In that moment his dazed
senses adjusted themselves. The cabin was full of smoke. It partly
blinded him, but through it he could see tongues of fire shooting toward
the ceiling. He could hear the crackling of burning pitch, and he yelled
wildly to Brokaw. In an instant the sergeant was on his feet. He rushed
to the table, where he had placed a pail of water the evening before, and
Billy heard the hissing of the water as it struck the flaming wall.
"Never mind that," he shouted. "The shack's built of pitch cedar. We've
got to get out!" Brokaw groped his way to him through the smoke and began
fumbling at the chain about his ankles.
"I can't--find--the key--" he gasped chokingly. "Here grab hold of me!"
He caught Billy under the arms and dragged him to the door. As he opened
it the wind came in with a rush and behind them the whole cabin burst
into a furnace of flame. Twenty yards from the cabin he dropped Billy in
the snow, and ran back. In that seething room of smoke and fire was
everything on which their lives depended, food, blankets, even their
coats and caps and snowshoes. But he could go no farther than the door.
He returned to Billy, found the key in his pocket, and freed him from the
chain about his ankles. Billy stood up. As he looked at Brokaw the glass
in the window broke and a sea of flame sprouted through. It lighted up
their faces. The sergeant's jaw was set hard.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176