horror from Ham in reply.

"God in heaven!" he yelled. "It's Dickson's! Th' Leetle Woman!" and he
plunged madly out through the door, followed by every other man in the
house.

Thure and Bud were close behind the last man. The moment they were
outside their eyes caught the red glow of the fire shining wickedly
through the openings between the pine trees that surrounded Dickson's
little cabin, and raced madly toward it. The distance was not great, not
over twenty rods; and they soon found themselves in front of the burning
house.

Dickson and his wife, half-dressed, were rushing madly about, empty
water-pails in their hands. Already the red flames were leaping through
one of the windows; and, as they looked, a heavy jet of black smoke,
swiftly followed by a long tongue of fire, shot out from the roof above
the flaming window.

"Buckets! Buckets!" yelled Ham. "Form a line tew th' spring an' pass
buckets of water from it tew th' house. Here, you," he cried, as his
eyes caught sight of Thure and Bud, "back tew th' house an' git
everything in it that'll hold water--pails, gold-pans, kettles,
anything--Hurry!"

Thure and Bud turned instantly and sped back to the house, their hearts
thumping with excitement. They knew the value of moments in a case like
this. Thure was a little longer-legged, a little the swifter runner, and
he reached the open door perhaps a rod ahead of Bud and sprang through
it, thinking only of how he could get hold of the kettles and the pails
and the pans in the quickest manner possible.

The room was dimly lighted by a ruddy glow from the coals still burning
in the fireplace; and by this light, Thure, the moment he sprang through
the door, saw a figure start up suddenly from near the bunk where he
slept and turn a pock-marked, face, white with fear, toward him; and
then, as his momentum carried him into the room and before he could lift
a hand in self-defense, he saw the right hand suddenly swing up a heavy
club, as the figure leaped toward him, and--a blinding crash and he knew
no more for the present.

Bud was more fortunate. He saw the figure, saw the blow hurriedly aimed
at him, in time to spring aside; and then, with a yell of rage, for he,
too, had caught sight of the pock-marked face of his assailant, he
hurled himself toward him.

But Pockface had had all of the fight he wanted; for, the instant he
struck at Bud and failed to hit him, he sprang through the door.

Bud, in his mad rush