[Illustration: Broderick's commanding figure was seen rushing hither and thither.... "You and two others. Blow up or pull down that building," he indicated a sprawling, ramshackle structure.] "All right, all right, Cap. Don't shoot," the other countered with a sudden laugh. "Come on, boys, follow me." Benito watched him and the others presently returning with three kegs. They dived into the building indicated. Presently, with the noise of a hundred cannon, the corner building burst apart. Sticks and bits of plaster flew everywhere. The crowd receded, panic-stricken. "Good work!" cried the fire marshal. It seemed, indeed, as though the flames were daunted. The two small structures were blazing now. The Parker House, reeling drunkenly, collapsed. Unexpectedly a gust of wind sent fire from the ruins of Dennison's Exchange northward. It reached across the open space and flung a rain of sparks down Washington street toward Montgomery. Instantly there came an answering crackle, and exasperated fire-fighters rushed to meet the latest sortie of their enemy. Once more three men, keg laden, made their way through smoke and showering brands. Again the deafening report reverberated and the crowd fell back, alarmed. Someone grasped Benito's arm and shook it violently. He turned and looked into the feverishly questioning eyes of Adrian Stanley. "I've just returned," the other panted. "Tell me, is all well--with Inez? The women?" "Don't know," said Benito, half bewildered. The woman's wail for a lost child leaped terrifyingly into his recollection. His hand went up as if to ward off something. "Don't know," he repeated. "Wasn't home when--fire started." It came to him weirdly that he was talking like a drunken man; that Adrian eyed him with a sharp disfavor. "Where the devil were you, then?" "At the ranch," he answered. Suddenly he laughed. It all seemed very funny. He had meant to give his wife a Christmas present; later he had ridden madly to her rescue, yet here he was passing buckets in a fire brigade. And Adrian, regarding him with suspicion, accusing him silently with his eyes. "You take the pail," he cried. "You fight the fire." And while Stanley looked puzzledly after him, Benito charged through a circle of spectators up the hill. He did not know that his face was almost black; that his eyebrows and the little foreign moustache of which they had made fun at the mines was charred and grizzled. He knew only that Alice might be in danger. That the fire might have spread west as well as east and north. As he sped up Washington street another loud explosion drummed against his ears. A shout followed it. Benito neither knew nor cared for its significance. Five minutes later he stumbled across his own doorsill, calling his wife's name. There was no answer. Frenziedly he shouted "Alice! Alice!" till at last a neighbor answered him. "She and Mrs. Stanley and the baby went to Preacher Taylor's house. Is the fire out?"