“There goes the schooner!”

“See, the burning oil is closing in all around her!”

“That sailor’s lost, and so are the two firemen!”

Such were some of the cries as the schooner began to sink.

It must be confessed that Larry was thoroughly alarmed, for he well knew the peril of the situation.

Bang! bang! went the bursting oil barrels, and he felt the oil touch his clothing. Once the flames should reach him he would become a human torch!

“We’ll have to swim for it!” he gasped, and in another instant all three leaped into the river and passed out of sight.

Down into the cooling water went Larry. He still retained his hold on the sailor, but Burnam let go and swam to save himself.

When Larry and the sailor came up they were a good thirty feet from the burning dock. The sailor clung frantically to the young fireman, for the fire had rendered him unable to think clearly.

“Save me!” he spluttered, as they bobbed around in the midst of the oil.

“Down!” shouted Larry, as the floating flames rushed toward them, and down they went once more.

But they could not keep below long, and when they came up again they seemed to be in the very midst of the burning oil.

Larry was burned on the hand and on the shoulder, and the sailor also suffered by inhaling some of the great heat.

With a groan he turned over into our hero’s arms and became unconscious. “What’s to be done now?” thought Larry.

Should he let the man go and try to save himself.

“Not yet,” he thought. “I’ve still a fighting chance to save us both.”

Down he went with his burden. Then his head struck some spiling and he passed to some spot where all was comparatively dark.

He was under the burning dock!

He felt along the timbers and presently pulled himself up on a number of heavy beams. As he did this the burning oil swept in, and he had to run away on the beams, dragging the sailor after him.

He was now safe from drowning, but hemmed in by the heavy timbers of the dock, while the burning oil was lapping the water-soaked spiling in an endeavor to consume them.

What was to do next? Eagerly our hero asked himself that question. He was under the dock, and there seemed no means of getting out, excepting to plunge into the water once more.

But the water on all sides was now a mass of burning oil, and a plunge into it would mean certain death.

As well as he was able, Larry carried the sailor toward the land end of the dock.

Here there was no fire overhead, and he could hear the footsteps of the firemen as they ran around, laying their hose and doing other necessary things.

He tried to attract their attention by pounding on the flooring over his head, but the general noise was so great that no one paid any attention to his signal of distress.

Presently the sailor gave a gasp and opened his eyes.

“Where—where am I?” he asked in a dazed fashion.

“We are under the burning dock,” answered Larry.

“Under the dock?”

“Yes.”

“Then let us get out.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any way out.”

“Are we like rats in a trap?” cried the sailor, anxiously.

“Pretty much; but keep cool and we may be all right yet,” answered our hero, encouragingly.

His own hopes were low, but he did not wish to alarm the seafaring man more than was necessary.

“Who are you?” was the sailor’s next question, as he grew calmer.

“I am one of the firemen.”

“Were you sent to save me?”

“The other fireman and myself volunteered for the work.”

“Where is the other fireman?”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid he was lost in the burning oil.”

“You’re a brave one to come to my aid. Give me your hand,” and the sailor held out his own.

They shook hands, and that hearty grip seemed to give fresh courage.

“Is there no way out at all?” went on the sailor.

“I can find none.”

Both took a careful look around and climbed over a number of beams and boards. But the land end of the under side of the dock appeared to be as tight as a box.

“Stumped!” said the sailor. “Pray Heaven they get that fire out before it burns this far.”

“Amen to that.”

“What’s your name? I would like to know if ever we do get out of here,” went on the sailor, after a painful pause.

“Larry Barlow. What’s yours.”

“Caleb Backstay. Barlow, eh? I used to know a man by the name of Barlow.”

“Did you?” asked Larry, eagerly. “What was his first name.”

“Walter. He was a kind of inventor.”

“It was my father!”

“You don’t say?” Caleb Backstay showed his surprise. “Say did he ever get back to New York?”

“Back? What do you mean?”

“I mean did he ever get back after those rascals robbed him, took him to that ship bound for——”

The old sailor got no further in his interesting revelation.

There was a terrific explosion on the dock overhead, and the flooring was torn up in every direction.

Down came some of the planking, almost on top of them, and in a twinkle both found themselves caught and held as if in a vise.

Then the burning oil flowed toward them and both felt that they were certainly lost.