“But it ain’t possible,” he said positively.  “I been in fires.  Barry can’t live through the fire; an’ if he does, the hoss will finish him.  It ain’t possible for him to come out!”

From half the roof of the shed flames now poured, but presently a great shower of sparks rose at the farther end of the barn, and then Haw-Haw heard the sound of a beating and crashing.

“Hei!” he screamed, “Barry’s reached the black hoss and the black hoss is beating him into the floor!”

“You fool!” answered Mac Strann calmly, “Barry has got a beam or something and he’s smashing down the burning partition of the box stall.  That’s what he’s doing; listen!”

High over the fire, once again rose the neighing of the black horse, a sound of unspeakable triumph.

“You’re right,” groaned Haw-Haw, downcast.  “He’s reached the hoss!”

He had hardly finished speaking when Mac Strann said:  “Anyway, he’ll never get out.  This end wall of the barn is fallin’ in.”

Indeed, the outer wall of the barn, nearest the door, was wavering in a great section and slowly tottering in.  Another moment or two it would crash to the floor and block the way of Dan Barry, coming out, with a flaming ruin.  Next the watchers saw a struggle among the group which watched.  Three men were struggling with Buck Daniels, but presently he wrenched his arms free, struck down two men before him with swinging blows of his fists, and leaped into the smoke.

“He’s gone nutty, like a crazy hoss with the sight of the fire,” said Mac Strann quietly.

“He ain’t!  He ain’t!” cried Haw-Haw Langley, wild with excitement.  “He’s holdin’ back the burnin’ wall to keep the way clear, damn him!”

Indeed, the tottering wall, not having leaned to a great angle, was now pushed back by some power from the inside of the barn and kept erect.  Though now and again it swayed in, as though the strength which held it was faltering under the strain.

Now the eyes of the watchers were called to the other end of the barn by a tremendous crashing.  The entire section of that part of the roof fell in, and a shower of sparks leaped up into the heart of the sky, lighting the distant hills and drawing them near like watchers of the horror of the night.

“That’s the end,” said Mac Strann.  “Haw-Haw, they wasn’t any good in your prayer.”

“I ain’t a professional prayin’ man,” answered Haw-Haw defensively, “but I done my best.  If——­” He was cut short by a chorused cry from the watchers near the door of the barn, and then, through the vomitted smoke and the fire, leaped the unsaddled body of Satan bearing on his back the crouched figure of Dan Barry, and in the arms of Barry, limp, his head hanging down loosely, was the body of the great black dog, Bart.

A fearful picture.  The smoke swept following around the black stallion, and a great tongue of flame licked hungrily after the trio.  But the stallion stood with head erect, and ears flattened, pawing the ground.  With that cloud of destruction blowing him he stood like the charger which the last survivor might ride through the ruin of the universe in the Twilight of the Gods.