“Does he do that often? Come quickly, Joan. Run!”
She ran towards the entrance, stumbling over the uneven1 ground and dragging Joan behind her, but when they came close the wolf-dog bristled2 and sent down the cavern3 a low growl4 that stopped them like an invisible barrier. The softest sounds in his register were ominous5 warnings to those who did not know Black Bart, but Kate and Joan understood that this muttering, harsh thunder was an ultimatum6. If she had worn her revolver, a light, beautifully mounted thirty-two which Dan had given her, Kate would have shot the wolf and gone on across his body; for she had learned from Whistling Dan to shoot quickly as one points a finger and straight by instinct. Even as she stood there barehanded she looked about her desperately7 for a weapon, seeing the daylight and the promise of escape beyond and only this dumb beast between her and freedom.
Once before, many a year before, she had gone like this, with empty hands, and subdued8 Black Bart simply through the power of quiet courage and the human eye. She determined9 to try again.
“Stand there quietly, Joan. Don't move until I tell you.”
She made a firm step towards Bart.
“Munner, he'll bite!”
“Hush, Joan. Don't speak!”
At her forward movement the wolf-dog flattened10 his belly11 to the rock, and she saw his forepaws, large, almost, as the hands of a man, dig and work for a purchase from which he could throw himself at her throat.
“Steady, Bart!”
His silence was more terrible than a snarl12; yet she stretched out her hand and made another step. It brought a sharp tensing of the body of Bart—the fur stood up about his throat like the mane of a lion, and his eyes were a devilish green. Another instant she kept her place, and then she remembered the story of Haines—how Bart had gone with his master to that killing13 at Alder14. If he had killed once, he would kill again; wild as he had been on that other time when she quelled15 him, he had never before been like this. The courage melted out of her; she forgot the pleasant day outside; she saw only those blazing eyes and shrank back towards the center of the cave. The muscles of the wolf relaxed visibly, and not till that moment did she realize how close she had been to the crisis.
“Bad Bart!” cried Joan, running in between. “Bad, bad dog!”
“Stop, Joan! Don't go near him!”
But Joan was already almost to Bart. When Kate would have run to snatch the child away that deep, rattling16 growl stopped her again, and now she saw that Joan ran not the slightest danger. She stood beside the huge beast with her tiny fist raised.
“I'll tell Daddy Dan on you,” she shrilled17.
Black Bart made a furtive18, cringing19 movement towards the child, but instantly stiffened20 again and sent his warning down the cave to Kate. Then a shadow fell across the entrance and Dan stood there with Satan walking behind. His glance ran from the bristling21 body of Bart to Kate, shrinking among the shadows, and lingered without a spark of recognition.
“Satan,” he ordered, “go on in to your place.”
The black stallion glided22 past the master and came on until he saw Kate. He stopped, snorting, and then circled her with his head suspiciously high, and ears back until he reached the place where his saddle was usually hung. There he waited, and Kate felt the eyes of the horse, the wolf, the man, and even Joan, curiously23 upon her. “Evenin',” nodded Dan, “might you have come up for supper?” That was all. Not a step towards her, not a smile, not a greeting, and between them stood Joan, her hands clasped idly before her while she looked from face to face, trying to understand. All the pangs24 of heart which come to woman between girlhood and old age went burningly through Kate in that breathing space, and afterwards she was cold, and saw herself and all the others clearly.
“I haven't come for supper. I've come to bring you back, Dan.”
Not that she had the slightest hope that he would come, but she watched him curiously, almost as if he were a stranger, to see how he would answer.
“Come back?” he echoed. “To the cabin?”
“Where else?”
“It ain't happy there.” He started. “You come up here with us, Kate.”
“And raise Joan like a young animal in a cave?”
He looked at her with wonder, and then at the child.
“Ain't you happy, Joan, up here?”
“Oh, Daddy Dan, Joan's so happy!”
“You see,” he said to Kate, “she's terribly happy.”
It was his utter
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