"Hi! where are you?" he called out; but the fire had now crept so close that the crackling of the flames drowned out every other sound. Feeling that it would be a waste of precious time to remain where he was, he ran along the wooden barrier from one end to the other. A door at last was found, but it was tightly closed and refused to budge. Taking his sabre, Deck attempted to get it in the crack between the door and its frame. The point only could be introduced, and not caring to break this off, he withdrew the blade. By this time the smoke was making him dizzy, and he flew for a window to get some air. "Help!" he heard the Confederate cry again, and now made a discovery he fancied would be of advantage to him in his endeavor to assist the unfortunate man. The window to which he had made his way was within two feet of the wooden partition, while the window at which the Confederate was calling from was an equal distance from the partition, on the other side. The two windows, therefore, were but four feet apart. As has been mentioned, it was twenty feet to the ground, a distance great enough to cause serious results should the major take a tumble. But Deck did not count the consequences. He was going to help the rebel if he could. Crawling forth, he turned on the window-sill and stood upright. The framing was not over six inches in depth and was plain, affording but a scant hold. He had hardly appeared when a shout went up from below. "There is the major now!" "Major, look out there, or you'll break your neck!" These and other remarks were made, but Deck paid no attention further than to "look out," whatever that might mean. In reality his gaze was fastened on the window next to him, and now he leaned over and caught hold of the edging. But at this distance the hold was too uncertain to be depended upon, and he drew back. The question of what was to be done next was a serious one. The wind had shifted again, giving a temporary check to the fire in that direction; but it would shift back, and then Deck felt the end of the mill would be close at hand. He looked at the next window again. A large nail caught his eye, fastened at the top of the frame. He felt that this would hold, if only he could reach it. He took off his sabre belt and examined it. The belt was strong and so was the buckle, and leaning over he threw one end of the belt out, not once, but several times. At last a portion of the buckle caught over the nail. He pulled on the leather to make sure it would bear his weight, then swung to the sill of the next window with ease. "Thank Heaven!" he heard the Confederate ejaculate. The man had been holding himself up as far as possible, but had now dropped flat on his back.