The sight which met his gaze filled him with horror. The room was on
fire in several places and in a corner, near the chimney piece, rested
Arnold Baxter, pinned down by a section of brick and stonework that had
fallen. He had been hit in the head, and from the wound the blood was
flowing.
"Rover, is that you?" he cried faintly. "Don't desert me!"
Without replying, Dick began to crawl in through the broken window. The
air was filled with smoke and he could scarcely see what he was doing.
The sparks, too, were flying in all directions and only the wetness of
his garments kept them from catching fire.
He was soon at Arnold Baxter's side, and with his one free hand hurled
the bricks and stones in all directions. As he worked the fire kept
coming closer, until his face was fairly blistered by the
conflagration.
At last the man was free. But he could not raise himself up, and when
Dick did it Arnold Baxter fell a limp form in his arm. He had fainted.
Mustering up all the strength that remained to him, Dick dragged the
unconscious man to the door. There was a bar to be flung aside and then
Dick threw the barrier wide open. It was none too soon, for now the
fire was swirling in all directions. Staggering beneath his burden the
youth hurried into the open and then fell flat, with Arnold Baxter
beside him.
"What a close call!" murmured Dick, when he was able to rise. He felt
weak in the knees, and his hands and face smarted from the blistering
received.
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