Joe Strong and his wings of steel

“That’s some fire,” remarked Joe to Tom Layton, the elephant man, speaking over the top of the howdah in which the boy stood ready to make his flight, not yet having arisen on his wings of steel.

“It does look that way,” was the reply.

Suddenly a wave of excitement seemed to sweep over the crowd. Word was passed from one person to another until it reached the policeman who had given the first information of the fire.

“What is it?” called Joe to the officer.

“The fire’s getting worse,” came the answer, “and there’s a report that a number of people are trapped by the flames.”

Joe let out a whistle, and a sudden resolution came into his mind. But the policeman was not through imparting information.

“That’s not the worst, either,” he said.

“Why not?” the elephant man wanted to know.

“Because a good part of the fire department is out of town on their annual outing, and there’s not half enough men left to fight a big blaze. They took some of their biggest ladders with them, and as the Globe Hotel is the highest building in town it’s going to be a job to get the people off the roof.”

“Is that where they are?” asked Joe.

“That’s what they say.”

By this time the excitement over the fire had grown to such an extent that crowds were deserting the attraction of the circus parade to go to see the conflagration. From his elevated position on the back of the elephant Joe could see the smoke getting thicker, and he could note the sharp tongues of flame darting through it.

“I’m going to see that fire!” cried Joe to the elephant man.

“Yes, we’ll be nearer to it pretty soon,” was Tom’s comment. “Though whether they’ll let the parade through that street is a question. Most likely they won’t.”

“I’m not going to wait for the parade to get there,” Joe made answer. “It’s likely we’ll be held back, as you say. I’m going to fly down there. I want to see it at close range.”

“All right. Do as you please. I guess we’ll abandon the parade anyhow. Nobody seems to be taking much interest in it.”

This was true enough, for the crowds were now running down the main thoroughfares in the direction of the burning hotel. The parade was “playing to empty streets,” as it were.

Joe lowered the cloth sides of the little house on the elephant’s back, and made ready to rise in his wings of steel. He threw over the switch that controlled the electric current, and the motors hummed and throbbed as the gear wheels and torsion rods transmitted the power to the wings.

Up and down flapped the big wings of the Bat, and Joe slowly left the elephant’s back. A few of the throng turned to watch him, and there were the usual expressions of wonder, but all eyes were soon turned toward the big fire, which, as Joe could see, was assuming large proportions.

Up and up rose the young acrobat, up toward the low-lying clouds, and then toward the other clouds of smoke he directed his flight. He could see the still-moving circus procession below him, and the crowds of people, and then he had a glimpse of the hotel—a better view than had yet been afforded him.

“I can’t see any persons on the roof,” said Joe, as he turned on more power. “Still there may be some. And with no ladders to get them down—well, maybe they can use the fire escapes if the inside stairs are burned away.”

It did not take the young aviator long, in his marvelous flying machine, to reach the scene of the conflagration. He went down a little lower, approaching the burning hotel on the side where there was the least smoke. Though his wings made comparatively little noise—certainly not enough to be heard by the crowd above the racket caused by the fire and the means being used to subdue it—Joe saw hundreds in the throng looking up at him. And, for a time, attention was divided between him and the blazing hotel.

It was a hard matter for Joe to find a clear place on which to make a landing, but he managed it and came to rest where he could get a good view. People at once crowded up around him, for they had seen on the circus bills a representation of Joe flying in the Bat and they wanted a closer view.

Suddenly a cry came.

“Look! Look! There they are!”

Hundreds of hands pointed toward the roof of the hotel.

And there, as the smoke was rolled back by a gust of wind, Joe saw a number of men and one woman huddled together on the flat roof of the hotel. And in that instant they held out their hands in mute appeal to the crowds below them.

“Can’t they save them?” asked Joe.

“They can’t seem to,” half a dozen voices answered him.

“Why not?” demanded the young acrobat, as he looked at the firemen dragging up more lengths of hose.

“No ladders long enough.”

“They took the longest ladders over to Tarnytown to the contests there,” some one said.

“There isn’t a ladder made long enough to reach to the roof of that hotel,” declared one man. “They could use scaling ladders, or a rope maybe, but the trouble is that the fire is about the middle of the hotel, and they can’t get up past the windows—they’re spouting fire on all four sides.”

This was true enough. The fire had started on the eighth story of the Globe Hotel, and had quickly spread out fan-wise on that and the floor above and below. The hotel was of what is called “slow-burning” construction, and was not absolutely fire-proof.

“Aren’t there any fire escapes?” asked Joe.

“Yes, there are some,” a man in the crowd replied, “but they didn’t build one that can be reached from the roof. The nearest one is some distance down, and it would be a risky jump from the roof to get to it.”

“And the inside of the hotel is a roaring furnace where they’d have to pass if they tried the inside stairs,” another said. “They’re doomed!”

Once more the smoke rolled back and hid from view the unfortunates on the roof. How they got there no one could say, but probably when the fire was discovered they had, in their fright, rushed up instead of down, as had most of the hotel inmates. And again, it may have been that they tried to descend, but found their way cut off by burning stairways. At any rate they were on the roof, frantically appealing to those below to save them.

“Why don’t the firemen do something?” demanded a hysterical woman near Joe. “Surely they can save them!”

“How?” asked a man gloomily. “If they had wings like these here,” and he indicated the Bat, “they might fly down. But that’s the only way. No ladder can reach them.”

“Can’t they throw them up a rope?” persisted the woman. “They might fasten that somewhere on the roof, and slide down. I’ve heard of people saving themselves at fires by coming down ropes.”

“It could be done if we could get a rope up to them,” a man admitted. “But who could toss a line up there?” and he pointed to the high roof. “Not the best sailor living could do it.”

“But shoot a rope up in some way—as they shoot a line to sinking vessels at sea!” a new voice cried.

“That needs a cannon, and there’s no time to get one,” was the despondent comment. “It takes special apparatus to do that. There isn’t any in the city. A man with a bow and arrow might get a light line up, so they could haul up a heavier one.”

“Get a bow and arrow!” arose a general cry. But no one, in the excitement of the moment, knew where to go for them.

It was then that Joe Strong stepped into the breach.

“I’ll carry a rope up there if you get me one,” he said.

“How?” some one near him asked.

“With my wings of steel. I can fly a good deal higher than that roof.”

For a moment no one spoke, but as the crowd looked at Joe and his strange machine it was evident that the problem was solved. At least an attempt could be made to save the unfortunates.

“Get me a rope!” cried Joe. “I’ll carry it up!”

“The firemen have ropes,” came the information.

A dozen in the crowd rushed for the nearest hook and ladder truck. On that were carried ropes, life-nets and other special appliances for use in saving lives. But up to now there had been no chance to bring them into play.

A long, light, but strong rope was brought to Joe, where he stood ready to make his perilous flight in the Bat. For it would be perilous. He might land on the roof just as it collapsed. That this would happen soon could not be doubted, for the fire was still burning fiercely in spite of the tons of water poured into the heart of it. And then, too, there was always danger in flying—something might break and let the machine fall. But the lad did not count that chance much.

“Stand ready to pay out the rope as I go up,” he directed those who had brought the cable to him. “Don’t let it get tangled, or it will pull away from me—maybe pull me down. And when I have my end up there be ready to fasten this end to something so they can come down the rope. Make it good and tight.”

“Yes! Yes! We’ll do that!” was the eager response. “Go on up with the rope!”

Again the smoke cloud parted and another view could be had of the imperilled men.

“Where’s the woman?” some one cried.

“She’s burned!” a man murmured hoarsely.

“They’ll all be burned soon,” another added.

But Joe Strong was doing his best to save them. He attached the rope to his machine, and again cautioning the men in charge of it to see that it paid out well, he turned on the power in the Bat.

In a moment he began rising, but he could no longer see those on the roof, for the smoke had rolled in again.

Up and up went the lad, the rope trailing out behind him. He could hear cries of wonder from the crowd now, for he was in plain sight and what he was about to do was evident to all.

“He’s going to save them!” was shouted on all sides. “That circus flying machine boy is going to save them!”

In his heart Joe hoped he could.