At the same instant, another smoke-clad figure lunged
from the door of the barn, his hands outstretched
as though he felt and fumbled his way through utter
darkness. It was Buck Daniels, and as he cleared
the door the section of tottering wall which he had
upheld to keep the way clear for the Three, wavered,
sagged, and then sank in thunder to the floor, and
the whole barn lay a flame-tossed mass of ruin.
The watchers had scattered before the plunge of Satan,
but he came to a sliding halt, as if his rider had
borne heavily back upon the reins. Barry slipped
from the stallion’s back with the wounded dog,
and kneeled above the limp figure.
“It ain’t the end,” growled Mac
Strann, “that hoss will go runnin’ back
into the fire. It ain’t hoss nature to keep
from goin’ mad at the sight of a fire!”
In answer to him, the black stallion whirled, raised
his head high, and, with flaunting mane and tail,
neighed a ringing defiance at the rising flames.
Then he turned back and nuzzled the shoulder of his
master, who was working with swift hands over the
body of Black Bart.
“Anyway,” snarled Haw-Haw Langley, “the
damned wolf is dead.”
“I dunno,” said Mac Strann. “Maybe—maybe
not. They’s quite a pile that we dunno.”
“If you want to get rid of the hoss,”
urged Haw-Haw, writhing in the glee of a new inspiration,
“now’s the time for it, Mac. Get out
your gun and pot the black. Before the crowd
can get after us, we’ll be miles away.
They ain’t a saddled hoss in sight. Well,
if you don’t want to do it, I will!” And
he whipped out his gun.
But Mac Strann reached across and dragged the muzzle
down.
“We done all we’re goin’ to do to-night.
Seems like God’s been listenin’ pretty
close, around here!”
He turned his horse, and Haw-Haw, reluctantly, followed
suit. Still, as they trotted slowly away from
the burning barn, Haw-Haw kept his glance fixed behind
him until a final roaring crash and a bellying cloud
of fire that smote the zenith announced the end of
the barn. Then Haw-Haw turned his face to his
companion.
“Now what?” he demanded.
“We go to Elkhead and sit down and wait,”
answered Mac Strann. “If the dog gets well
he’ll bring Barry to us. Then all I’ve
got to do is defend myself.”
Haw-Haw Langley twisted up his face and laughed, silently,
to the red-stained sky.
DOCTOR BYRNE LOOKS INTO THE PAST
The black head of Barry, the brown head of Randall
Byrne, the golden head of Kate Cumberland, were all
bowed around the limp body of Black Bart. Buck
Daniels, still gasping for breath, stood reeling nearby.
“Let me attempt to resuscitate the animal,”
offered the doctor.
He was met by a blank look from Barry. The hair
of the man was scorched, his skin was blistered and
burned. Only his hands remained uninjured, and
these continued to move over the body of the great
dog. Kate Cumberland was on her knees over the
brute.
