Anyway, no other man appeared at the opening in the roof.
Whitey watched the flames creep up and down the roof, growing higher as they stole along.

He saw them flicker over the eaves, lap the walls of the house, and finally clasp it like a red, flaring robe.

But Whitey did not think of the fire in those terms, but as a thing of horror, of death.
You, who have followed the adventures of Whitey, know that he had been in situations in which he was threatened with death.

But then he had been upheld by excitement; by the necessity of protecting himself.

And he had even faced death, but then he had come on it unexpectedly, in the case of the hanging train robbers.