I heard him say:
"The first fellow that touches this fence----"
But he did not finish. Quicker than his gun could flash and bang
harmlessly in the air the man before him had dropped the axe and leaped
upon him with the roar of a lion. The empty gun flew one way and its owner
another and almost before either struck the ground the axe was swinging
and crashing into the fence.
As presently the engine rolled through the gap and shouting men backed her
to the edge of the well, the big axeman paused to wipe the streaming sweat
from his begrimed face with his arm. I clutched him.
"Manouvrier!"
A smile of recognition shone for an instant and vanished as I added,
"Come to your own house! Come, you can't save it here."
He turned a quick, wild look at the fire, seized me by the arm and with a
gaze of deepest gratitude, asked:
"You tryin' save her?"
"I'll do anything I can."
"Oh, dass right!" His face was full of mingled joy and pain. "You go
yondeh--mek yo' possible!" We were hurrying to the street--"Oh, yass, faw
God's sake go, mek yo' possible!"
"But, Manouvrier, you must come too! Where's your wife? The chief danger
to your house isn't here, it's where the fire's between it and the wind!"
His answer was a look of anguish.
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