CHAPTER IV
JOE’S FEAT
There was so much going on—firemen and eager volunteers working at the hose and apparatus, railroad men and factory employees endeavoring to get out of the danger zone a car loaded with explosives, others removing from the factory and store-houses some of the powder, still others rushing here and there, uselessly shouting—there was so much of this sort of thing going on that, for a moment, no one noticed Joe Strong except his four chums.
But the lad had no sooner reached the foot of the dangling rope than others saw him, among them some firemen.
“Come back from there!” they shouted.
“Not just yet!” coolly answered Joe.
“What are you going to do?” a railroad man inquired.
“Get him!” replied Joe, briefly, as he pointed to the huddled figure lying in the low doorway up above.
“You can’t do it! That place is all on fire inside. It may go up any minute.”
“Well, I figure that I’ve got a minute to spare, and a minute is about all I want,” answered Joe calmly.
By this time he was going up the rope hand over hand, not an easy feat, but Joe seemed to make nothing of it. Now, if ever, he blessed the time he had spent in acrobatic work, in emulating the tricks of circus performers, his own mother included. Now, if ever, he was glad of his strong and supple muscles, his cool head and eyes that never faltered.
Up and up he went, hand over hand, climbing the rope like a veritable monkey, and with a skill that would have caused applause to break forth at any other than this critical time. As it was, there was a murmur of admiration for Joe’s coolness and daring. For it was a daring feat.
All this while the fighting of the fire was going on at other parts of the plant. There had been no loud explosions for some time, though small ones were constantly to be heard. And inside the factory’s flimsy buildings, most of which were in flames, could be heard the hissing and spluttering of various forms of pyrotechnics.
Up and up went Joe until in a very short time he swung in through the small door, and stood beside the prostrate man, whom some of the boys had recognized as Peter Crabb, otherwise known as Professor Rosello, the magician.
“He’s there!” cried Charlie Ford.
“Yes, Joe’ll get him down if there’s any way to do it!” chimed in Henry Blake.
“And if there isn’t a way, Joe will make one!” declared Tom Simpson.
Joe’s chums and others in the crowd could see the young wizard now bending over the huddled form of the professor. They saw Joe hauling up the rope to get at the free end which was on the ground.
Just then came a burst of flames and smoke from a window in the second story, directly past which Joe had climbed a moment before, and past which he must lower the unconscious form of the magician; for that, evidently, was his intention. Could it be done?
“He’ll never do it!” some one said.
“They’re both goners!” was the general comment.
“The place is all on fire inside. No chance to save it,” a fireman remarked. “We’d all better get back, for she’ll explode soon.”
“Come on down, Joe!” a voice cried. “Save yourself!”
Joe answered something. What it was no one could hear above the crackle of the flames and the puffing of the engines.
“Joe won’t come down without him,” said Henry Blake in a low voice.
“That’s what he won’t,” agreed Harry Martin.
But how was Joe to lower the man past that outburst of flame? Even a momentary passage through it would likely cause death if the man inhaled the fire. At best, he would be terribly burned.
But Joe Strong knew what he was doing. As the crowd watched, they saw him take off his soaking wet coat and trousers, wet from his swim across the creek. In another instant Joe had wrapped and twisted the sodden garments around the form of the magician, covering his head and face.
It was then the work of but an instant for Joe to fasten the rope about Professor Rosello. Joe was an expert in tying knots, and soon he swung the form, encased in wet garments, free of the window ledge. Down he lowered the man, swiftly, right through the outburst of flame. The rope was charred but not burned through.
“I knew Joe’d think of a way!” shouted Tom.
“But how’s he going to get down himself?” gasped Harry. “He can never do it!”
This was a puzzling question for his chum. Joe seemed doomed. But the lad himself never seemed to give this a thought. He stood in the open, upper doorway, attired in only his wet undergarments.
The flames, spurting out from the window below him, seemed fiercer than ever. The rope would never stand another trip past them. And now a series of small explosions in the building on the upper floor of which Joe stood indicated that that building soon would go in a burst of fire and smoke.
But Joe knew there was a life net carried on the auto fire engine, and he depended on this.
The chief of the Bedford department had not lost his head, and Joe had no sooner lowered the form of the magician to the ground when the quick mind of the chief was directed to saving the boy.
“Bring up that life net!” he shouted through his trumpet. It had been made ready some time before, but had not been used, since most of the employees had been rescued from the first floors.
“Stand here with it!” directed the chief, indicating a spot out in front of, and directly in line with, the open doorway in which Joe still stood. Now the smoke was swirling more thickly about the lad, and back of him could be seen dancing tongues of fire.
“Can you jump it, Joe?” called the chief through his trumpet
“All right! Hold her steady! I’m coming!” cried Joe, shrilly, above the crackle of the flames.
A fire department life net consists of a big iron ring, which can be folded in half upon itself. Around the circumference of the ring is woven a strong rope net, sagging toward the middle. Firemen stand in a circle about the iron ring, grasping it with their hands, and holding it as high as possible to allow for the recoiling impact of the falling body.
“Are you ready down there?” cried Joe.
“All ready!” answered the chief. “Brace yourselves now, men!”
Joe poised for an instant on the edge of the doorway. It was a sixty-foot jump, but he hesitated only an instant. With his hands to his sides, standing as straight as an arrow, his superb form beautifully outlined, clad as he was only in his underclothes, Joe jumped.
Straight as a plummet he came down, feet first, into the life net. It sagged with his weight, and the men holding it were jerked forward, but there were so many of them that the elasticity of the apparatus was preserved, and Joe bounced up like a rubber ball.
Another bounce and he turned a somersault, landing on the turf at one side.
A cheer went up from the rescuers. Joe had been saved, and he had saved the life of the magician in a thrilling manner. Another cheer rang out. But there was no time for more. There was still the fire to fight.
Joe’s chums gathered about him, eager to clasp his hand, to clap him on the back, to utter words of praise. But he had but one thought—or, rather, two.
“Is the professor all right?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes,” some one answered. “He’d only fainted. He’s all right now, and not burned a bit, thanks to your wet clothes.”
“Where are my clothes?” demanded Joe. “This isn’t exactly a bathing beach.”
“You can’t wear your things,” a fireman informed our hero. “They’re badly scorched. Here, wrap yourself in this blanket until you can get home,” and he extended one of the horse-coverings. Joe accepted it gratefully.
“Better get back from here,” another fireman advised. “This place is going, and it’s full of powder.”
The crowd, as well as Joe and his chums, took the hint.
But the main factory did not go up. The fire-fighters rallied in force around it, seeing that the other buildings were doomed, and the bigger part of the plant was saved. Luckily enough, too, as had it exploded the force would have been felt a long distance. The light and flimsy buildings burned quickly into ashes, and the explosions of fireworks grew less frequent. The material in the main building was spoiled by water, but that was better than having the fire reach it.
Little remained to do now, but to guard against stray sparks in the building that had been saved at such risk. The crowd began to disperse.
“Where’s the professor?” asked Joe, moving about in his blanket like some pale-faced Indian.
“They took him to the hotel,” said Tom. “Say, Joe, don’t you want to stop at our house and get some of my clothes? It’s nearer than going to yours.”
“Good idea. Thanks. I guess I will. I don’t feel exactly like showing up at home in this rig.”
Some one who knew Joe offered to drive him in his automobile to the Simpson house. Tom, of course, went with his friend, and Joe was soon clothed in ordinary garments, having first taken a bath at Tom’s house, for the smoke had made him black and grimy.