Suddenly, from out the door of the mill, outlined clearly against the
fire within, came an ungainly, shambling figure. The features could not
be seen, but the gait was unmistakable. He came running in an odd,
loose-jointed fashion toward the bridge. But just before he reached it
the now blazing timbers burned through and the bridge crashed into the
stream.
"It's Ben," muttered Wilbur confusedly; "I guess I've got to go back,"
and he headed Kit for the trail.
But the Supervisor leaned over and almost crushed the bones of the boy's
hand in his restraining grip.
"No need," he said, "he's all right now."
For as he spoke Wilbur saw Ben leap from the bank on the portion of the
burned bridge which had collapsed on his side of the stream. A few quick
strokes with the ax the boy was carrying and the timbers were free, and
crouched down upon them the boy was being carried down the stream. His
peril was extreme, for below as well as above the fire was sweeping down
on either side of the mill, and it was a question of minutes, almost of
seconds, whether the bridge-raft would pass down the river before the
fire struck or whether it would be caught.
"If the wind would only lull!" ejaculated the boy.
"I'll stay here till I see him burn," replied Peavey Jo grimly.
But Wilbur's wish met its fulfillment, for just for the space that one
could count ten the wind slackened, and every second meant a few yards
of safety to the half-witted lad.
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