He was off in a trice, and wading through the bellying smoke.
The girl could see him dimly as he kicked at the door of the shed.
It burst open.
A vast shadow came hurtling through the fog.
Silver was sent hurling backward and sprawled on the hillside.
He was on his feet in a moment.
"That's all right," he panted, as he watched the colt career whinnying away, wreaths of smoke still clinging to his woolly coat. "He's not taken much harm."
"I suppose he went in after we left," mused Boy. "And then the wind banged the door."
"I don't think the wind dropped that bar," said the young man. "And I doubt if it set the shelter alight."
The shed was blazing merrily, the flames devouring the tarred wood with greed.