Cap'n Sproul swore tempestuously. "You've got to take him on. He
b'longs to your fire comp'ny."

"I was out huntin' when I heard the bell," bellowed the new passenger,
when he had scrambled to a place behind the wagon-seat, his back
toward them and his legs hanging down. "I'm fu'st hoseman, and it's
lucky you came along and giv' me a lift." He set his gun-butt down
between his knees, the muzzle pointing up.

Cap'n Sproul had his teeth set hard upon a hank of his grizzled
whiskers, and his eyes on the smoke ahead. Todd ran his wheezing horse
up the ridge, and when they topped it they beheld the whole moving
scene below them.

Men were running out of the burning house, throwing armfuls of goods
right and left. The "Hecla" was a-straddle of the well, and rows of
men were tossing at her brake-beams.

"Give her tar, give her tar!" yelled the man behind, craning his thin
neck. Todd lashed at the horse and sent him running down the slope.
At the foot of the declivity, just before they came to the lane
leading into Ide's place, there was a culvert where the road crossed
a brook.

The boarding in the culvert made a jog in the road, and when the wagon
struck this at top speed its body flipped behind like the tongue of
a catapult.

The man with the gun, having eyes and senses only for the fire and
his toiling fellow-Ancients, was unprepared. He went up, out, and