the fire was hottest.

Down showered more sand from the bags which Tom opened. No fire
could long continue to blaze under that treatment. The supply of
air was cut off, and without that no fire can exist. Water would
have been worse than useless, because of the carbide, but the
sand covered it up so that it was made perfectly harmless.

Moving slowly, the airship hovered over every part of the now
slowly expiring flames, the burned opening in the roof of the
shed making it possible for the sand to reach the spots where it
was most needed. The flames died out in section after section,
until no more could be seen--only clouds of black smoke.

"How is it now?" came Tom's voice, as he spoke from the deck of
the balloon through a megaphone.

"Almost out," answered Mr. Damon. "A little more sand, Tom."

The eccentric man had caught up a piece of paper and, rolling
it into a cone, made an improvised megaphone of that.

"Haven't much more sand left," was Tom's comment, as he sent
down a last shower. "That will have to do. Hustle that carbide
and other explosive stuff out of there now, while you have a
chance."

"That's it!" cried Ned, who caught his chums meaning. "Come on,
Koku. There's work for you."