by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER V A SHOT FROM AMBUSH
The strain on Mazie's arms as she let herself down the rope which hungfrom the window of the burning building seemed greater than she couldbear; but with the grim determination of near despair she worked her waydown, hand over hand, hand over hand.
The palms of her hands burned like fire. In spite of her greatest effortsher hands slipped a little, an inch here, an inch there, and the effectof these slips was like the grasping of a red hot iron.
One window she passed in safety, another and another. As she reached thesill of the fourth her feet touched it. With a dizzy faintness shesteadied herself there and looked down.
The sight that met her eyes was appalling. The window directly under herbelched forth a sudden burst of red flame. Then, as the wind shifted, theflames were sucked in again. Was there hope in that? No. The rope hadcaught fire!
Clinging desperately to her place, she hoped for a clearer moment ofconsciousness--and was granted it.
Calmly she looked down. What was to be done? She dared not pass thatwindow. A sudden burst of flame would destroy her. Besides, she couldnot. The rope was all but burned in two.
For a time, because of the smoke, she could not see below. Then of asudden it cleared and she saw firemen ranged around a white circledirectly under her.
"A net," she breathed.
At the same instant she heard Johnny Thompson's booming voice:
"Go down the rope as far as you dare, then drop."
"Drop?" she echoed, "how can I?"
Then, as if to mock her, smoke shut off her view and in the center of thesmoke were darting red flames.
"I can, and I will!" she breathed through tight set teeth. With handsthat ached she gripped the rope and began once more that agonizing handover hand descent.
Having gone as far as she dared, she dangled for ten seconds in midair.At that instant she caught the sound of Johnny's voice:
"It's all right, Mazie. Drop!"
He could not see her, but he knew she was there. A lump rose and stuck inher throat. Then, with a little upward swing of her feet, she let go.
It was all over in one wild instant. Smoke, fire, a mad rush, then asudden springy shock, followed by an upward toss, a second bump, and thenJohnny Thompson was helping her support herself on her unsteady feet.
"That," said Johnny, "was a very narrow squeak."
Hardly had Johnny led Mazie to the emergency wagon, where her hands weretreated and bandaged, than his mind was once more at work on hisproblem--the origin of this fire and of all those other fires. It was notthat he was unmindful of the welfare of his friend--Johnny was one of thebest of friends--but the problem was assuming gigantic proportions. Butfor the fireproof building standing directly in its way, this very fire,Marshal Neil had assured him, would have swept across the city for a mileand would have left ten thousand homeless ones in its wake.
"The man who sets these fires," Johnny said to himself savagely, "has noheart, and no sense. What could be his motive? What could the city havedone to him bad enough to deserve such a revenge? What could the peopleof the city have done? Somehow, somewhere, we must find him!"
He thought of the pink-eyed man. In the excitement of the rescue he hadlost him. Nor could he find him now, though he searched diligently for anhour.
"I'll visit his place down there by the river," he told himself. "I maydiscover something there."
He had given up the search and, having returned to Mazie's side, wasstanding watching the firemen as they battled with the blaze which atlast was giving way before them. Then he noticed a man within the lineswho did not wear a fireman's uniform.
"Queer looking chap," he whispered to Mazie, pointing as he spoke.
The man did look queer. He was an extraordinarily tall man and stoopedalmost to the point of deformity. His nose was large and hooked like abeak. He limped slightly as he walked. His clothing fitted loosely. Hisstiff hat was dented in three places.
"See here, you!" said a policeman, stepping up to him, "you can't stayinside the line."
"Dot's all right, mister." The man showed his white teeth in a grin, butit wasn't a pleasant grin.
"You'll have to go outside the line."
"Dot's fair enough, mister." The man moved away. As he passed Johnny andMazie he shot them a piercing glance. Even after he had gone back to theline of staring spectators, Johnny felt that his gaze held something ofhatred for him. What was the meaning of that look? How had the man gottenwithin the lines, where only firemen were allowed? What had he wantedthere? He resolved to keep an eye out for that man in the future. It waswell that he did--very well indeed.
After seeing the fire under control and putting Mazie in a taxi, Johnnywent directly down to the river front. After following a narrow walk atthe river's brink for some little distance, he stopped to flatten himselfagainst the wall close to the door.
"This is the place," he whispered to himself.
The spot he occupied was completely in shadows. The night was dark. Theuncertain light from the distant bridge lamps did not reach him. A personstanding ten feet away could not have seen him. He was at the entrance tothe building which he supposed to be occupied by the pink-eyed man. Hehad hurried to the place as rapidly as possible in the hope that the manwas still out and that returning to his lair he might reveal something ofhimself.
As Johnny stood there in the shadows he could catch the gleam ofreflected light on the surface of the river. The sight charmed him. Aslow, deep, dirty, sullen sort of stream, was that river. Flowing betweenwalls of brick, stone and cement, where once it had meandered across agreat sweep of marshes, it seemed a prisoner chafing at his bonds.
As Johnny pictured the marshes, whose rushes had waved over the very spotwhere he now stood, he thought of other marshes south of the city wherein hours of idleness, or at times when he wished to think unmolested, heat times poked a flat-bottomed boat down the narrow channels that ranbetween the rushes.
"It's a great place to think things through," he told himself. "Ifnothing comes of this I'll go down there to-morrow afternoon.
"Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll sleep till noon, then catch thetwelve-thirty train out there."
For an hour he waited there in the darkness. Then, growing restless, hegave up hope of the man's return and decided to do a littleinvestigating.
Drawing a small flashlight from his pocket he lighted his way down anarrow passage that lay between this building and the one next to it.
On this side, rather high up, he discovered a small, square window, butlarge enough to let a person through. Down the passage he saw twodiscarded packing boxes. Working silently, he put one box on the other,then climbed on top. He was now on a level with the window. Flashing hislight on the panes, he found them too dirty to see through. Laying hisflashlight on the top of the box, he tried the window and to his surprisefound it unfastened. It swung in at his touch like a door on hinges. Atthe same moment he felt a slight movement at his knee, then heard a thud.
"My flashlight!" he grumbled. "Rolled off. Just have a feel insideanyway."
Swinging his feet over the sill, he sat there for a moment thinking.Should he enter. If he did, what would he discover? Would he be indanger?
To his surprise he found that his feet touched something and withoutthinking much of what he was doing he stood up. The next instant, with arolling and a crashing that was appalling, the whole world appeared tosink and go thundering down beneath him.
A moment later, his nostrils filled with dust and with something restingon his chest, he lay quite still and listened.
He caught a faint sound but concluded it was only scurrying wharf rats.After that the place was so quiet that he fancied he could hear thesettling of the dust.
What had happened? What was this on his chest?
He laughed silently to himself as he put out a hand to touch it. Abarrel--that was all it was, an empty barrel. He sensed what had happenedin an instan
t. He had stood upon the top of a pyramid of empty barrels.The bottom of the pyramid had caved in and the whole heap had gonethundering, carrying Johnny along.
Two minutes later he was stealing out of the passage. He had had quiteenough of that place for one night.
Three o'clock next day found him in the center of a marsh whose darkwaving bullrushes stretched away for a mile or more in every direction.With his coat for a pillow he lay sprawled out the length of his flatbottomed boat. A pair of oars and long pole lay at his side. These wouldbring him back to shore when he chose to come. A cold leg of chicken, aswiss cheese sandwich, a piece of apple pie and a bottle of milk wouldappease hunger when hunger came. He was at peace with the world and quiteprepared to solve all the problems of the universe with which he hadanything definite to do.
It was a dreamy day. White clouds moved slowly across the sky. Cobwebsfloated in air. Now and again a gentle breeze made a softly sighing soundin the rushes. Just as he was dreaming himself off into a cat nap a darkshadow passed over him, then broke suddenly into a hundred little shadowsthat were not shadows at all.
Surprised by this phenomena, which he had felt rather than seen, heopened his eyes. What he saw was a large flock of black birds. Contraryto their usually noisy custom, as if to avoid disturbing the Sabbathquiet of the place, they settled every one upon a swaying bullrushwithout so much as a single "O-ka-lee."
"Good old birds!" Johnny sighed. And well he might, for beyond doubt theyhad been directed there by the all seeing eye that they might, in a veryshort time, be instrumental in saving his life--or at least in giving hima fighting chance.
Knowing nothing of this, he settled back into his place and once moreclosed his eyes. These nights of fire chasing had cost him much sleep.
This time he had fallen quite asleep when, with a start, he found himselfsitting bolt upright.
It was the action of the birds that had wakened him. With a shrill cry ofalarm the birds had leaped from their swaying perches and had flown away.
"Now I wonder--" Johnny murmured to himself.
He was given scarcely ten seconds to wonder, for of a sudden a shot rangout and a bullet whizzed so close to his cheek that he felt the sting ofit.
"That was meant for me!" Johnny breathed tensely.
The next instant he lay flat on his back, his trembling hands grippingthe pole.
"Got to get out of here," he thought. "Got to get out quick, and got todo it lying down."
Even as the pole silently touched the water, then sank to grip thebottom, he speculated on his chance of escape. He was unarmed. At timeshe had brought a shot gun to the marsh. Not to-day. There were noducks--to early in the season.
"Only chance is to lose him," was his mental comment as he drove the boatforward into the channel. At the same time he felt an almostuncontrollable desire to see the face of the man who had fired the shot.He had a notion that were he an artist he could paint the man's picture,even though he did not see him. In this he probably was mistaken.
