Later that evening a young man with a pipe in his mouth came into the stable for a chat.
“Towler,” said one of the stablemen, “just run up the ladder into the loft and put some hay down for this horse, will you? But put down your pipe first.”
“All right,” said the other, and went up through the trapdoor. I heard him walk across the floor above us. James came in to look at us one last time, and then the door was locked.
I don’t know how long I slept, but I woke up feeling very uncomfortable. The air was thick, and I could hardly breathe. Ginger was coughing, and the other horses were restless. It was dark, but the stable seemed full of smoke, and above us I heard a soft rushing noise and a low crackling. The sound made me tremble all over.
At last a stableman ran in with a lamp and began to untie the horses. But he was in such a hurry and so frightened that he frightened us even more. Not one horse would go with him, and he left again. No doubt we were foolish, but danger seemed to be everywhere, and there was nobody we knew to trust. Through the bars of my rack I saw a red light on the wall. Someone outside shouted “Fire!”, and the roaring above us grew terrible.
Then I heard James’s voice, quiet and cheerful as always.
“Come, my beauties, it’s time for us to go.” I was nearest the door, so he came to me first. “Come, Beauty, on with your bridle, my boy. We’ll soon be out of this smoke.” He took the scarf from his neck and tied it lightly over my eyes, and patting me and talking to me, he led me out into the yard. There he slipped the scarf off my eyes.
“Here, somebody! Take this horse while I go back for the other one!”
A tall man took me, and James ran back into the stable. As I saw him go, I gave a loud, high whinny. Ginger told me afterwards that if she had not heard me outside, she would never have had the courage to come out.
I kept my eyes on the stable door, where the smoke poured out thicker than ever. Then, above all the noise, I heard the master’s voice.
“James Howard! James Howard! Are you there?”
There was no answer, only the crash of something falling inside. But the next moment I gave a happy neigh, because I saw James coming through the smoke, leading Ginger. She was coughing badly, and he could not speak.
“My brave lad!” said the master, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
James shook his head.
Just then the fire engine came rushing into the yard behind its two horses, and the master took us to another hotel across the square. Before we got into our new stalls, we heard a terrible sound: the screams of the poor horses that were left in the burning stable.
The next morning we heard that someone had seen Dick Towler go into the stable with his pipe and come out without it. Two horses could not be got out, and they died in the fire. I remembered John Manly’s rule, never to allow a pipe in a stable, and I thought it ought to be the rule everywhere.