CHAPTER X.
SAVING THE "SPRITE."
After a moment of inaction, Matt realized something else besides thefact that there was a fire. Ping and either McGlory or Lorry should bein the boathouse with him; also either McGlory or Lorry ought to be onguard outside.
Why had no answer been returned to his startled shout? What hadhappened to the guard outside, and what had happened to those insidethe boathouse?
In that terrifying moment, when so many dangers threatened him and hisfriends, Motor Matt had no time to think of the _Sprite_. First he mustget fresh air, and then he must find out about his friends.
The landward end of the boathouse seemed to be completely wrapped inflames. A breeze had come up during the night, and it was driving thefire onward toward the waterfront of the building.
Drawing upon all his reserve strength, Matt staggered to the windowover the workbench. Picking up a wrench, he smashed the glass, anda draft of cool night air rushed in. For a moment he hung over theworkbench filling his lungs with the clear air; and then, at the top ofhis voice, he repeated his call for McGlory and George.
Still there was no response. Bewildered by his failure to hear ananswering shout from his friends, and dazed by the suddenness of thecatastrophe which threatened the boathouse, Matt whirled away from thewindow and groped through the blinding smoke toward the other cot.
Some one was lying on the cot, breathing heavily. It was impossible totell whether it was Lorry or the cowboy, but, whichever it was, theform was unconscious from the effects of the foul air.
Making his way to the door, Matt unfastened it and flung it open. Thebreeze which swept through the building caused the roar of the fire toincrease, giving an added impetus to the flames.
Darting back to the cot, Matt picked up the form and staggered with itout into the night, falling heavily when a few yards from the blazingbuilding.
In the glare that lighted up the vicinity of the boathouse Mattdiscovered that it was Lorry whom he had carried to safety. Lorry! Thatmeant that it was after midnight, and that McGlory had been outside ofthe boathouse, on guard.
The fire was not accidental--it could not have been accidental.Firebugs must have been at work. What had become of McGlory that he hadnot interfered?
It was impossible that the cowboy was in the burning building. Ping,however, should be there. The Chinese usually bunked under theworkbench.
Whirling away, Matt started again for the burning building; but, beforehe reached the door, Ping, coughing and spluttering, his arms filledwith clothes, reeled out and fell in a sprawling heap on the ground.
Rushing up to him, and thankful to find that he was safe, Matt grabbedhim by the shoulders and drew him farther from the boathouse.
"Where's McGlory?" shouted Matt.
It was necessary for him to talk at the top of his voice in order tomake himself heard above the roar of the wind and the flames.
"No savvy," panted Ping, lifting himself to his knees, histerror-stricken face showing weirdly in the glare. "My no makee yellwhen you makee yell," he added, digging his knuckles into his smartingeyes. "My heap full smoke. My blingee clothes----"
"Never mind the clothes," cut in Matt, wildly alarmed on McGlory'saccount. "You---- Here, stop that, Ping! Where you going?"
The Chinese had abruptly gained his feet and plunged toward the opendoor. At that moment, the door looked like the opening into a ragingfurnace.
"My savee _Splite_!" blubbered Ping. "No lettee _Splite_ go top-side!Woosh!"
The yellow boy was as fond of the boat as were Matt, McGlory and Lorry.He had watched her rebuilding, in his curious, heathen way, and everystep toward completion lifted his pride and admiration higher andhigher.
Matt had grabbed Ping and was holding him back. His mind, dealing withMcGlory, worked quickly.
The cowboy, he reasoned, had been on guard outside. Those who had firedthe boathouse must have had to take care of McGlory before they couldcarry out their nefarious plans. This being true, it could not bepossible that the cowboy was in any danger from the fire. It was the_Sprite_, therefore, that should now claim Matt's attention. McGlorycould be looked for afterwards.
"We'll save her together, Ping," cried Matt, "but we can't go into theboathouse that way. We'd be overcome before we got anywhere near thewell. We must get into the building by the other end."
The _Sprite_ was in imminent danger, there could not be the least doubtabout that. After Mr. Lorry and Ethel had left for home, during theafternoon, the boat had been placed upright on the rollers leading tothe incline of the well.
This, bringing her nearer the landward end of the boathouse made theboat's danger greater than if she had been left on the skids which hadsupported her while the work inside her hulk was going on.
Not only that, but, preparatory to the morning's trial, her tanks hadbeen filled with gasoline. If the flames should reach the tanks----
"We'll have to hurry!" yelled Matt.
Picking up a coat from the heap of clothing on the ground, Matt ranto the edge of the lake and plunged the coat into the water; the nextmoment he had darted back to the open window, hoping to reach in andget an ax or hammer from the workbench for use in battering down thewater-door. This door was secured on the inside, and would have to bebroken if entrance was effected from the pier.
Ping, frantically eager to help, but hardly knowing what to do, rushedaround after Matt, copying every move he made.
When Matt picked up a coat and submerged it in the lake, Ping followedsuit; and when Matt, with the dripping garment in his hand, rushed forthe broken window, the Chinese boy was close behind.
As ill-luck would have it, there was nothing in the shape of an ax orhammer lying on the bench within reach of Matt's groping fingers.
The window was perhaps a dozen feet along the wall from the landwardend of the building. The fire, apparently, had been started at theextreme end, and, although the flames were driving fiercely through thebuilding, the blaze was not so formidable near the window as it was bythe door.
Matt changed his plans about entering the boathouse by the water door.He would make an essay through the window, push the _Sprite_ along therollers and down into the well, unlock the water door from the inside,and then, under her own power, take her out into the cove.
Not a second was to be lost if this plan was to be carried to asuccessful conclusion. There was danger, plenty of it, in making theattempt to save the _Sprite_.
Blazing timbers were already falling from the roof of the doomedbuilding, and if one of those dropped on the barrel containing thegasoline supply, an explosion would result and the flaming oil would behurled everywhere.
But the king of the motor boys did not hesitate. Hurriedly throwing thecoat over his head and shoulders, he climbed through the window androlled off the bench to the smoking floor of the boathouse.
To see anything between the confining walls was now impossible. Thesmoke was thick, and the glare that shot through it rendered it opaqueand blinding.
Matt, however, knew every foot of the building's interior as he knewhis two hands. Holding the coat closely around his head to protecthis face, he hurried through the blistering fog and finally stumbledagainst the _Sprite_.
Laying hold of the boat, he pushed with all his strength. In spite ofhis fiercest efforts, she stuck and hung to the rollers. It was not atime to hunt for what was wrong, but to force the _Sprite_ into thewell at any cost.
While Matt tugged and strained, the end of the building fell outwardwith a crash, and a flurry of sparks and firebrands leaping skyward.This released a section of the roof, which dropped inward.
One blazing beam landed on Matt's right arm, pinning it against therubstreak. A sickening pain rushed through his whole body, and when hehad hurled the timber away with his left hand, the injured arm droppednumb and helpless at his side.
"Matt! Motol Matt!"
The shrill, frightened cry came from Ping. He had followed throughthe window and had been feeling hi
s way about the interior of theboathouse. The crash of the wall and the roof had frightened him, andhe would have bolted had not the knowledge that Matt was somewhere inthat blazing inferno chained him to the place.
"Here, Ping!" cried Matt, hoarsely. "Lay hold of the boat and help meget her into the water. Lively, now--for your life!"
Their united strength, even through Matt had only his left hand, wassufficient. The _Sprite_ started slowly over the rollers, reached thehead of the incline, and her own impetus carried her downward. Matt andPing sprang into her blindly as she leaped away.
Across the well ran the _Sprite_, her nose striking the water door andcausing her to recoil backward until her stern brushed the incline.
Matt, dizzy and weak, pawed and floundered toward the bulkhead.
Overhead the roof was all in flames. Any moment it might fall bodily,sinking the _Sprite_ and those aboard her under the water of thewell--holding them like rats in a blazing trap.
Matt's eyes were of no use to him. They were smarting from the smokeand heat. But he did not need his eyes. He knew the place of everylever on the bulkhead.
A pull started the gasoline, another started the oil, and anotherswitched on the spark. A third lever was connected with the startingdevice. Two pulls at this and the boat took the push of the propeller.
_Boom!_
The fire had found the gasoline supply, and shafts of lighter fire shotthrough the yellower blaze of burning wood.
There was no time to unlock the water door. Already the fire-eatenwreck was swaying.
The _Sprite_, urged by the automobile engine, must ram the door andbreak it down.
Grabbing his companion, Matt dragged him down under the protection ofthe bulkhead, while the _Sprite_ flung herself toward the door, towardthe cove--and toward safety.
Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins Page 10
