Fred and myself made an attempt to examine their wounds; but before we could strip off one of their shirts, we heard a crashing and roaring beneath our feet, and up through the floor streamed clouds of smoke, black and suffocating, as though produced by pitch or tar.

“The house is on fire,” cried a dozen voices; and in an instant there was a rush for the doors and windows, and policemen and miners, who had been drawn from their beds by the tumult and confusion, were mixed in a dozen struggling masses, all striving for escape.

“Come back,” we shouted, “and save the wounded;” but our words were unheeded.  The fire seemed to increase every moment, fanned as it was by a strong breeze, which blew from the south.

The materials of the building were dry, and easily ignited; and we judged that in less than fifteen minutes the house would be one mass of flames.

We expected to hear the robbers moan and shout for assistance; but to our surprise they maintained a stoical silence, and disdained to beg for help.

We heard the inspector call us by name, but we determined to save every wounded man in the room if possible, and therefore returned him no answer.

Carefully, but quickly, we lifted one of the sufferers from the floor, and conveyed him to the nearest window, where a dozen willing hands were stretched out to receive him; but before we could remove a second, the flames burst through at the extremity of the room, near the bar, and the planks of the floor seemed to blister our feet, they were so heated by the fire raging in the cellar.

CHAPTER LVIII.

CONVALESCENCE OF MR. CRITCHET, AND OUR DISCHARGE FROM THE CRIMINAL DOCKET.

“Do you wish to perish in the building?” cried the inspector, who had made his way through one of the windows in search of us.

“By no means,” returned Fred, hurriedly, “but we will not leave until every wounded man is saved.”

“You are mad.  The building will be a mass of cinders in ten minutes,” exclaimed Mr. Brown.

“Five minutes would be sufficient to clear the room, if we only had help,” retorted Fred, as cool as though certain of being saved.

The inspector uttered a hoarse growl of displeasure; and as we hurried to perform our duty as men, he sprang to one of the windows where his policemen were drawn up, awaiting his orders, yet not making the first effort to save the building.

“Ho!” he shouted.  “Will you be outdone by strangers.  Where are my volunteers?  Who will help save a wounded enemy?”

For the honor of the blue coats, let it be told that he did not have to speak twice.  The men threw away their pistols and powder, and rushed in a body towards the windows, from whence smoke was streaming of a pitchy darkness and suffocating odor.  A number seized logs of wood, and dashed them against the door until the lock gave way, and it flew open.  All seemed animated by a spirit of rivalry, as to which should perform the most labor in the attempt to save the wounded from a horrid death.