CHAPTER XIX.
LEMUEL AKERS’ GREAT PERIL.
The race did not last long. It was a matter of less than half a minute.
But that few seconds showed what Joe could do in the way of spurting.
Down the road he came like a rocket, the wheels of his machine seeming to fairly fly through the air.
The crossing was reached while the express was still a hundred and fifty feet off.
Joe took a flying leap to the man’s side, leaving the bicycle to take care of itself.
He caught the man in his arms and flung both himself and his burden into a near-by ditch, and then the express thundered by.
For over a minute Joe was too weak to speak. The awful danger through which he had passed now dawned on him fully, and he arose trembling from head to foot.
The man he had rescued was unconscious.
Some people driving by had witnessed the thrilling scene and now came up.
They were loud in their praise of our hero.
The man was recognized as an old farmer living several miles away. He was subject to similar strokes to the present one, and rarely went out alone. He was taken home in a wagon, and the next day Joe received a warm letter from his wife, thanking him for his great service.
As soon as Joe arrived at home he told his parents of what he had seen, and then called again on Mr. Burns.
The lawyer was much pleased.
“Joe, you ought to turn detective,” he said.
“No, thanks,” smiled our hero. “I would rather be something else.”
“I know that old Jew,” went on the lawyer. “To-morrow I am going to Pemberton and will interview him. I fancy you are as good as cleared.”
“I am thankful for it,” responded Joe heartily.
Our hero kept on the lookout for Lemuel Akers, but the bully did not turn up until after supper.
That evening Joe and Dick went out on their wheels, visiting the spot where they had come near to riding into the river.
The new iron bridge was now up, and they now had no difficulty in crossing the deep mountain stream.
The chums spoke of Akers first, and, that subject exhausted, Dick told Joe of another bicycle meet soon to come off.
“We must both enter the races,” he said. “I am going in for five miles and you must go in the two and one mile.”
“I will,” said Joe.
They wheeled on until they were about five miles from home. Then they came out on the top of a high hill, from which they could look in every direction.
Here they rested, and while doing so Joe pointed to a strange light over in the direction of Lockport.
“What light is that, Dick?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Must be on the river.”
“It is growing larger.”
“So it is.”
The two boys watched the light for a minute in silence. Then suddenly both gave a cry:
“It’s a fire!”
They were right, for a second later the flames shot skyward all in one rush.
“Somebody’s house in Lockport!” cried Dick. “Joe, we must get back as soon as we can.”
Our hero made no reply, but leaped on his wheel. Soon they were pedaling along rapidly.
As they moved closer to Lockport the flames kept growing brighter and brighter, until the entire heavens were lit up.
“It’s more than one house, that’s certain,” remarked Joe. “Who knows but what the entire business portion is doomed.”
Joe said this because they could now make out that the fire was down in the vicinity of the stores and not over by the river, as they had originally supposed.
Not long after this they could hear the crackling of the flames and the shouts of the local firemen, who were doing their best to subdue the conflagration.
“It’s Rayley’s Row,” suddenly called Joe.
“So it is, and every house in it is doomed,” replied Dick.
Rayley’s Row consisted of six dwellings situated on the main street of Lockport, directly opposite the post office and main store.
Only two of the houses in the row were occupied, the others having been vacant for some time.
The vacant houses had caught first, having been most likely set on fire by tramps, who occasionally made their quarters there on the sly.
“We must join the bucket brigade!” cried Joe.
Lockport boasted of no fire engine, and the only way to put out a fire was by pouring buckets of water on it.
Half a dozen lines with buckets were working from as many pumps and cisterns to the scene of the fire.
Leaping from their machines, Joe and Dick joined one of the lines which was rather short of hands.
In a second bucket after bucket came to each, to be passed to the next man or boy in the line.
“Lively, boys, the fire is gaining!” suddenly shouted Carl Lathrop.
“Form another line in the rear there!”
“Why don’t somebody bring a few ladders?”
“Are all the people out of the houses?” asked Charley Osborne.
“Yes, long ago.”
But this answer was a falsehood, as the next instant proved.
At the top of one of the middle buildings appeared a tall figure, waving its arms wildly over its head.
“For the love of heaven, won’t somebody save me?”
Everybody stared in mute amazement at the person who uttered the appeal.
It was Lemuel Akers!
He was surrounded by flames, and death stared him in the face.