards, at the north, were the onlookers; men, women and children—packing every vacant spot, occupying every point of vantage. Beyond the tracks, among the very piles, were the fire-fighters, like groups of pigmies attacking a blaze-vomiting giant.

Above the feverish cries of the spectators, above the hoarse shouts of the firemen, sounded the crackle and roar of the conflagration.

The entire district south of the tracks seemed doomed to be wiped out. Here, in the Mosher yards, were thousands upon thousands of feet of dry lumber. The fire fairly flew from pile to pile, and so intense was the heat that the pitchy material appeared to break into flames all at once, from within.

East of the yards was the river; but west was that section of the town known as South Beaufort, made up, mostly, of the homes of mill men and railroad men. Fine opportunity did these houses, close together and lightly constructed, offer to the fire!

At the outset little wind had been blowing; but the fire was creating a draft, forming a vortex into which poured the cool air in a regular gale. Enormous cinders whirled high aloft, to stream down everywhere. The whole town was endangered by them.

“Here comes Hal,” knocked Bob with his tail against his master’s leg.

“Hello, Bob,” called Hal, who was making for them through the crowd.

“Oh, Hal, isn’t this awful!” greeted Ned.

“I should say so!” replied Hal. “Let’s climb up on top of those box-cars, where we can see better.”

So they dodged over to some box-cars standing on the tracks which branched northward, along the river, and secured seats from which they had a view unobstructed by irritating heads and hats. Other persons had preceded them, but there was plenty of room, and dangling their feet down the end of a car they proceeded to watch and wait. Bob, after a number of fruitless efforts to scale the side of the car, sat on the ground and watched and waited, too. However, he was interested in the two boys, more than in the fire.

“There’s just dray-load after dray-load of goods being hauled out of South Beaufort,” said Hal. “I was over a while. The people are scared, I tell you!”

“Let’s go and help,” suggested Ned, stung by the idea.

“No use,” responded Hal. “They can’t get wagons enough, for love or money, to take what stuff is scattered round, already.”

“Say—if the fire ever gets into South Beaufort, it will cross the tracks, sure, and then—um-m-m!” exclaimed Ned, shaking his head.

“Then the whole town will burn!” faltered Hal, his face paling.

At this instant they perceived among the throng which they had just left a bustle of excitement. Then came to their ears a cheer, and another, and another; then a continuous uproar.

Everybody upon the box-cars stood up to peer and wonder.

“It’s the fire department from Sundale! See! Hurrah! Hurrah!” shouted Hal, swinging his hat.

“Hurrah!” chimed in Ned, and all the others.

Sundale was the neighboring village—a rival save in time of need like this—two miles northward. Down the street, nearer and nearer, welcomed by cheer after cheer, came the two carts, their plunging horses, foam-flecked by their long run, exerting their last energy in one final spurt; down, down, “clang! clang! clang!” straight through the living lane and across the tracks. Hurrah!

“Bully for Sundale!” cried Ned.

“You bet!” agreed Hal; and none disputed.

“I hope they’ll do some good,” he added. “But, oh, look at it now, will you!”

The sight was superb, but it was frightful. Even during the short time that the boys had been on the car the fire had increased shockingly. It did not seem to jump from the top of one pile to another, but it seemed to devour entire piles at a gulp. Piles fifty, seventy, ninety feet high disappeared in a twinkling. Their boards curled and withered like leaves, as the fury of the fiery blast sucked them in.

“What’s the use of standing off and squirting at it!” grumbled Ned. “They aren’t stopping it!”

“And they can’t get close enough to reach it—and if they could the water would turn to steam before it struck!” said Hal. “I—I guess I ought to go home, Ned.”

He was almost crying, and his voice ended in a despairing little wail. Ned, too, felt a queer thrill of helplessness; but he answered, stoutly:

“Pshaw, Hal; they’ll stop it some way. They must, you know.”

“But Chicago burned up, Ned,” quavered Hal. “You needn’t go—your house wouldn’t burn until after ours. So you can stay, if you want to. My mother is scared to death——”

“Boom!”

“Listen! What is that?” interrupted Ned.

“Boom!”

“They’re blowing up the piles with dynamite!” asserted Ned, exultantly. “There’s another!”

“Do you think that will help?” queried Hal, doubtfully.

“Of course,” assured Ned. “It’s the only way. It will keep the fire from spreading, and make it burn down low where they can put it out with the hose. See? They’re blowing up the piles on the South Beaufort side. Then if they stop the fire from getting past the open space they’ve got it! Who cares for the lumber, so long as the houses don’t catch! And it can’t come this way, for the tracks are too wide, here, and south of it they can blow up more piles and stop it.”

Ned’s tones were so confident that Hal brightened, and said nothing farther about leaving.

Besides, new distractions occurred. Over the railroad bridge thundered a locomotive, twitching behind it a single flat car, and whistling long and shrill.

“Hartville! It’s from Hartville!” flew the report.

“Hurrah for Hartville!” cheered the spectators, the thousand voices drowning the shrieks of the proud engine.

“Well,” remarked Ned. “People in the other towns must think we’re all burned.”

“But isn’t it fine in them to send help!” exclaimed Hal.

“We’d do as much for them,” responded Ned.

Scarcely had the Hartville men arrived, when from up the river echoed the deep, excited whistle of a steamboat. The crowd turned its faces that way.

“It’s the ferry Lady Rose. She’s bringing the Lynnton department!” exclaimed Hal.

Down swept the ferry, the black smoke streaming from her stacks and trailing behind her in two tossing, ever-expanding plumes; her side-wheels turning at a prodigious rate; and her deck alive with people who answered cheer with cheer.

The Lady Rose effected a hasty landing just above the bridge, and her passengers, fire-laddies and spectators, tumbled ashore. Then followed two hose-carts; and right on the heels of the men from Hartville followed the men from Lynnton, to help save the town.

But although the assistance was welcome, now, at last, the tide had been stemmed. A wide line of lumber piles had been leveled, cutting off the flames in their mad career. A little wind set in from the west, driving the fire back toward the river. With hope renewed the firemen stubbornly stood their ground, arrayed between the angry blaze and the homes cowering just beyond.

And now the gallons of water being poured into the fire commenced to have an effect. Coals sizzled and blackened. Embers smouldered and died. Aided by the good wind, step by step the firemen advanced.

The day was won.

The fire lessened in volume; and seeing that the danger was past, the people who had watched began to slip away.

“Come on,” said Ned, at last. “We might as well go. It’s about over.”

They dropped off the car, and Bob, who had deemed the fire a very dull affair (for a dog) welcomed them loudly.

“My, I’m hungry!” declared Hal. “I wonder what time it is.”

Whereupon they found that it was half-past one; much after dinner time.