Daly and Baker were pounced upon and captured. There was no resistance. They were too nearly strangled for that. Little Solly and old Vanderhoof turned off the water in the fire hydrant and disconnected the hose they had so effectively employed. “There, damn you!” said Rollway Charley, jerking the millman to his feet. “How do YOU like too much water? hey?” The unexpected comedy changed the party's mood. It was no longer a question of killing. A number broke into the store, and shortly emerged, bearing pails of kerosene with which they deluged the slabs on the windward side of the mill. The flames caught the structure instantly. A thousand sparks, borne by the off-shore breeze, fastened like so many stinging insects on the lumber in the yard. It burned as dried balsam thrown on a camp fire. The heat of it drove the onlookers far back in the village, where in silence they watched the destruction. From behind locked doors the inhabitants watched with them. The billow of white smoke filled the northern sky. A whirl of gray wood ashes, light as air, floated on and ever on over Superior. The site of the mill, the squares where the piles of lumber had stood, glowed incandescence over which already a white film was forming. Daly and his man were slapped and cuffed hither and thither at the men's will. Their faces bled, their bodies ached as one bruise. “That squares us,” said the men. “If we can't cut this year, neither kin you. It's up to you now!” Then, like a destroying horde of locusts, they gutted the office and the store, smashing what they could not carry to the fire. The dwellings and saloons they did not disturb. Finally, about noon, they kicked their two prisoners into the river, and took their way stragglingly back along the right-of-way. “I surmise we took that town apart SOME!” remarked Shorty with satisfaction. “I should rise to remark,” replied Kerlie. Big Junko said nothing, but his cavernous little animal eyes glowed with satisfaction. He had been the first to lay hands on Daly; he had helped to carry the petroleum; he had struck the first match; he had even administered the final kick. At the boarding-house they found Wallace Carpenter and Hamilton seated on the veranda. It was now afternoon. The wind had abated somewhat, and the sun was struggling with the still flying scuds. “Hello, boys,” said Wallace, “been for a little walk in the woods?” “Yes, sir,” replied Jack Hyland, “we--” “I'd rather not hear,” interrupted Wallace. “There's quite a fire over east. I suppose you haven't noticed it.” Hyland looked gravely eastward. “Sure 'nough!” said he. “Better get some grub,” suggested Wallace. After the men had gone in, he turned to the journalist. “Hamilton,” he began, “write all you know about the drive, and the break, and the rescue, but as to the burning of the mill--” The other held out his hand. “Good,” said Wallace offering his own.