IRE was flickering up all four walls of the little white house and blossoming on the roof. As I approached it, I shouted as I ran. Sparks flew up from the dry shingles; and I heard muffled barks from the little dog in answer to my shouts. A pane of glass broke with a tinkle and let out a squirt of smoke. There was fire within as well as without. I dashed at the door, staggered back from it, took a short run and pounded it with both heels. But it was a well built and securely bolted door. Tom came running up, armed with a stick from the woodpile.
"Window!" he cried. "Knock the sash clean in!"
He demonstrated with the heavy stick of maple, rammed the corners of the stout sash until the whole window fell inward. I did a dive through the hole. The little dog went out, sneezing, as I went in. Tom followed me in.
The three Jeanbards were all sound asleep, half suffocated with smoke. I found Rose and got her out single-handed. When I got into the house again I barged into someone and fell down. It was Tom, who cursed me and told me to lend a hand. We got clear with Jules and beat the sparks out of his flannelette nightshirt. Tom was swearing like a sailor and rubbing his beard with both hands; and the smell of singed hair was noticeable. I went back and stumbled about for choking ages, feeling for Jacques. I found him at last and dragged him out; and when I was able to see I saw that it was not Jacques Jeanbard whom I had last rescued, but Tom Deblore. Tom explained the mystery later. He had found and brought out Jacques, then had gone back for me and lost consciousness.
Fresh air and cold water brought the Jeanbards back to life. Every inch of the house was afire by that time. The flames stood up like spires and the sparks scraped the stars. We feared for the barns, so opened all the stables and pens and chased forth the livestock. Soon after that, the first of the neighbors from the settlement arrived, driving furiously. The Jeanbards told him what they knew about it. They had gone to bed in the house, had sensed being carried or dragged, had glimpsed a horror of heat and flame and, upon recovering full consciousness, had found themselves lying on the grass. They were full of gratitude. The neighbor glanced keenly from Tom to me, and back again, without a word. Half of Tom's beard was burned off, and his face and hands were blistered. My hands were blistered, too, and my mustache and eyebrows had rubbed off, and there were dozens of black holes in my coat and shirt and trousers.
"We didn't get here a moment too soon," I admitted.
"We'd have been here in time to save the house, if Young Bill hadn't acted the fool and smashed things seven ways to Sunday," confessed Tom. "But he is not entirely to blame. His harness was several sizes too small for him, poor fellow."
The neighbor, Amos Trim by name and austere by habit, strode off and examined Young Bill and the harness and the buggy. Upon rejoining us he remarked, in a tone of reluctance, "Things was surely smashed."
More neighbors from the settlement arrived, lured and guided by the flames. Stack Glashner arrived. Stack had been on his way to see us, and had stopped for the night at Earle Smithkin's. He seemed to be suffering from great emotional and mental strain. I felt sorry for him. I drew him aside and told him about the death and burial of old Ruben's murderous confederate, of Ruben's illness and flight.
The Jeanbards were taken away by hospitable neighbors. Stack Glashner was all for accompanying them; but I told him flatly that the least he could do was to return to Moosemeadows Park with us and assist us in the search for his sick and demented relative. He could not see it in that light. He did not care whether old Ruben lived or died.
"You'll come with us, Stack," I said. "The Jeanbards can get along very well without you. They escaped death without your help. We need you, and they don't."
That got under his skin. He cursed a bit, but he headed for Moosemeadows with Tom and me and Young Bill. Tom drove and Stack and I walked. Young Bill could have pulled a ton with no more effort than a hundredweight; but our consideration was for the harness and the buggy. Stack sulked for a mile, then told me the truth of the mysterious shot at the lantern out on the hardhack.