It was no easy matter to get down to the ground with one hand still fastened behind him, and Dick made rather slow work of it.  The rain beat in at the window, and soon he was soaked to the skin.

Where to go next he did not know.  To journey far in such a storm was entirely out of the question.

Dick had hardly gotten to the edge of the woods when a blinding flash of lightning and a ripping crash of thunder fairly lifted him from his feet.

“Oh!” he gasped, and staggered to a tree for support.  “My, but that was close!”

It was not until a moment later that he realized what had occurred.  The lightning had struck the cottage, ripping off a corner of the roof and descending into the room below.  The structure was now a mass of flames.

“The cottage is on fire!” murmured the youth.  “Wonder if the Baxters have been struck?”

The wind quickly drove the fire in all directions until the cottage was in flames almost from end to end.

Staggering from the effects of the shock, Dick drew closer to the building and then tried the door, to find it locked.

“Help!” came faintly, in Arnold Baxter’s voice.  “Help!”

“Open the door,” returned Dick, forgetting that it was an enemy who was calling for assistance.

“I—­I cannot.  I—­I am helpless!”

Again Dick tried the door, but without success.  Then he leaped for the window.  Some of the glass was broken, and with his naked fist he drove in the whole sash, and tore down the flapping curtain.

The sight which met his gaze filled him with horror.  The room was on fire in several places and in a corner, near the chimney piece, rested Arnold Baxter, pinned down by a section of brick and stonework that had fallen.  He had been hit in the head, and from the wound the blood was flowing.

“Rover, is that you?” he cried faintly.  “Don’t desert me!”

Without replying, Dick began to crawl in through the broken window.  The air was filled with smoke and he could scarcely see what he was doing.  The sparks, too, were flying in all directions and only the wetness of his garments kept them from catching fire.

He was soon at Arnold Baxter’s side, and with his one free hand hurled the bricks and stones in all directions.  As he worked the fire kept coming closer, until his face was fairly blistered by the conflagration.

At last the man was free.  But he could not raise himself up, and when Dick did it Arnold Baxter fell a limp form in his arm.  He had fainted.

Mustering up all the strength that remained to him, Dick dragged the unconscious man to the door.  There was a bar to be flung aside and then Dick threw the barrier wide open.  It was none too soon, for now the fire was swirling in all directions.  Staggering beneath his burden the youth hurried into the open and then fell flat, with Arnold Baxter beside him.

“What a close call!” murmured Dick, when he was able to rise.  He felt weak in the knees, and his hands and face smarted from the blistering received.  He looked at Arnold Baxter.  The man had not yet recovered and looked to be more dead than alive.