Yet when he came to
the long down-slope which pitched into the valley so far below him, he
called Satan to a halt again, and swung to look at the house. He could hear
the clatter of the front door as it swung; it seemed to be waving a
farewell to him.
It was all the work of a moment, to ride back, gather a quantity of paper
and readily inflammable materials, soak them in oil, and scratch a match.
The flames swept up the sides of the logs and caught on the ceiling first
of all, and Dan Barry stood in the center of the room until the terrified
whining of Black Bart and the teeth of the wolf-dog at his trousers made
him turn and leave the house. Outside, he found Satan trembling between two
temptations, the first to run as far and as fast as he could from that most
terrible thing--fire; and the second to gallop straight into the blaze. The
voice of the master, a touch quieted him, and Black Bart lay down at the
feet of the master and looked up into his face.
By this time the fire had licked away a passage through the roof and
through this it sent up a yellow hand that flicked up and down like a
signal, or a beckoning, and then shot up a tall, steady, growing, roaring
column of red.
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