Then seeing that the owner meant to disregard the warning, this man threw out an arm forcibly to detain the other. But for all his age and size, the judge was wieldy enough when he chose to be. With an agile twist of his body he dodged past, and as the man, astounded and horrified, glared across the threshold he saw Judge Priest running down the murky hall and, with head bent and his mouth and nose buried in the crook of one elbow, starting up the stairs into the thickest and blackest of the smoke. To this man's credit, be it said, he made a valiant effort to overtake the old man. The pursuer darted in behind him, but at the foot of the steps fell back, daunted and unable to breathe. He staggered out again into the open, gagging with the smoke that was in his throat and down in his lungs. “He's gone in there!” he shouted, pointing behind him. “He's gone right in there! He's gone upstairs!” “Who is it? Who's gone in there?” twenty voices demanded together. “The judge--just a second ago! I tried to stop him--he got by me! He ain't got a chance!” Even as he spoke the words, a draught of fire came roaring through the crater in the roof which Captain Bud Gorman's axe had dug for its free passage. An outcry--half gasp, half groan--went up from those who knew what had happened. They ran round in rings wasting precious time. Sergeant Jimmy Bagby, half dressed, trotted across the lawn. He had just arrived. He grabbed young Ed Tilghman by the arm. “How'd she start, boy?” demanded the sergeant. “Where's the judge? Did they git everything out?” “Everything out--hell!” answered Tilghman, sobbing in his distress. “The old judge is in there. He got a lick on the head and it must have made him crazy. He just ran back in there and went upstairs. He'll never make it--and nobody can get him out. He'll smother to death sure!” Down on his knees dropped Sergeant Bagby and shut his eyes, and for the first, last and only time in his life he prayed aloud in public.