There was a hiss as the gas began to form in the copper cylinder when Bert turned the valve, and an instant later a second whitish stream was being directed at the licking tongues of fire. "If--we--only--had--my--force--pump!" panted Cole, who had not yet recovered his breath. "Looks as if we were going to have it!" exclaimed Bert, as the old hand-engine was wheeled up, and the boys, with some men to aid them, formed a bucket line, and prepared to work the handles, while the three lengths of hose, including the one from Cole's force-pump, were run out. "Shall we start in, Bert?" cried Fred Newton, who constituted himself captain of the hand-engine company. "Let her go!" yelled the chief through his trumpet, for it needed a strong voice to be heard above the din. The young firemen were doing fine work. As it needed but two lads on the two lines of chemical hose, the others could turn their attention to saving property. They managed to get out a large quantity of the finished boxes, some of which were for holding jewelry, and were very expensive. Two members of the firm had arrived by this time, and helped in saving some valuable papers from the office, which was almost destroyed. The chemical streams were beginning to have an effect on the fire, which seemed to be dying down. The three streams of water from the hand-engine were also of good service. Suddenly there was a sound of a loud explosion. "That's in the varnish department!" exclaimed Mr. Needham. "Look out, everybody! There are barrels of alcohol and turpentine in there! They'll blow the whole place up! Better get back, boys," he added. "You can't save the factory!" "We're not going to give up!" answered Bert. "There is plenty of the solution left in the tanks, and we can charge them again in five minutes. We've got plenty of acid and soda." At that moment there was another explosion, louder than the first. "That's a barrel of turpentine!" cried Mr. Needham. "Get back, boys!" But the young firemen pluckily stuck to their task. It was so hot that they had to cease trying to save any more of the boxes, and even the lads with the hose had to move back from the fierce flames. But they did not give up. Suddenly there was a cry of horror, and a score of hands pointed upward. There, on the roof of an extension of the factory, that was just beginning to blaze, stood a man. "It's the watchman!" cried Mr. Needham. "He has his apartments there. He must have gone back to get something and the flames have trapped him!" "What has he got in his arms?" asked Bert. "In his arms? I don't know. Must be some of his things." "It's a little girl! A little girl!" shouted the young chief. "His niece! I remember now," said Mr. Needham. "She lived there with him. Oh, why did he go back? He was safe, for I was talking to him a few minutes ago, in front of the factory." "Perhaps he went back to get the little girl," suggested Bert. "But he's in danger now."