Stan Lynn Part 3

"I hope not," whispered Stan; "but they're chopping again below. Hark!

you can hear them plainly."

"Yes, it sounds bad, my boy; but help must come soon. I say, Stan."

"Yes, uncle."

"I thought you were done for, and I hardly know now how you managed to escape."

"It was close, uncle; but I'm afraid I must have crushed the man's fingers horribly."

"Poor fellow!" said Uncle Jeff dryly.

"Here, Jeff," said his brother hoa.r.s.ely; "do you smell that?"

"Oh yes, I can smell it; I did a minute ago. Look! that's smoke rising past the window."

"Yes, I thought it was," said Stan huskily; "but I was in hopes that it was from our firing."

"No," said Uncle Jeff; "it's from their firing, my lad; and with such an ally we shall be done for.--Oliver, old fellow, we must beat a retreat."

"How can we? The wretches are at back and front."

"Yes, it is awkward, Oliver, but we shall not be able to stay here long."

"We must make for the next floor."

"All the farther to jump when the bad time comes."

"Look out, father!--They're coming up again, uncle."

The table proved invaluable now, for as the enemy made a fresh attack, swarming up the broken ladder, shots were delivered steadily, and the blows struck by the savage wretches fell vainly upon the stout, hard wood.

Three men fell headlong, but their places were taken directly by others, who were maddened by disappointment, and made the table quiver with the blows they managed to strike with the clumsy axes and swords they bore, till the sharp crack of one of the revolvers tumbled the savage wretches back upon their comrades below, who uttered a chorus of savage yells and threats at every fresh mishap.

But still they came on, till after four final discharges there was a sharp, cracking sound below; gla.s.s had evidently been s.h.i.+vered in one of the lower windows, and a rush of flame illumined the smoke that now floated up thickly, while for the first time the besieged had a view of their fierce enemies who paused from their attack and stood back watching the progress of the mischief they had done.

"Don't show yourselves in the light, either of you," said Uncle Jeff, doing at once that which he had forbidden.

"Then don't you!" cried Stan's father. "Keep back, man--keep back!"

"Directly, old fellow," said his brother. "I only want to see what they are about to do next. They're busy about something."

"I can see," cried Stan excitedly from where he crouched with one eye over the edge of the table. "They're carrying the men who have fallen away out of the light."

"What!" cried Uncle Jeff. "Why, so they are--thirty of them at least, hard at work. Well, they have some humanity in them after all."

"It's almost too good to be true, Jeff," said Stan's father, "but I believe they are giving us up for a bad job."

"You're right, Oliver," was the excited reply. "That's it; they find us too hard nuts to crack."

"They feel that the fire will bring help, and that it is time to be off.

Come and help to remove the barricade; we must escape before the fire takes a firmer hold."

"Wait a moment, both of you," cried Uncle Jeff. "Yes. Hurrah in a whisper. Don't shout. It's all right; they are making off, and we are saved."

"You forget the fire, Jeff," said Stanley's father sadly.

"Not I. Let's hurry down and see what mischief has been done."

"No, no," cried Stan excitedly as the glow from beneath increased; "they are coming back again."

"What!" cried Uncle Jeff. "No, you are wrong this time; it is a fresh mob from the busy part of the town, coming to see what plunder they can get from the fire."

"Yes, I think you're right," said Stanley's father--"come to see our ruin."

"Who's that talking about ruin?" said Uncle Jeff scornfully as, with Stan's help, he took down the barricade and unfastened bar and bolt.

"Let's see what mischief the fire has done before we talk of that."

"Think of saving our lives," said Stan's father excitedly. "Never mind the rest."

"But I do mind the rest," cried Uncle Jeff. "Come along, Stan. Never say die! I don't believe the fire has had time to take much hold."

"What are you going to do?" cried Stan's father.

"Make a dash for the outer office, where the buckets hang. They're all full."

"For heaven's sake take care! Don't run any risks."

Uncle Jeff did not seem to hear him, but ran down the stairs, to find the lobby full of smoke. His first act was to dash out the panes of gla.s.s in a fanlight to admit the fresh air, while directly after he threw open the door, whose fastenings Stan had by his instructions loosened.

"Keep back," cried Stan's father; "it is madness."

"Bah!" said Uncle Jeff, who had a better view of the state of affairs.

"Take a long breath and follow me."

In his excitement Stan had just one glimpse of the office interior, where towards the window a great bonfire-like heap was blazing away, licking the side about the opening, and forming a column of fire and smoke which went wreathing and darting out, many-tongued, to rise high in the night air, spreading out towards the wharf, and making the water of the river beyond gleam, while a busy hum of many voices greeted them from beyond the flame and smoke.

"We can do nothing, Jeff," cried Stan's father; "only escape for our lives. It is madness to try and do anything."

"Then let's be mad, old fellow.--Bah! Nonsense! The draught carries all the fire from us, and we can breathe easily. Rouse up, man!"

"I am roused up," cried Stan's father angrily; "but I must think of my boy."

"Don't!" roared Uncle Jeff; "he's big enough to think for himself.--Now, Stan, out through this door and get a bucket of water. Do as I do.-- Come on, Oliver."

"But the ceiling's catching. The place will be all in flames directly."

"Of course it will if we stand still and watch it. Come on."