“Fie-ur-r! Fie-ur-r! Fie-ur-r!” “Where is the fire?” a volunteer fireman screamed. Vinegar gesticulated in the general direction of the Gaitskill homestead and whooped: “Fie-ur-r!” “Shut up, you fool!” Sheriff Flournoy whooped, hitting Vinegar in the middle of the back with his fist, a blow like the kick of a mule. “Shut up that noise and show us the fire!” Up to that moment it seemed to Vinegar Atts that the whole hillside was ablaze. He looked around with startled eyes. The Gaitskill home was in total darkness. Not a glow of fire anywhere that needed the aid of the fire department, for all the fires were those in the engine, the automobiles, and the cigarettes and cigars of the men. For the first time the thing looked to Vinegar like a false alarm. A number of men gathered around him, and he became frightened. “Befo’ Gawd, white folks,” he stammered hoarsely, “dar wus a fire a little while ago, but I don’t know whar-at it is now. It must hab went out.” “You went to sleep and dreamed it!” Flournoy snapped angrily. “Naw, suh, I ain’t been asleep at all!” Vinegar declared. “Of co’se, I napped a little early in de night, but I cain’t really say I sleeped. An’ I wus wid awake when de fire bu’st loose. I seen it wid my own eyes.” “What was burning?” Flournoy asked. For a moment Vinegar could not recall. Then he remembered. “Why, boss, my own coat-tail wus a burnin’! Look at it! All de swing-tail part of my Prancin’ Albert coat is ruint—de lef’ hind tail is plum’ burnt off!” One of the men backed Vinegar to where he could stand in front of an automobile light and inspected the rear of his preaching coat. Vinegar was right. “What do you make of it, sheriff?” someone asked. “Aw, I don’t know,” Flournoy said with disgust. “You can’t get any sense out of this old fool.” “I’s tellin’ all I knows, Marse John,” Vinegar said defensively. “Ef dar warn’t no fire, how come my coat-tail is burnt off?” “You may have burnt your coat-tail off three days ago, for all I know,” Flournoy remarked. “Naw, suh; dis coat-tail smells of fresh fire, Marse John,” Vinegar protested. “Ef you don’t b’lieve me, smell it yo’se’f!” “You listen to me, Vinegar Atts,” Flournoy said angrily. “I’m going to search this house and these premises for a fire, and if I don’t find one I’m going to kick that burnt coat-tail of yours clear down the hill to the jail, and I’ll put you in there for forty years for disturbing the peace! Understand?” He turned and walked to the house, stopping on the porch. “Listen to me, everybody!” his authoritative voice commanded. “I am going to search this house for fire. You men search all the stables and outhouses.”