smoke and fire and strangulation inside the shack.

His head had smashed the strong cross-piece of wood and dried
putty and had crumpled it like so much wet paper. His giant
shoulders had ripped the window-frame clean of its screws. Into
the burning room spun Lad, amid a hail of broken glass and
splintered wood.

To the fire-eaten floor he was hurled, close to his cowering and
whimpering mate. He reeled to his feet, and stood there, shoulder
to shoulder with Lady. His work was done.

And, yet, it was not in Sunnybank Lad's nature to be such a fool
as is the usual melodrama hero. True, he had come to share Lady's
fate, if he could not rescue her. Yet, he would not submit tamely
to death, until every resource had been tried.

He glanced at the door. Already he had found by harsh experience
that his strength availed nothing in the battering down of those
strong panels. And he peered up, through the swirling red smoke,
toward the oblong of window, whereby he had made his tumultuous
entrance to the death-trap.

Again, he must have known how hopeless of achievement was the
feat he was about to try. But, as ever, mere obstacles were not
permitted to stand in Lad's way.

Wheeling, he seized Lady by the nape of the neck. With a mighty
heave, he swung her clear of the hot floor. Gathering all his
fierce strength into one sublime effort, he sprang upward toward