Under Boy Scout Colors Part 27

Scrambling to his feet, Dale stumbled after him. A crackling roar from behind the closed doors made him s.h.i.+ver. The windows were clear. Every one seemed to have left the hall save a single figure standing beside the nearest opening, one leg already over the sill.

"Quick, Wes!" snapped Mr. Curtis. "Get out on the ladder and take him.

Fireman's lift, you know."

Becker obeyed swiftly, and, swinging the limp body over his shoulder, disappeared from view.

"Now, Dale," ordered the scoutmaster. "You--"

The words were drowned in a cras.h.i.+ng roar as the doors fell in. There was a sudden, blinding burst of flame, a wave of scorching heat that seemed to sear into Dale's very soul. He flung up both hands before his eyes, and, as he did so, two arms grasped him about the body and fairly whirled him through the window to the ladder.

"Catch hold and slide!" commanded the scoutmaster. "Hustle!"

Mechanically, as he had done a score of times in their fire-drills from the roof of Mr. Curtis' barn, Dale curled arms and legs about the ladder sides, shut his eyes, and slid. Part way down a blast of heat struck his face; then hands caught him, easing the descent, and he found himself on the ground, with firemen all around and the cool spray from one of the big, bra.s.s-nozzled hoses drifting across him. He had scarcely time to step away from the ladder when Mr. Curtis, with hair singed and clothes smoking, shot out of the flame-tinged smoke and came down with a rush, while from the anxious crowd there burst a loud cheer of relief and laxing tension.

Dale blinked and drew the clean air into his lungs with long, uneven breaths. Then the grimy face of Court Parker popped up suddenly before him.

"Where's Wes, and--and Ranny?" demanded Tompkins sharply.

"Over there."

Dale pushed his way across the street and up to the edge of a circle that some of the scouts had formed about a small group on the farther sidewalk. This opened to let him through, and as he stood looking down on the handsome, blackened, pallid face of the boy Becker and MacIlvaine were working over, something seemed to grip his throat and squeeze it tight.

"Is he--" he stammered, "will he--"

Becker glanced up and nodded rea.s.suringly. "He's coming round all right.

He's pretty well done up, that's all."

Under the shadowy tangle of disordered hair Ranny's lids suddenly lifted, and the blue eyes looked straight up into Dale's face. For a second there was absolutely no expression in them. Then something flickered into the glance that made Dale's heart leap and sent the blood tingling to the roots of his hair. A moment later the pale lips moved, and he bent swiftly to catch the words.

"I knew--you'd come--chum," Ranny whispered. Then his lips curved in a rueful smile. "Of all the rotten luck!" he murmured. "They never saw--our drill."