"Wish--I--had--my--force--pump," panted Cole.

By this time the boys had joined the crowd that was already at the
scene of the fire. The heat could be felt some distance away.

"Come on, everybody with buckets!" cried Constable Stickler, who
sometimes assumed charge of the bucket brigade. "Form a line from the
horse trough to the barn. Pass the full buckets up one side and the
empty ones down the other. Let the boys pass the empty buckets an' the
men the full ones."

"Let's form two lines for full buckets," proposed another man.

"We'll need three," put in a third individual.

"Who's runnin' this here fire, I'd like to know?" inquired the
constable indignantly. "Git to work now."

"Yes, I guess they'd better, or there won't be any barn to save,"
spoke Bert.

The flames were crackling furiously. The crowd was constantly
increasing, and nearly every man had a bucket or pail. Some had
brought their wives' dishpans, as they could not find their pails in
the darkness and confusion.

"Come on, Bert, let's get in line," suggested Vincent.

"Yes--let--me--git--to--a--place--where--I--can--rest," begged Cole.