d the coffee on
the counter he could have put the fire out; but instead he ran out to
give the alarm, and started up-stairs to arouse the guests.

There were at least fifty people asleep in the house, travelling and
railway men. Being a wooden building it was a quick prey, and in an
incredibly short time the flames were leaping through the second-story
windows.

When I got down men were jumping in every direction from the burning
hotel. Railroaders swarmed around, busy with schemes for getting the
people out, for none are more quick-witted in time of panic. Short as
the opportunity was there were many pretty rescues, until the flames,
shooting up, cut off the stairs, and left the helpers nothing for it but
to stand and watch the destruction of the long, rambling building. Half
a dozen of us looked from the dispatchers' offices in the second story
of the depot. We had agreed that the people were all out, when Foley
below gave a cry and pointed to the south gable. Away up under the eaves
at the third-story window we saw a face--it was Fitzpatrick.

Everybody had forgotten Fitzpatrick and his nurse. Behind, as the flames
lighted the opening, we could see the nurse struggling to get him to the
window. It was plain that the engineer was in no condition to help
himself; the two men were in deadly peril; a great cry went up.

The crowd swarmed like ants around to the south end; a dozen men called
for ladders; but there were no ladders. They called for volunteers to go
in after the two men; but the stairs were long since a furnace. There
were men in plenty to take any kind of chance, however slight, but no
chance offered.

The nurse ran to and from the window, seeking a loop-hole for escape.
Fitzpatrick dragged himself higher on the casement to get out of the
smoke which rolled over him in choking bursts, and looked down on the
crowd. They begged him to jump--held out their arms frantically. The two
men again side by side waved a hand; it looked like a farewell. There
was no calling from them, no appeal. The nurse would not desert his
charge, and we saw it all.

Suddenly there was a cry below, keener than the confused shouting of
the crowd, and one running forward parted the men at the front and,
clearing the fence, jumped into the yard under the burning gable.

Before people recognized him a lariat was swinging over his head--it was
Siclone Clark. The rope left his arm like a slung-shot and flew straight
at Fitzpatrick