“They must intend to let the whole town burn!” cried Anthony.

“Yes, sar!  Very probably, sar.”

Kirk pointed to the nearest fireman.  “If he’d get up under that wall he could save the roof and be out of the heat.”  He undertook to convey this suggestion to the fellow, but without result.  “I can’t stand this,” he exclaimed at last.  “Let’s give him a hand, Allan.”

“Very well, sar.”

“Here! help me get a kink in this hose.  There!  Now you hold it until you feel me pull.”  Kirk forced his way out through the crowd, to find the fireman holding the nozzle, from which a feeble stream was dribbling, and mechanically directing it at the fire.  Kirk laid hold of the canvas and, with a heave, dragged it, along with its rightful guardian, ten feet forward; but there had been no bugle-blown order for this, and the uniformed man pulled backward with all his might, chattering at Kirk in Spanish.

“Well, then let go.”  Anthony shook the Panamannikin loose, then ran forward across the street until he brought up at the end of the slack and felt the hose behind him writhe and swell as Allan released his hold.  The next instant the negro was at his side, and the two found themselves half blistered by the heat that rolled out upon them.  But the newly ignited roof was within range, and the stream they played upon it made the shingles fly.

“Oh, Lard!” Allan was crying.  “Oh, Lard!  I shall h’expire.”

“Pull down your hat and shield your face.”

The fireman they had despoiled began to drag at the hose from a safe distance; but when Kirk made as if to turn the nozzle upon him he scampered away amid the jeers of the crowd.  A few moments later, the American felt a hand upon his arm and saw an angry policeman who was evidently ordering him back.  Behind him stood the excited nozzleman with two companions.

“He says you should return the ’ose where you found it,” Allan translated.

“Leave us alone,” Kirk replied.  “You fellows help the others; we’ll attend to this.”  More rapid words and gesticulations followed, in the midst of which a dapper young man in a uniform somewhat more impressive than the others dashed up, flung himself upon Anthony and endeavored to wrench the hose from his hands.  Meanwhile he uttered epithets in broken English which the other had no difficulty in understanding.  Kirk promptly turned the nozzle upon him, and the full force of Colon’s water-pressure struck him squarely in the stomach, doubling him up like the kick of a mule.  Down the newcomer went, then half rolled, half slid across the street as the stream continued to play upon him.  He scrambled to his feet, a sorry spectacle of waving arms and dripping garments, his cries of rage drowned in the delighted clamor of the beholders.

“I guess they’ll keep away now,” laughed Kirk, as he turned back to his self-appointed task.

But Allan exclaimed, fearfully:  “Oh, boss, I fear he is some ’igh h’officer.”