He opened one door after the other, but it was unnecessary for him to touch the last door at all. The flames had already destroyed the upper half of it and one could see inside perfectly. They were all practically gone now but yet, it looked to Westy that they had been devoid of any occupants that night, even in the present state of chaos and havoc that this terrible menace had created. Running to the front again, he opened another one of the bedroom doors. A sickening odor reached him and his heart stood still. Lying on the bed was a form, apparently asleep, outlined against the darkness from the red glare in the back. Westy went over to the bed and bent close. It was Ol’ Pop! The old scout seemed to be hardly breathing at all. In point of fact, it was so faintly and he was lying so rigid and still that Westy realized with a shock he must be unconscious. Then the flames bursting out into the back of the hall shone through, tingeing the room a scarlet hue. It provided a sort of arc light and Westy could see Ol’ Pop very plain now. A handkerchief was covering the lower part of his face and Westy gently removed it. As he did so, that nauseating odor permeated the whole room again, and his own nostrils seemed to be filled with it. He raised the piece of muslin to his face. It had been saturated with chloroform! CHAPTER XXXVIII—GONE The heat was so terrific and the fact that poor Ol’ Pop was unconscious made Westy feel a little panic-stricken for the moment. He would try, he thought, getting him down the stairs as gently as possible, if there was yet time. Pulling back the covers, Westy discovered to his further dismay that the poor old fellow was bound hand and foot to the bed with heavy rope. “Oh!” exclaimed Westy aloud, thankfully. “The Lord bless my penknife to-night!” He had a task to do this, for the rope was exceptionally tough and strong. Finally when the last one released the helpless man, Westy tied the wet towel around his head. Then he started in his struggle to remove him, first out of bed and then into the hall. Reaching the stairs, he saw in consternation that the fire had now taken its toll of these and the whole lower floor also. Suddenly and almost within two feet of them, the flames shot upward from the floor and Westy stepped back quickly. The towel that covered his face was almost dry and his hands and head felt blistered from this fresh onslaught in front of them. Within a second, there was another roar and everything about them in the hall burst into flame. Half dragging his heavy burden, he stepped into the bedroom, which he had previously entered from outside. Just as he slammed the door behind him, there was a terrible, almost deafening roar again. With a terrific crash he could feel the impact of the ceilings and floors giving way. “Whew,” said Westy aloud by the door. “What a piece of luck!”