"What you going to do?" Cat called after him.
"Show you later," flashed the reply. "One of you go and haul Luke out. You go, Jimmy. You follow me, Miller."
So saying, Turner dashed into the house, took time to snatch up an electric flash-light, then rushed through the kitchen to a rear shed, leaving Jimmy the job of resurrecting Luke, asleep in his shoes and half his clothes, on a cot in the closet-room adjoining the kitchen.
Reaching the shed- Turner seized a great can of kerosene.
"Is that oil?" asked the mystified Miller, who had made the best use of his legs to keep on his leader's heels.
"Yes, kerosene."
"What's that for? Not going to set the house afire?" was the boy's excited query.
"Don't ask fool questions," snapped the other. "Stop talking and work. Grab up that tow—there—there in the corner, cram it in that basket—that one—and come on. Here, stick this axe on top when you're done."
Turner held the light impatiently while Cat,
