The two girls sprang to their feet. "One of the barns has caught fire!" cried Phil. "I'll find Mr. Preston. You give the alarm to the men about the place." Phil ran toward the festival grounds.
As Madge turned she heard a slight sound behind her. Some one was coming toward her, moving cautiously over the grass. She slipped to one side of the haystack so that she could see who it was. "Why, David Brewster!" she cried, "what are you doing way off here? Quick! hurry! Phil and I think Mr. Preston's barn is afire!"
David set his teeth in rage as he sped across the field with Madge close at his heels. He had taken off his Indian costume, but his face was still stained and painted in Indian fashion, so that it gave him a wild, unnatural appearance. Instead of stopping at the barn David, without a word of explanation, ran on to the Preston house.
Madge found a crowd of men already gathered about the burning barn. Mr. Preston had formed a bucket brigade and a dozen men were passing buckets from the well to the fire. Half a dozen of the more valorous men, three of them farm-hands, were fighting their way into the barn, leading, driving, or coaxing out the terrified horses and cattle.
Mr. Preston stood at the barn door, giving commands to the workers.
By this time the hay in the loft had caught and the whole barn was a seething mass of fire. Mrs. Preston stood near the scene, with Madge and Phil on either side of her. David Brewster suddenly joined them. No one noticed his peculiar expression.
"Let the barn go, men!" shouted Mr. Preston. "Quick, out of it! It will fall in a minute. We have saved the other buildings, and we must let this go."
"Oh, my poor Fanny!" wailed Mrs. Preston, as though she were talking of a human being. Fanny was a beloved old horse that had belonged to Mrs. Preston for twelve years. She had driven her in her phaeton nearly every day in all this time and loved the old horse almost as a member of the family.
Madge felt sure that Mr. Preston could not know that Fanny was still in the burning barn. The little captain broke away from her friends and made a rush toward the smoke and flames. Mr. Preston was within a few feet of the partially consumed building. From the inside of the barn came a groan of anguish and terror that was human in its appeal. Mr. Preston covered his face with his hands. "Don't try it, men," he commanded authoritatively; "the old mare can't be saved. It is useless to try to go into the barn now."
Madge could no longer endure the piteous sounds. She made a headlong plunge toward the barn door. She could not see her way inside, but the noise that the horse was making would guide her, she thought.