The next building was a raging furnace, and on it Keith directed the heavy
stream from his nozzle. It was great fun. At first the water seemed to have
no effect whatever, but after a little it began to win. The flames were
beaten back, broken into detachments. Finally, Keith got to the point of
chasing down small individual outbreaks, driving them into their lairs,
drowning them as they crouched. He was wholly interested, and the boy in
him, with a shamefaced half apology to the man in him, pretended that he
was a soldier directing a battery against an enemy.

Along the ridgepole cautiously sidled the two men of the other company,
dragging their hose. Keith now recognized them. One was a vivid, debonair,
all-confident, magnetic individual named Talbot Ward, a merchant, promoter,
speculator, whom everybody liked and trusted; the other a fair Hercules of
a man, slow and powerful in everything, called Frank Munro.

"Look here," said Ward, "does it strike you this roof's getting hot?"

Recalled to himself, Keith immediately became aware of the fact.

"The house is afire beneath us," said Ward; "we've got to get out."

"What's the matter with your ladder?" asked Keith.

"They took it away."

"We'll use mine."

They let themselves cautiously down the footholds that had been chopped in
the roof, and looked over. A blast of smoke and flame met them in the face.