TOM GROGAN
During all this time Cully was watching the dying embers, and when all danger was over,—only the small stable with its two horses had been destroyed,—he led the Big Gray back to the pump, washed his head, sponging his eyes and mouth, and housed him in the big stable. Then he vanished.
Immediately on leaving the Big Gray, Cully had dodged behind the stable, run rapidly up the hill, keeping close to the fence, and had come out behind a group of scattering spectators. There he began a series of complicated manœuvres, mostly on his toes, lifting his head over those of the crowd, and ending in a sudden dart forward and as sudden a halt, within a few inches of young Billy McGaw's coat-collar.
Billy turned pale, but held his ground. He felt sure Cully would not dare attack him with so many others about. Then, again, the glow of the smouldering cinders had a fascination for him that held him to the spot.
Cully also seemed spellbound. The only view of the smoking ruins that satisfied him seemed to be the one he caught over young McGaw's shoulder. He moved closer and closer, sniffing about cautiously, as a dog
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