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square. The fire was not at the courthouse at all, but in Railroad Jones's office. The building was burning evenly all around its sides, and the north wind drove the blaze and smoke at a long slant into the live oaks in the courthouse yard.

Under the pressure of the wind and the draught of the fire, the trees surged and strained as if smitten by a hurricane. Streams of sparks and brands whirled through the branches on to the courthouse roof, and Abner could see the illuminated forms of three or four men on the roof with buckets douching the fragments of fire.

No effort whatever was made to save the magnate's office because it was far beyond the strength of the village bucket brigade. However, the fire was just getting under way when the crowd streamed up.

An old man named Lipscomb was telling amid the snap and whip of the flames that he had first seen the fire. It was about forty minutes after he had heard the shooting at the jail. He had got out of bed and later saw a light in the courthouse yard. He ran out and saw the flames spreading around Mr. Jones's office—it burned as if it had been oiled. All village fires appeared oiled.

But "oiled" was the release word which set the whole crowd speculating.

"Oiled!" "Then, of course it was him!" "My Lord, burn a man out!"

"But what diff'runce will that make to a millionaire like Railroad Jones!" shouted a voice.

But from another part of the crowd came a pessimistic, "By God, he's ruint. He's teetotally ruint! Ever' damn one o' them claims is in there burnin' up!"

"Hell, that don't make no diff'runce—Railroad'll ricollect ever' one of 'em."

At that moment Abner saw the dazzling light of a big motor enter the crowded square. It came honking, honking to get through. When its rays fell on Abner, Adelaide's voice called the teamster's name excitedly.