15 Western Short Stories — page 59: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HIS BLOOD IN IT “You take fires mighty serious,” said Sam. Lucifer’s eyes were on him quick and hard. “Two years ago I came here with my wife Peggy and Nora, headed for the Mother Lode. Fire caught us on the second floor of a rooming house early one morning. I got Nora to the window when the wall gave. We landed bruised and scorched up Some, but Peggy never got away.” “That’s a powerful reason to hate fires,” Sam said quietly. Lucifer looked away. “We stayed on here—Nora and me. Opened a gen- eral store which has done well. Then we started this firehouse and I’m proud of it. I’ve got my blood in it. I’m paying a debt to Peggy. I’m fight- ing a devil that’s growing and fixing to kill this town.” Lucifer took out a pipe and lit it with deliberation. “I don’t generally talk so much,” he said. He walked alone up the street toward home. Sam watched and thought about a man who had his “blood” in some- thing. Sam was a wandering man who hadn’t paid much yet for his living. COME HOURS later a light wind was whipping fog when the spark caught in a shack on Rincon Hill. The lick of flame ate slowly up a plank wall, drafted through a patched ceiling and moved to the shack next door. A man in a nightshirt came run- ning out, uttered a single oath and sent his boy flying to town. The flame gained body along the roof and leapt with wind-fanned vigor to a two-story frame warehouse. It Spread greedily across the dry siding, edging toward a heavy barge rafter. The man who had sent his boy fly- ing through the night for help was suddenly overcome with fright. He knew, too well, the warehouse held oil and lards enough to explode deadly yellow fingers across the whole neigh- - borhood. In the distance he heard the great bell sound its alarm. In midtown torch boys skimmed down Montgomery Street toward Sev- enth District which encompassed Rin- con Hill. Close behind, with its Fox- tail jerking madly, Ten Engine set- tled down to the race of its life. On its 59 heels was the crew and engine of Lu- cifer Halloran. Pete Hurrell on the tongue of Hal- loran’s engine that night, and Sam Morrey leading on the rope, pulled desperately, their heads filled with Lucifer’s thunderous shouts. The big foreman sensed the Foxtail—if the crew mixed sweat and luck enough with his prayers. Pete’s frantic tugging on the wag- on tongue was being matched by Sam’s on the rope. Lucifer blessed and cursed them both as they drew abreast Ten Engine at the second block. And Lucifer, too, planned ahead to the crucial seconds that would come at the cistern. The pounding feet of his foe —the men of Ten Engine—drummed on mercilessly. Their screams and oaths mingled with his own. The Hill came finally, with men of both crews down and exhausted along the way. As the white glare of the warehouse grew bright, Lucifer picked his moment and dropped be- hind. Grabbing suddenly and power- fully at the rear of his engine, he lift- ed, hurling it forward to the cistern. The sudden forward heave sent men reeling and sprawling. But Lucifer "gained his priceless seconds. He had his engine lodged first at the cistern and now he must be first to draw wa- ter. Ten Engeine men yelled and fought for space around him. Lucifer glimpsed Sam Morrey in the melee. Sam was working deftly with his spanner, first on the skulls of Ten Engine men, parrying murder- ous blows, then finally coupling hose to blunderbuss. He jammed pipe into cistern at last, and caught the first wild surge of water. Lucifer stayed just long enough to know he had the Foxtail won. Then he moved away to direct his hosemen © and shingle-eaters in their attack on the warehouse. Sam Morrey clung stubbornly to pipe. He suffered blows from the wild-swinging spanners of Ten En- gine men. He absorbed the stamping and crush of bodies and lung-bursting gushers of water which struck him at intervals. His blunderbuss of leather and copper rivets sucked with almost overpowering force at the cistern wa- ter, Gradually it grew on him—a CoOMmicboo oO So C@©