The flames were eating through the partition, and the stallion
was mad with fear.
Lights flashed, here and there, in the big ranch house; and from the
bunk-house on the farther side of the corrals rose a volley of curses
and yells of dismay. The cattle began milling blindly, bellowing and
stamping, and the horses ranged at a mad gallop back and forth across
their corrals, wild-eyed with terror. It was like the tumult of a
battle, and sharper than a trumpet a new sound cut through the din--it
was a short, high whistle, twice repeated. An answer came from the
burning barn--the long, strong neighing of the stallion.
"D'ye hear?" muttered Mac Strann. "It's the hoss talkin' to his master!"
"And there he comes!" said Haw-Haw Langley. "Runnin' like the wind!"
The flame, picked up by the gale, tore for itself a wider breathing
space through the roof and sent up an audibly roaring column of blinding
red. By that light, Mac Strann, following Haw-Haw's directing arm, saw a
lithe figure vault over the fence on the farther side of the corral and
dart forward among the milling cattle.
Now, when cattle begin to mill it takes a brave man on a brave,
well-trained horse to trust his chances in the midst of that ocean of
tossing horns. But this man ventured it on foot. Mac Strann could follow
him easily, for the man's hat was off, and the firelight glittered on
his black hair. That glimmering head darted here and there among the
circling cattle.
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