pitched forward, head down, upon the slant of the roof. Varge dragged him back, supporting the limp figure with one hand while he reached for the next oncoming bucket with the other.
"Quick!" he shouted. "Water!"
It was three men behind, and it came with painful slowness—the man he held was but little further gone than those who still fought gamely on.
At last the bucket reached him, and he dashed the contents over the man's head and shoulders and into his face.
A shout came ringing up from below. It was the warden's voice, and he had evidently drawn his own conclusions from the tumbling bucket, or perhaps had seen what was happening through a lifting layer of smoke.
"Come down from the roof!" he ordered peremptorily. "Come down at once!"
"Clang-clang-clank—spit!"—a stream of water lashed the roof, broke and spattered like great tumbling drops of rain. The tub was at work.
The man, revived a little by the douche, moaned; but still hung inert on Varge's arm. The men close to the ladder began to back off the roof and descend; the one next to Varge and his charge edged a little nearer to help—he was shaky and weak, and Varge motioned him away.
"Get down yourself; it's all you'll be able to do," he said quickly. "I'll manage all right—send some fresh men to the top of the ladder to get this chap."
With a hoarse gasp of assent, the other moved away.
A moment Varge supported the semi-unconscious man
