“Fire!  Fire!” shouted the crowd.

Reader, have you ever seen a fire in a great city?  The sight is a wondrous one.  One realises that, vast and horrible as the city is, it nevertheless shows its human organisation in its most perfect form.

Scarcely had the fire broken out before resolute efforts were made to stay its progress.  Long lines of men passed buckets of water from hand to hand.

The water was dashed on the fronts of the neighbouring houses, thrown all over the street, splashed against the telegraph poles, and poured in torrents over the excited crowd.  Every place in the neighbourhood of the fire was literally soaked.  The man worked with a will.  A derrick rapidly erected in the street reared itself to the height of sixteen or seventeen feet.  A daring man mounted on the top of it, hauled bucket after bucket of water on the pulley.  Balancing himself with the cool daring of the trained fireman, he threw the water in all directions over the crowd.

The fire raged for an hour.  Hezekiah, standing at an empty window amid the flames, rapidly filled his revolver and emptied it into the crowd.

From one hundred revolvers in the street a fusillade was kept up in return.

This lasted for an hour.  Several persons were almost hit by the rain of bullets, which would have proved fatal had they struck anyone.

Meantime, as the flames died down, a squad of policemen rushed into the doomed building.

Hezekiah threw aside his revolver and received them with folded arms.

“Hayloft,” said the chief of police, “I arrest you for murder, burglary, arson, and conspiracy.  You put up a splendid fight, old man, and I am only sorry that it is our painful duty to arrest you.”

As Hayloft appeared below a great cheer went up from the crowd.  True courage always appeals to the heart of the people.

Hayloft was put in a motor and whirled rapidly to the police station.

On the way the chief handed him a flask and a cigar.

They chatted over the events of the evening.

Hayloft realised that a new life had opened for him.  He was no longer a despised outcast.  He had entered the American criminal class.

At the police station the chief showed Hezekiah to his room.

“I hope you will like this room,” he said a little anxiously.  “It is the best that I can give you to-night.  To-morrow I can give you a room with a bath, but at such short notice I am sure you will not mind putting up with this.”

He said good night and shut the door.  In a moment he reappeared.

“About breakfast?” he said.  “Would you rather have it in your room, or will you join us at our table d’hote?  The force are most anxious to meet you.”

Next morning, before Hezekiah was up, the chief brought to his room a new outfit of clothes—­a silk hat, frock-coat, shepherd’s-plaid trousers and varnished boots with spats.