THE RESCUE OF DUTTON
"What do you mean? Grit in there—in the ammunition house?" cried Paul, hurrying after his chum. He wondered whether he had understood Dick rightly.
"Yes, he's there," came the reply, and the young millionaire never turned around as he sped down the corridor that was rapidly filling with half-dressed cadets who had been aroused by the cries of the janitors. "They're repairing the stable where I keep him nights, and as it was unlocked I put Grit in the powder house so no one would steal him. Now it's on fire!"
"We'll get him!" cried Paul. "Come on, fellows, Dick's dog is in there!"
The flames were now more plainly visible, and they were gaining rapidly. Two of the janitors, one of whom was Toots, had pails of water and were dashing the fluid on the fire, while others were unreeling a hose.
The ammunition house was a large one, made in the main of concrete, but there was built on it a small, wooden shed under which some empty packing boxes and cases were stored, and where some garden tools were kept. It was this shed which had caught fire, and unless it was quickly put out the flames might communicate to the wooden door of the powder house proper. There could be but one result then—an explosion.
Everyone realized this as he rushed on to fight the fire. Some of the professors were now up and were issuing orders, but there was so much excitement that no one paid much attention to them.
"Is there a good water pressure?" panted Paul.
"I don't know," answered Dick, as he ran on. "There was the other day when we had fire drill, but maybe just when we want it there won't be any."
"Hurry! Hurry!" shouted Toots, as he and the others dashed pail after pail of water on the fire.
"Use the hose! Turn on the water!" cried Ray Dutton, who was just ahead of Dick. "Why don't you turn on the pressure?"
"Guess they don't know how to do it," answered the young millionaire. "One of those men is a new hand. Come on, boys, I can't see Grit burned to death!"
"He's howling now," cried Paul.
Indeed the frightened yelping of the imprisoned animal could be heard above the roar and crackle of the flames, and Dick increased his speed.
"I'm coming, Grit! I'm coming!" he shouted, but it is doubtful if the dog heard him.
The burning shed was in front of the only door to the ammunition house, and the fire must first be extinguished before the portal could be reached. To go through the flames now was out of the question.
"Keep back, boys! Keep back!" cried Major Webster. "There may be an explosion any moment. Keep back!"
"But my dog is in there!" shouted Dick. "I must get Grit out!"
"You can't. It's madness to go too close!"
"I'm going to!" replied Dick grimly. "We'll put out the fire."
"Then use the hose—don't go too close with the buckets. That wooden shed should never have been built where it is."
"Come on! Get the hose into action!" yelled Dutton, and taking the nozzle from the hands of puzzled and inexperienced men, the cadet directed it at the fire, while Dick and Paul, aided by some of their companions, turned on the water, the supply coming from a big storage tank, raised high on metal supports to give the necessary force.
A moment later the water spurted from the nozzle and sprayed on the fire with a hiss of steam.
"That's the stuff!" shouted Dick. "We'll soon have you out of there, Grit! Wait a minute, old boy!"
This time the dog heard his master's voice, and a joyful bark replaced his howls of fear.
It was high time that there be used some more effective means of putting out the fire than buckets of water, for the flames were burning fiercely.
"It's lucky that the door of the powder house is thick," murmured Major Webster. "It will take some time to burn through. But if it does——"
He did not finish his half-spoken thought, but shuddered as he looked at the cadets grouped around the burning structure. He wanted to order them away, but he knew the only safety lay in putting out the flames to prevent the explosion. And the cadets seemed to be the only ones capable of handling the situation, for the janitors had completely lost their heads and were so confused that they could not obey the simplest order.
"Get the other hose into action!" cried the major, for there were two small lines available for use at the powder house. "You'll never get it out with one."
"I'll attend to it!" answered Dick, and, leaving Dutton and Paul to manage the one line, he and John Stiver ran to the other and began unreeling that.
The flames were now at their height, and were blazing high, the loose and light wood of the packing boxes making excellent fuel.
"Hurry! Hurry!" nervously ordered the major, doing all he could. Colonel Masterly and some of the other instructors now arrived, but there was little they could do.
"If we can only keep the fire away from the door a little longer," murmured the colonel. "They are subduing it, don't you think, Major?"
"They are doing good work—plucky lads. It takes an emergency like this to show their mettle."
"Do you think the door will catch?"
"I hope not, but——"
It was a vain hope, as they could see a moment later.
A puff of wind blew the smoke and flames aside for a second, and the two men could look plainly at the thick door of the ammunition building. What they saw caused them to start back, for a tiny whisp of fire was eating away at the edge of the portal.
"Too late!" groaned the colonel. "We must get the boys back! We shall have to let it burn. Get back, boys! Get back!"
"We'll have it out in another minute!" yelled Dick, as he turned on the water from his line. "I'm going to save Grit!"
The fire died down for a few seconds, owing to the increased amount of water poured on it, but it was only for a moment, and then it flared up again. But the cadets fought on grimly. Some were even using pails, dipping water from a nearby cistern, and they would not obey the orders of the teachers to keep back. They did little good, however, as they could not get near enough to make much of the fluid effective.
The door of the powder house was now burning in a larger area, and it seemed that the explosion might come at any moment. All saw it, and while they knew that they themselves could get a safe distance away, and while they realized that even if the powder did blow up, none of the college buildings would be damaged, it was different in the case of their favorite club house—the Sacred Pig—for it was close to the blazing structure.
"It will be 'roast pig' in a few minutes," murmured Paul Drew ruefully.
"I should say yes," agreed Dutton. "But we won't let it happen. If only the water holds out!"
Once more came a howl from the imprisoned Grit.
"Poor dog!" cried Dick, stooping down to see if there was a chance to get in and save his pet. But there seemed to be none.
Almost at that instant the roof of the burning shed fell in, carrying with it part of the half consumed structure. This gave a better view of the powder house door, which was seen to be on fire in several places. Grit's howls of anguish became louder.
"I can't stand that—I'm going to save him!" cried Dutton to George Hall.
"But how can you? You can't get near the place."
"Yes, I can—there's a side window. I wonder some of us didn't think of it before. I can reach it by a short ladder, and break open the window with an axe. Here goes. You handle the hose in my place."
Before George could make any objection, Dutton had thrust the nozzle into his friend's hand and was running toward the powder house. On his way he caught up a light ladder and a fire axe that was on one of the hose reel carts.
"Where are you going, Dutton?" called Major Webster.
"To get Dick's dog—out through the window. I can do it all right."
"Come back!" cried the major, but the cadet did not heed.
Dick was having his hands full with the hose and for a moment he did not see what his former enemy had done. The fire was a little less fierce now, as the material on which it fed had been nearly all consumed, but the door was blazing in spots. They played water on it, but as fast as one area of fire was extinguished it would break out in another.
There came a crash of glass and a cry from Dutton.
"I'm in! Look out for Grit. Here he comes—through the window!"
"Grit! Through the window!" cried Dick in amazement. "Why—how——?"
"Ray went in after him!" called George Hall.
"There's the dog."
At that instant the cadet inside the powder house thrust Grit out of the window. The brute fell harmlessly in a heap on the grass, but sprang up a moment later and rushed toward the fire-fighting cadets.
"Here, old man!" cried Dick, and the dog went into a demonstration of joy, fawning all over his master, while the youth hugged the ugly but loving animal close in his arms, the hose being grasped by ready hands as he let go of it.
"Come out, Dutton, come out!" cried Major Webster. "Come out at once."
Hardly had he spoken than there sounded from within the powder house a dull explosion. It was not a hard one, and no evidences of it could be observed outside the structure. But the cadets and professors looked at each other in alarm, their faces lighted up by the dancing flames. They all knew what it meant.
"The beginning of the end!" remarked the colonel gravely. "Get back, everyone! I order it!"
"But Ray Dutton is in there!" cried Dick. "He may be injured and can't get out. I'm going to save him!"
The young millionaire sprang away. Grit started to follow.
"Come back at once!" ordered the colonel.
"Not until I save him!" answered Dick. "He risked his life to save my dog, and now I'll rescue him! Go back, Grit. Wait for me."
The dog whined but obeyed, and Dick ran on. As he passed by the second hose reel he grasped from it an axe. Straight for the door of the powder house he ran, the water from the two lines of hose falling in a spray around him.
The fire was now sufficiently out to permit of reaching the portal over the wet embers which still glowed faintly. The shed had fallen apart and what was left of it was burning on one side. Little tongues of flame spurted here and there on the main door.
Dick rushed up and with the axe began raining blows on the portal. His fellow cadets cheered lustily, and then devoted all their energies to keeping the water playing about their brave comrade. He was soaked through but in this lay his only safety, for the flames still were dangerously close.
There came another slight explosion inside the powder house. Evidently small cases of the gun cartridges were going off, but as they were all blanks there was no danger from bullets.
"Ray—are you alive—are you all right?" cried Dick, as he paused for a moment. There was no answer, and he rained the blows from the axe more madly than before.
With a crash the door gave way. Flinging his implement aside, Dick sprang into the powder house. There was an anxious moment, and the cadets and instructors waited in fear and trembling.
"He may be overcome by the powder fumes," said the colonel. "Poor lads—they may both be killed."
An instant after the colonel had spoken a form appeared in the blackened doorway. One form? No, two, for in his arms Dick Hamilton bore the limp body of Dutton.
"He's got him! He's got him!" yelled Paul Drew, and a great shout followed his words.
On staggered Dick with his burden. Grit saw his master in the now dimming light from the fire, and barked joyfully.
"Back! Get back everybody!" panted the young millionaire. "She's going up! There's a fire inside! Get back—quick!"