The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1885-10-22

A good many people were soon got to.
| pether, mostly our own hands, ana l
directed and encouraged them as well as
could TO get the fire under. but .ney we're
| a stolid, heavy set of fellows, those hus-
dams. and the way in which they take care
Dot 70 over-exert themselves at nre Is
enough to drive an Englishman wild: Yet
| there were some few who worked well, ana
one fellow in particular. noticed a rag
ged fellow, beggaS l took him TO BE- VINO
really worked splendidly, and In way
that ought to have made many OF those
whose daily bread depended on the exist
knce Of the mill ashamed of themselves.
What between the apathy Of those lazy
scoundrels generally and want OF water,
il was soon plain that the sheds which
were on fire could not be saved, and that
what we had to look to was the mill itself.
The danger of the main building was in
creasing every moment, for the fire was
beginning to make its way along the shin
gled roof of which 1 spoke.
I could see what had TO be done-those
shingles had to be stripped off. l had a
ladder reared against the building, and
called for volunteers to mount it. The
height of that roof from the ground was
considerable, and the fire was every mo-
ment getting more and more hold upon it.
To strip off the shingles would be hard
Job and q hot one, and it is not to be de-
a, a
cold -blooded rascals who had eaten our
bread for years would come forward. l
stood at the foot of the ladder, and told
them was going myself. offered twenty
roubles-fifty roubles-to any man who
would help me. But it was of no use.
Just when l was about to mount alone.
the ragged stranger fellow, whom l had
before observed working so vigorously,
came running up. He had been too busy
in another place to know what was going
forward sooner. That was scarcely IA
time for taking any particular notice of
peoples looks, yet l had an impression
that he was not altogether a stranger to
me.
He looked up to the roof. The delay of
those few minutes had given a fearful ad-
vantage to the fire. 'There is death up
there" he said; sis saving this mill so
Gerry important to vou?"
at it is burned am e beggar. Every
EOpeck l am worth is in it. A hundred
roubles if YOU will help me save itn'
'We can talk of the reward afterward,"
he said, as he sprang past me and up the
ladder like a cat.
l was following. too eagerly, perhaps. to
be careful, and | am a heavy man. a
round broke, and down came, with knee
so much twisted that 1 could scarcely
stand. 1t was no longer in my power to
climb to the roof.
But from where propped myself against
a wall, l could see that ragged fellow, who
was up and doing enough for three or four
ordinary men. You should have seen how
he sent the shingles rattling down. Seen
from below, he seemed at times to be work
ing with fire all around him, but he went
on without mindng it. l never saw an
EngliShman-let alone Russian-go to it
with a better will. | heard the people
round me say that he worked more like
fiend than mortal man-and so he did.
He handled the burning wood as though
his fingers had been iron instead of flesh
and bone, and scarcely seemed to shrink
from the flames that blazed up round his
face. He never appeared to rest or stay
for breath until he had succeeded in cut
ting off the communication between the
fire and the mill.
made the men below set the ladder as
| handily as they could for him to get down,
and he did his best to reach it. But he
must have been quite used up, besides
being pretty much blinded and suffocated
with the smoke. Anyway, he lost his
footing, and down he went through the
rafters, and crashed among the burning
rubbish below. 1t was m ugly fall.
We got him out as well as we could; and
snch a scorched, smoke blackened,
smashed-up copy of Gods image l should
never wish to see again. But he was still
| alive, and TO the proposal to carry him
straight to the hospital, l said, "No; take
him into my house." So they took him in
After we had got the fire quite under,
| and made all safe about the mill, limped
| to the side of the bed where they had laid
| the poor fellow. He had come round bit
| by that time. He tried to open his eyes,
| but it seemed to me that the fire and smoke
had not left him much power of seeing
| with them. He spoke. however, more
distinctly than might have been expected,
and his first question was whether the mill
| was safe.
told him that owing to his pluck it was
| l was surprised TO find that he recognized
my voice, and still more when he named
| NV name. "You do not know me-" he
| Said-and. indeed, it was not likely that
| any one should know such a crushed and
shapeless mass of cinder as he was-''You
| do not know me-Feodor Stepanovitch.
| They caught me and took me back.
| knew you when you spoke to me in the
| street, but dared not answer, lest they
should suspect you of having befriended
| me. l have escaped from them again, and
| am going home to IvanOva. l must see
my wife and that villain MakarOff."
He lay little, and then added: 81 am
| glad was here to help you tonight. l am
glad they did not take me again before L
got here. l do not think the pOlitsid will
take me again"
And they did not; for he was dead within
an hour of that time.
That, sir, is the end of my story of ST.
| beriak. Do you happen to have a light
handy; for, somehow, l have let my pipe
| out: And. bless me, my pipe bowl is quite
wet. | believe Pm crying. What an old
ass l am m.-LondOn Society.