“No; Antioch just wanted hose and engines. The water's played out, and they got to depend on the river if the fire strikes the town. They're in pretty bad shape, with nothing but one old hand-engine. You see, their water-mains are about empty and their hose-carts ain't worth a damn.” Oakley turned on his heel and strode from the office. The operator followed him. As they gained the platform Dan paused. The very air was heavy with smoke. The sun was sinking behind a blue film. Its dull disk was the color of copper. He wondered if the same sombre darkness was settling down on Antioch. The element of danger seemed very real and present. To Dan this danger centred about Constance Emory. He quite overlooked the fact that there were several thousand other people in Antioch. Durks, at his side, rubbed the sandy bristles on his chin with the back of his hand, and tried to believe he had thought of everything and had done everything there was to do. The woods were on fire all about the Junction, but the town itself was in no especial danger, as cultivated fields intervened to shut away the flames. In these fields Dan could see men and women busy at work tearing down fences. On a hillside a mile off a barn was blazing. “There goes Warrick's barn,” remarked the operator. “What was the last word from Antioch? Do you remember exactly what was said?” asked Dan. “The message was that a strong north wind was blowing, and that the town was pretty certain to burn unless the engines and hose reached there tonight; but they have been saying that for two days, and the wind's always changed at the right moment and driven the fire back.” Dan glanced along the track, and saw the relief train, consisting of an engine, tender, and two flatcars, loaded with hose and fire-engines, on one of the sidings. He turned on Durks with an angry scowl. “Why haven't you tried to start that train through? It's ready.” “No one is here to go with it, Mr. Oakley. I was sort of counting on the freight crew for the job.” “Where's Baker?” “He went home on the 6. 10. He lives up at Car-son, you know.” This was the first stop on the M. & W. east of Buckhom. “Why did you let him leave? Great God, man! Do you mean to say that he's been loafing around here all day with his hands in his pockets? He'll never pull another throttle for the Huckleberry!” Durks did not attempt to reply to this explosion of wrath. “Who made up the train?” demanded Dan. “Baker did. Him and his fireman. I didn't know but the freight might come up from Parker's Run, and I wanted to be fixed for 'em. I couldn't do a thing with Baker. I told him his orders were to try and reach Antioch with the relief train, but he said he didn't care a damn who gave the order, he wasn't going to risk his life.” But Dan had lost interest in Baker. “Look here,” he cried. “You must get a fireman for me, and I'll take out the train myself.” He wondered why he had not thought of this before.