The flames were crackling furiously. The crowd was constantly increasing, and nearly every man had a bucket or pail. Some had brought their wives' dishpans, as they could not find their pails in the darkness and confusion. "Come on, Bert, let's get in line," suggested Vincent. "Yes--let--me--git--to--a--place--where--I--can--rest," begged Cole. "Here, I'll help," added John Boll, another of Bert's chums. "I'd rather pass the full buckets," said Tom Donnell. "Now then, everybody begin to pass," cried the constable, who had his men in some kind of shape. There were three lines extending from the burning barn to the horse trough, some distance away. The trough was fed by a pipe, running from a spring, and there was plenty of water. "Dip an' pass," cried the constable, and the word went along the lines. Men standing near the trough dipped their pails in, handed them to the person standing next, and so, from hand to hand went the dripping buckets of water. At last the pail reached the end of the line, and the man nearest the blaze proceeded to throw on the quenching fluid. But here a new difficulty presented itself. The blaze was so hot that no person could approach close enough to make the water effective. The whole front of the barn was in flames. "This ain't going to be no good!" exclaimed one of the men on the end of a line up which the full buckets traveled. He tried to throw the water on the flames, but, approaching as close as he dared, he could not come within ten feet of the fire. "I should say not," agreed his companion. "Hey! What's the matter?" called the constable. "Why don't you throw the water on the flames, instead of on the ground?" "Let's see you do it," was the angry answer. "We'll have to go around to the back, and throw the water on there," was the advice of a tall, lanky farmer. "What good'll that do?" "Wa'al, we can't do no good here." "That's so," was the general agreement. The lines began to shift, to get out of the heat of the blaze. Meanwhile, those at the trough, not understanding what was going on, continued to pass up the full buckets, but as no one gathered up the empty ones to pass back, the waiting line of boys had nothing to do. Several began to leave, to get in a position where they could view the blaze better. "Here, where are you boys going?" demanded Constable Stickler, who was running back and forth, not knowing what to do. "There isn't anything for us to do," replied Bert. "We can't save that barn with buckets. We'd better help get some of the machinery and cattle out." "That's right," added Vincent, and several men agreed with this. "You--ought to have my force pump," spluttered Cole Bishop, who had now recovered his breath. "Pass up the buckets! Pass the buckets!" was the cry that now came from the line of men, that had been extended to reach around to the rear of the barn, where, for the time being, there was no fire. "Pass the buckets!"