 CHAPTER XXIV Dr. Byron looks into the past. The blackhead of Barry, the brownhead of Randall Byron, the golden head of Kate Cumberland, were all bowed around the limp body of Black Bart. But Daniels, still gasping for breath, stood reeling nearby. Let me attempt to resuscitate the animal, offered the doctor. He was met by a blank look from Barry. The hair of the man was scorched, his skin was blistered and burned. Only his hands remained uninjured, and these continued to move over the body of the great dog. Kate Cumberland was on her knees over the brute. Is it fatal, Dan, she asked? Is there no hope for Bart? There was no answer from Barry, and she attempted to raise the fallen lifeless head of the animal. But instantly a strong arm darted out and brushed her hands away. Those hands fell idly at her sides, and her head went back, as though she had been struck across the face. She found herself looking up into the angry eyes of Randall Byron. He reached down and raised her to her feet. There was no color in her face, no life in her limbs. There's nothing more to be done here, apparently, said the doctor coldly. Suppose we take your father and go back to the house. She made neither ascent nor descent. Dan Barry had finished a swift death-banage, and stopped the bleeding of the dog's wounds. Now he raised his head, and his glance slipped rapidly over the faces of the doctor and the girl, and rested on Buck Daniels. There was no flash of kindly thanks, no word of recognition. His right hand raised to his cheek, and rested there. And in his eyes came that flare of yellow hate. Buck Daniels shrank back until he was lost in the crowd. Then he turned and stumbled back towards the house. Instantly Barry began to work at expanding and depressing the lungs of the huge animal, as he might have worked to bring a man back to life. Watch him, whispered the doctor to Kate Cumberland, he is closer to that dog, that wolf, it looks like, than he has ever been to any human being. She would not answer, but she turned her head quickly away from the man and his beast. Are you afraid to watch, challenged Byron? For his anger at Barry's blunt refusals still made his blood hot. When your father lay at death's door, was he half so anxious as he is now? Did he work so hard by half? See how his eyes are fixed on the muzzle of the beast, as if he were studying a human face. No, no, breathe the girl. I tell you, look, command at the doctor, for there's the solution of the mystery. No mystery at all. Barry is simply a man who is closer akin to the brute forces of nature. See, by the eternal heavens he's dragging that beast, that dumb beast, back from the door of death. Shaggy had ceased his rapid manipulations and turned the big dog back upon its side. Now the eyes of Black Bart opened and winked shut again. Now the master kneeled at the head of the beast and took the scarred, shaggy head between his hands. Bart, he commanded. Not a stirrer in the long, black body. The stallion edged a pace closer, dropped his velvet muzzle, and whinnied softly at the very ear of the dog. Still there was not an answering quiver. Bart called the man again. And there was a ring of wild grief, of fear, in his cry. Do you hear, said Byron Savilishly, at the ear of the girl, did you ever use such a tone with a human being? Ever? Take me away, she murmured. I'm sick, sick at heart. Take me away. Indeed she was scarcely sure of her poise and tottered where she stood. Dr. Byron slipped his arm about her and led her away, supporting half her weight. They went slowly by small, soft steps toward the house, and before they reached it he knew that she was weeping. But if there was sadness in Byron there was also a great joy. He was a fire, for there is a flame like a quality in hope. Curse of blood and the stifling smoke, rather than a mortal injury or the touch of fire, had brought Black Bart close to death. But now that his breathing was restored and almost normal, he gained rapidly. One instant he lingered on the border between life and death. The next the brute size opened and glittered with dim recognition up towards Dan, and he licked the hand which supported his head. At Dan's direction a blanket was brought, and after Dan had lifted Black Bart upon it, four men raised the corners of the blanket and carried the burden towards the house. One of the cow plungers went ahead, bearing the light. This was the sight which Dr. Byron and Kate Cumberland saw from the veranda of the ranch house as they turned and looked back before going in. A funeral procession suggested the doctor. No she answered positively. If Black Bart were dead, Dan wouldn't allow any hands save his own to touch the body. No, Black Bart is alive. Yet it is impossible. The word impossible, however, was gradually dropping from the vocabulary of Randall Byron. True the wolfdog had seen dead past recovery, and across the eyes of Byron came a vision of the dead rising from their graves. Yet he merely shook his head and said nothing. Ah, she broke in, look! The procession drew nearer, heading towards the back of the big house, and now they saw that Dan Barry walked beside the body of Black Bart, a smile on his lifted face. They disappeared behind the back of the house. Byron heard the girl murmuring, more to herself than to him. Once he was like that all the time. Like what, he asked bluntly. She paused, and then her hand dropped lightly on his arm. He could not see more than a vague outline of her in the night. Only the dull glimmer of her face as she turned her head and the faint whiteness of her hand. Let's say good night, she answered at length. Our little worlds have toppled about our heads tonight. All your theories it seems, and God knows all that I have hoped. Why should we stay here and make ourselves miserable by talk? But because we have failed, he said steadily. Is that a reason we should creep off and brood over our failure in silence? No, let's talk it out, man to man. You have a fine courage, said the girl. But what is there we can say? He answered, for my part I am not so miserable as you think, for I feel as if this night had driven us closer together, you see, and I have caught a perspective on everything that has happened here. Tell me what you know. Only what I think I know it may be painful to hear. I am very used to pain. Well, a moment ago, when Barry was walking beside his dog, smiling, you murmured that he once was like that always. It gave me light. So I'd say that there was a time when Dan Barry lived here with you and your father. Am I right? Yes, for years and years. And in those times he was not greatly different from other men, not on the surface. No. You came to be very fond of him. We were to marry, answered Kate Cumberland, and Byron winced. He went on. Then something happened, suddenly, that took him away from you. And you did not see him again until to-night. Am I right? Yes, I thought you must have heard the story, from outside. I'll tell you the truth. My father found Dan Barry wandering across the hills years ago. He was riding home over the range, and he heard a strange and beautiful whistling. And when he looked up, he saw on the western ridge, walking against the sky, a tattered figure of a boy. He rode up and asked the boy his name. He learned it was Dan Barry, whistling Dan, he was called. But the boy could not, or would not, tell how he came to be there in the middle of the range without a horse. He merely said that he came from over there, and waved his hand to the south and east. That was all. He didn't seem to be alarmed, because he was alone. And yet he apparently knew nothing of the country. He was lost in this terrible country where a man could wander for days without finding a house. And yet the boy was whistling as he walked. So Dad took him home and sent out letters all about, to the railroad in particular, to find out if such a boy was missing. He received no answer. In the meantime, he gave Dan a room in the house, and I remember how Dan sat at the table the first night. I was a very little girl then, and how I laughed at a strange way of eating. His knife was the only thing he was interested in, and he made it serve for knife, fork, and spoon. And he held the meat in his fingers while he cut it. The next morning he was missing. One of Dad's range riders picked up Dan several miles to the north, walking along, whistling gaily. The next morning he was missing again, and was caught still farther away. After that Dad had a terrible scene with him. I don't know exactly what happened. But Dan promised to run away no more. And ever since then, Dad has been closer to Dan than anyone else. So Dan grew up. From the time I could first distinctly remember, he was very gentle and good-natured. But he was different, always. After a while he got Black Bart, you know. And then he went out with a halter and captured Satan. Think of capturing a wild Mustang with nothing but a halter. He played around with them so much that I was jealous of them. So I kipped with them until Bart and Satan were rather used to me. Bart would even play with me now and then, when Dan wasn't near. And so finally Dan and I were to be married. Dad didn't like the idea. He was afraid of what Dan might become, and he was right. One day in a saloon that used to stand on that hill over there, Dan had a fight, his first fight, with a man who had struck him across the mouth for no good reason. That man was Jim Silent. Of course, you've heard of him. Never. He was a famous longwriter, an outlaw with a very black record. At the end of that fight he struck Dan down with a chair and escaped. I went down to Dan when I heard of the fight. Black Bart led me down to be exact. But Dan would not come back to the house. And he'd have no more to do with anyone until he had found Jim Silent. I can't tell you everything that happened. Finally, he caught Jim Silent and killed him with his bare hands. But Daniel saw it. Then Dan came back to us, but on the first night he began to grow restless. It was last fall. The wild geese were flying south. And while they were honking in the sky, Dan got up, said good-bye, and left us. We have never seen him again until tonight. All we knew was that he had ridden south after the wild geese. A long silence fell between them, for the doctor was thinking hard. And when he came back he said, Barry did not know you. I mean you were nothing to him. You were there, said the girl faintly. It's perfectly clear, said Byron. If it were a little more commonplace, it might be puzzling. But being so extraordinary, it clears itself up. Did you really expect the wolf dog, Black Bart, to remember you? I may have expected it. But you were not surprised, of course. Naturally not. Yet you see that Dan Barry, whistling Dan, you call him, was closer to Black Bart than he was to you. Why should I see that? He watched him a moment ago, when he was leaning over the dog. He watched her draw her dressing gown closer about her, as though the cold bit more keenly then. She said simply, yes, I saw. Don't you see that he is simply more in tune with the animal world? And it is really no more reasonable to expect Black Bart to remember you than it is to expect Dan Barry to remember you. It's quite plain. When you go back to the beginning, man was simply an animal, without the higher senses, as we call them. He was simply a brute living in trees or in caves. Afterwards he grew into the thing we all know. But why not imagine a throwback into the earlier instincts? Why not imagine the creature devoid of the impulses of mind, the thing which we call man, and see the splendid animal? You saw in Dan Barry simply a biological sport, the freak, the thing which retraces the biological progress, and comes close to the primitive. But of course you could not realize this. He seemed a man, and you accepted him as a man. In reality he was no more a man than Black Bart is a man. He had the face and form of a man, but his instincts were as old as the ages. The animal world obeys him. Satan nays an answer to his whistle. The wolf dog licks his hand at the point of death. There is a profound difference always. You try to reconcile him with other men. You give him the attributes of other men. Open your eyes, see the truth, that he is no more akin to man than Black Bart is like a man. And when you give him your affection, Miss Cumberland, you are giving your affection to a wild wolf. Do you believe me? He knew that she was shaken. He could feel it, even without the testimony of his eyes to witness. He went on speaking with great rapidity. At least she should escape from the influence which she had already gained over her. I felt it when I first saw him. A certain nameless kinship with elemental forces. The wind blew through the open door. It was Dan Berry. The wild geese called from the open sky for Dan Berry. These are the things which lead him. These the forces which direct him. You have loved him. But his love merely a giving? No. You have seen in him a man. But I see in him merely the animal force. She said after a moment, Do you hate him? You plead against him so passionately. He answered, Can you hate a thing which is not human? No. But you can dread it. It escapes from the laws which bind you and which bind me. What standards govern it? How can you hope to win it? Love? Beauty is there in the world to appeal to such a creature except the beauty of the marrow bone which his teeth have the strength to snap. Ah, listen, murmured the girl. Here is your answer. And Dr. Randall Byron heard a sound like the muted music of the violin, thin and small and wonderfully penetrating. He could not tell at first what it might be. Or it was as unlike a violin as it was like the bow and the rosin string. Then he made out surely that it was the whistling of a human being. It followed no tune, no reasoned theme. The music was beautiful in its own self. It rose straight up like the skylark from the ground, sheer up against the white light of the sky, and there it sang against heaven's gate. He had never heard harmony like it. He would never again hear such music, so thin and yet so full, that it went through and through him until he felt the strains take a new, imitative life within him. He would have whistled the strains himself, but he could not follow them. They escaped him. They soared above him. They followed no law or rhythm. They flew on wings and left him far below. The girl moved away from him, as if led by an invisible hand, and now she stood at the extremity of the porch. He followed her. Do you hear she cried turning to him? What is it, asked the doctor? It is he. Don't you understand? Barry, yes, but what does the whistling mean? Is it for his wolf-dog? I don't know, she answered quickly. All I understand is that it is beautiful. Where are your theories and explanations now, Dr. Byron? It is beautiful, God knows, but doesn't the wolf-dog understand it better than either you or I? She turned and faced Byron, standing very close, and when she spoke there was something in her voice which was like a light, in spite of the dark he could guess at every varying shade of her expression. So the rest of us, she murmured, Dan has nothing but silence and hardly a glance. Buck saved his life to-night, and yet Dan remembered nothing except the blow which had been struck, and now he pours out all the music in his soul for a dumb beast. Listen. He saw her straighten herself and stand tall her. Then through the wolf, all conquer through the dumb beast. She whipped past Byron and disappeared into the house. At the same instant the whistling in the midst of a faint, high climax broke, shivered, and was ended. There was only the darkness and the silence around Byron, and the unsteady wind against his face. End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 of The Night Horseman This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman by Max Brand, Chapter 25 Werewolf Dr. Byron, pacing the front veranda with his thoughtful head bowed, saw Buck Daniels step out with his quirk dangling in his hand. His cartridge belt buckled about his waist, and a great red silk bandana knotted at his throat. He was older by ten years than he had been a few days before when the doctor first saw him. To be sure his appearance was not improved by a three days growth of beard. It gave his naturally dark skin a dirty cast. But even that rough stubble could not completely shroud the new hollows in Daniels' cheeks. His long black, uncombed hair sagged down raggedly across his forehead, hanging almost into his eyes. The eyes themselves were sunk in such formidable cavities that Byron caught hardly more than two points of light in the shadows. All the devil may care insouciance of Buck Daniels was quite, quite gone. In its place was a dogged sullenness, a hangdog air, which one would not care to face of a dark night or in a lonely place. His manner was that of a man whose back is against the wall, who, having fled some keen pursuit, has now come to the end of his tether, and prepares for desperate, even if hopeless, battle. There was that about him, which made the doctor hesitate to address the cow-puncher. At length, he said, You're going out for an outing, Mr. Daniels? Buck Daniels started violently at the sound of this voice behind him, and whirled upon the doctor with such a set and contorted expression of fierceness that Byron jumped back. Good God, man, cried the doctor, what's up with you? Nothing, answered Buck, gradually relaxing from his first show of suspicion. I'm beating it, that's all. Leaving us? Yes. Not really. Do you think I ought to stay, asked Buck, with something of a sneer? The doctor hesitated, frowning in a puzzled way. At length he threw out his hands in a gesture of mute abandonment. My dear fellow, he said with a faint smile, I've about stopped trying to think. At this Buck Daniels grinned mirthlessly. Now you're talking sense, he nodded. There ain't no use in thinking. But why do you leave so suddenly? Buck Daniels shrugged his broad shoulders. I am sure when on Byron that Miss Cumberland will miss you. She will not, answered the big cowpuncher. She's got her hands full with him. Exactly, but if it is more than she can do, if she makes no headway with that singular fellow, she may need help. He was interrupted by a slow, long-drawn, deep-throated curse from Buck Daniels. Why in hell should I help her with him? There is really no reason, answered the doctor, alarmed. Except, I suppose, old friendship. Damn old friendship, burst out Buck Daniels. There is an end to all things, and my friendship is worn out on both sides. It's done. He turned and scowled at the house. Help her to win him over? I'd rather stick the muzzle of my gun down my throat and pull the trigger. I'd rather see her marry a man about the hang. Well, to hell with this place, I'm through with it. Slong doc. But Dr. Byron ran after him and halted him at the foot of the steps down from the veranda. My dear Mr. Daniels, he urged, touching the arm of Buck. You really mustn't leave so suddenly as this. There are a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue. Buck Daniels regarded the professional man with a hint of weariness and disgust. Well, he said, I'll hear the first couple of hundred. Shoot. First, the motive that sends you away. Danbury? Aha. Fear of what he may do? Damn the fear. At least it's him that makes me go. It seems an impenetrable mystery, sighed the doctor. I saw you the other night step into the smoking hell of that barn and keep the way clear for this man. I knew, before that, how you rode and risked your life to bring Danbury back here. Surely those are proofs of friendship. Buck Daniels laughed, unpleasantly. He laid a large hand on the shoulder of the doctor and answered, If them was the only proofs, Doc, I wouldn't feel the way I do. Proofs of friendship? Danbury has saved me from the rope and he saved me from dying by the gun of Jim Silent. He took me out of a rotten life and made me a man that could look honest men in the face. He paused, swallowing hard, and the doctor's misty, overworked eyes, lighted with some comprehension. He had felt from the first a certain danger in this big fellow, a certain reckless disregard of laws and rules which commonly limit the actions of ordinary men. Now part of the truth was hinted at. Buck Daniels, on a time, had been outside the law, and Barry had drawn him back to the ways of men. That explained some of the singular bond that lay between them. That ain't all, went on Buck. Blood is thick, and I've loved and bettered nor a brother. I've gone to hell and back for him. For him I took Kate Cumberland out of the hands of Jim Silent and left myself in her place. I took her away, and all so's she could go to him, damn him. And now, on account of him, I gotta leave this place. His voice rose to a ringing pitch. Do you think it's easy for me to go? Do you think it ain't like tearing a fingernail off the flesh for me to go away from Kate? God knows what she means to me, God knows. But if he does, he's forgotten me. Anguish of spirit set Buck Daniels shaking, and the doctor looked on in amazement. He was like one who reaches in his pocket for a copper coin and brings out a handful of gold pieces. Kind feelings don't come easy to me, went on Buck Daniels. I've been raised to fight. I've been raised to hard riding and dusting the throat. I've been raised on whiskey and hate. And then I met Dan Berry, and his voice was softener on a girl's voice, and his eyes didn't hold no doubt about me. Me, that had snaked in on him at night and was going to kill him in his sleep because my chief had told me to. That was Dan Berry, what I first knew. He gave me his hand, and he gave me the trust of his eyes. And after he left me, I sat down and took my head between my hands, and my heart was like the burst inside me. It was like the clouds that blowed away from the sun and let it shine on me for the first time in my life. And I swore that if the time comes, I'd repay him. For every sin he'd give me, I'd pay him back in gold. I'd follow to the end of the world to do what he bid me do. His voice dropped suddenly, choked with emotion. Oh, doc, there was tears coming to my eyes, and I felt sort of clean inside, and I wasn't ashamed of them tears. That's what Dan Berry had done for me. And I did pay him back as much as I could. I met Kate Cumberland, and she was to me among girls what Dan Berry was to me among men. I ain't ashamed to say it. I loved her till there was a dryness like ashes inside of me. But I wouldn't even lift up my eyes to her because she belonged to him. I followed her around like a dog. I'd done her bidding. I asked no questions. What she wanted, that was law to me. And all the law I wanted. All that I'd done for the sake of Dan Berry. And I took my life and my hands for him. Not once, but day after day. Then he wrote off and left her. And I stayed behind. Do you think it's been easy to stay here? Man, man, I've had to hear her talking about Dan Berry day after day and never a word for me. And I had to tell her stories about Dan. And what he used to do. And she'd sit with her eyes miles away from me, listening and smiling. And me there, hungering for just one look out of her eyes, hungering like a dying dog for water. And then for her and Joe, I rode down south. And when I met Dan Berry, do you think there was any light in his eyes when he seen me? No. He'd forgotten me. The way even a horse won't forget his master. Forgot me after a few months. And after all that had gone between us. Not even Kate. Even she was nothing to him. But still I kept at it. And I brought him back. I had to hurt him to do it. But God knows it wasn't out of spite that I hit him. God knows. And when I seen Dan go into that burning barn, I says to myself, Buck, if nothing is done, that wall will fall. And there's the end of Dan Berry. There's the end of him. That ain't any human use. And when he's finished, after a while, maybe Kate will get to know that there's other men in the world beside Dan. I says that to myself, deep and still inside me. And then I looked at Kate standing in that white thing with her yellow hair all blowing about her face. And I wanted her like a dying man once having. But then I says to myself again, no matter what's happened, he's been my friend. He's been my pal. He's been my bunkie. Doc, you ain't got a way of knowing what a partner is out here. Maybe you sit in the desert about 1,000 miles from nowhere. And across the little mesquite fire, there's your pal, the only human thing in sight. Maybe you go months saying only him. If you're sick, he takes care of you. If you're blue, he cheers you up. And that's what Dan Berry was to me. So I stand, saying these things to myself, and I says, if I keep that wall from falling, Dan'll know about it. And there won't be no more of that yellow light in his eyes when he looks at me. That's what I says to myself, poor fool. And I went into that fire and I fought to keep that wall from falling. You know what happened. When I come out staggering and blind and three parts dead, Dan Berry looks up to me and touches his face where I'd hit him. And that yellow comes glimmering and blazing in his eyes. Then I went back to my room and I fought it out. And here's where I stand now. If I stay here, if I see that yellow light once more, there won't be no waiting. Him and me, I have to fight it out right then. Am I a dog? Maybe. But I've got to stand around and jump when he calls me. My dear fellow, my dear Mr. Daniels, cried the horrified Dr. Byron. Surely you're wrong. He wouldn't go so far as to make a personal attack upon you. Wouldn't he? Not if he was a man, no. I tell you, he ain't a man. He's what the Canucks up north call a werewolf. There ain't no mercy or kindness in him. The blood of a man means nothing to him. The world would be better rid of him. Oh, he can go soft and gentle as a girl. Mostly he is. Cross him once and he forgets all you've done for him. Give him a taste of blood and he jumps at your throat. I tell you, I've seen him do it. He broke off with a shutter. Doc, he said, in a lower and solemn voice. Maybe I've said too much. Don't tell Kate nothing about why I'm going. Let her go on dreaming her full dream. But now hear what I'm saying. If Dan Barry crosses me once more, one of us two dies and dies damned quick. It may be me, it may be him. But I've come to the end of my rope. I'm leaving this place to Barry gets a chance to come to his senses and see what I've done for him. That's all. I'm leaving this place because there's a blight on it. And that blight is Dan Barry. I'm leaving this place because, Doc, because I can smell the coming of bloodshed in it. There's a death hanging over it. If the lightning was to hit and burn it up, house and man, the range would be better for it. And he turned on his heel and strolled slowly down towards the corral. Dr. Byron followed his progress with starting eyes. End of chapter 25. Chapter 26 of The Night Horseman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman by Max Brand. Chapter 26. The Battle. The chain which fastened Black Bart had been passed around the trunk of a tree that stood behind the ranch house. And there the great dog lay tethered. Dr. Byron had told Whistling Dan, with some degree of horror, that the open air was in the highest degree dangerous to wounds. But Whistling Dan had returned no answer. So Black Bart lay all day in a soft stand, easing himself from time to time into a new position. And his thoughtful eyes seemed to be concentrated on the desire to grow well. Beside him was the chair in which Dan Berry sat for many an hour of the day and even the night. Kate Cumberland watched the animal from the shadow of the house. His eyes were closed and the long, powerful head lay an ert on the sand. Yet she knew that the wolf dog was perfectly aware of her presence. Day after day, since he lay there, she had attempted to approach Black Bart. And day after day he had allowed her to come within reaching distance of him, only to drive her back at the last moment by a sudden display of the murderous long fangs. Or by one of those snarls, which came out of the black depths of its heart. Now a dog snarls from not far down in its throat. But the noise of an angered wild beast rolls up out of its very entrails. A passion of hate and defiance. And when she heard that sound or when she saw the still more terrible silent rage of the beast, Kate Cumberland's spirit failed and she would shrink back again to a safe distance. She was not easily discouraged. She had that grim resolution, which comes to the gambler after he has played at the same table night after night, night after night and lost, lost, lost. Until playing with the last of his money, he begins to mutter through his set teeth, the luck must change. So it was with Kate Cumberland for in Black Bart she saw the only possible clue to whistling Dan. There was the stallion to be sure, but she knew Satan too well. Nothing in the wide world could induce that wild heart to accept more than one master, more than one friend. For Satan there was in the animal world Black Bart and in the world of men, Dan Berry. These were enough. For all the rest he kept the disdainful speed of his slender legs or the terror of his teeth and trampling hoofs. Even if she could have induced the stallion to eat from her hand, she could never have made him willing to trust himself to her guidance. Some such thing she felt she must accomplish with Black Bart. To the wild beast with a scarred and shaggy head, she must become a necessary and accepted thing. One repulse did not disheartner. Again and again she made the trial. She remembered having read that no animal can resist the thoughtful patience of thinking man. An hour after hour she was there until a new light in the eye of the wolf dog warned her that the true master was coming. Then she fled and from a post of vantage in the house she would watch the two. An intimacy surpassing the friendships and devotions of human beings existed between them. She had seen the wolf lie with its great head on the foot of his master and the unchanging eyes fixed on Barry's face. And so for an hour at a stretch in mute worship. Or she had watched the master go to the great beast to change the dressing, a thing which could not be done too often during the day. She had seen the swift hands remove the bandages and she had seen the cleansing solution applied. She knew what it was. It stung even the unscratched skin. And to a wound it must be torture. But the wolf lay and endured, not even shuddering at the pain. It had seemed to her that this was the great test. If she could make the wolf lie like this for her, then truly she might feel herself in some measure admit it to that mystic fellowship of the three, the man, the stallion and the wolf. If she could with her own unaided hands remove the bandages and apply that solution, then she could know many things and she could feel that she was nearer to whistling down than ever before. So she had come time and again with the basin and the roll of cloth in her arm. And she had approached with infinite patience step by step and then inch by inch. Once it had taken a whole hour for her to come within a yard of the beast. And all that time Black Bart had lain with closed eyes. But at that critical instant always there was that silent writhing up of the lips and the gleam of hate or the terrible snarl while the eyes fastened on her throat. Her heart had stopped in midbeat and that day she ran back into the house and threw herself on her bed and would not come from her room to the following morning. Now as she watched from the shadow of the house with the basin of antiseptic under her arm, the gambler's desperation rose stronger and stronger. She came out at length and walked steadily towards Black Bart. She had grown almost heedless of fear at this moment. But when she was within a pace once more the head reared back, the teeth flashed and the heart of Kate Cumberland as always stopped. Yet she did not retreat this time. All the color left her face so that her eyes seemed amazingly blue and wide. One foot drew back trembling ready to spring the safety yet she held her place. She moved and it was towards Black Bart. At that came a snarl that would have made the heart of a lone grizzly quake and leave his newfound nuts. One further pace she made and the beast plunged up and braced itself with its one strong foreleg. A devil of yellow-green gleamed in either eye and past the grinning fangs she saw the hot red throat and she saw the flattened ears, the scars on the bony forehead, the muscles that bulged on the base of the jaw. Eyes strength to drive those knife-like teeth through flesh and bone at a single snap. More she had seen their effect and the throat of a bull calf cut at a single slash. And yet she sank on her knees beside the monster. His head was well nigh as high as hers then. If he attacked there could be no dream of escape for her or she might drag herself away from the tearing teeth, a disfigured horror for ever. Think not that a niota of all these terrors missed her mind. No, she felt the fangs buried in her throat and heard the snarl of the beast stifled with blood. Yet she laid her hand on the bandage across the shoulder of Black Bart. His head whirled with those ears flattened and with that long, lean neck, it was like the head of a striking snake. Her sleeve was rolled up to the elbow and over the bare skin the teeth of the wolf dog were set. The snarl had grown so deep and hideous that the terror of it fairly shook her and she saw that the jaws of the beast slathered with hunger. She knew a thousand things about Black Bart and among the rest that he had tasted human blood. And there is a legend which says that once a wild beast has tasted the blood of man, he will taste it a second time before he dies. She thought of that. She dared not turn her head, least she should encounter the hellfire of Bart's eyes. Yet she had passed all ordinary fear. She had reached the exquisite frenzy of terror when it becomes one with courage. The very arm over which the wolf's teeth were set moved, raised, and with both hands she untied the knot of the bandage. The snarling rose to a pitch of maniacal rage. The teeth compressed. If they broke the skin, it was the end. The first taste of blood would be enough. And drew away her arm. If she had started then, all the devil and the creature would be loosed. For her terror taught her that. And by some mysterious power that entered her at that moment, she was able to turn her head slowly and look deep into those terrible eyes. Her arm was released. But Black Bart crouched and the snake-like head lowered. He was quivering throughout that steel-muscled body to throw himself at her throat. The finger was on the hair trigger. It needed a pressure not greater than a bodily list thought. And still she looked into the eyes of the wolf-dog. And her terror had made her strangely light of body and dizzy of mind. Then the change came suddenly. The yellow greed changed, swirled in the eyes of Black Bart. The eyes themselves wavered and at last looked away. The snarl dropped to a sullen growl. And Black Bart laid down as he had been before. His head was still turned toward her, to be sure. And the teeth were still bared. As with rabbit, deft fingers, she undid the bandage. And from instant to instant, as the bandage in spite of her care pressed against the wound, the beast shivered and wicked glances flashed up at her face. The safe blower, who finds a soup cooling and dares not set it down, felt as Kate Cumberland felt then. She never knew what kept her hands steady, but steady they were. The cloth was removed, and now she could see the red angry wound, with the hair shaven away to a little distance on every side. She dipped her cloth into the antiseptic. It stung her fingers. She touched the cloth lightly against the wound. And to her astonishment, the wolf-dog relaxed every muscle and let his head fall to the ground. Also the growl died into a soft wine, and this in turn ended. She had conquered. Aye. When the wound was thoroughly cleansed, and when she started to wind the bandage again, she had even the courage to touch Black Bart's body and make him rise up so that she could pass the cloth freely. At her touch, he shuddered to be sure, as a man might shudder at the touch of an unclean thing, but there was no snarl, and the teeth were not bared. As she tied the knot which secured the bandage in its place, she was aware that the eyes of Bart, no longer yellow-green, watched her, and she felt some vague movement of the wonder that was passing through the brute mind. Then the head of the wolf-dog jerked up. He was staring at something in the distance, and there was nothing under heaven that Bart would raise his head to look at in this manner, except one thing. The fingers of Kate grew stiff and trembled. Slowly in a panic, she finished the knot, and then she was aware of someone who had approached without a sound, and now stood behind her. She looked up at length before she rose to her feet. Thankfulness welled up warm in her heart to find her voice steady and commonplace when she said, the wound is much better. Bart will be well in a very few days now. Whistling Dan did not answer, and his wondering eyes glanced past her own. She saw that he was staring at a double row of white indentations on her forearm, where the teeth the black Bart had set. He knew those marks, and she knew he knew. Strength was leaving her, and weakness went through her, water where blood should have been. She dared not stay. In another moment, she would be hopelessly in the grip of hysteria. So she rose and passed Dan without a word, and went slowly towards the house. She tried to hurry, indeed, but her legs would not quicken their pace. Yet at length, she had reached shelter, and no sooner was she passed the door of a house than her knees buckled. She had to steady herself with both hands as she dragged herself up the stairs to her room. There from the window, she looked down and saw Whistling Dan standing as she had left him, staring blankly at the wolf dog. End of chapter 26. Chapter 27 of The Night Horseman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman by Max Brand, chapter 27. The Conquest. There was no star-storming confidence in Kate Cumberland after that first victory. Rather, she felt, has the general who deploys his skirmishers and drives in the outposts of an enemy. The advantage is his, but it has really only served to give him some intimation of the strength of the enemy. At the supper-table this night, she found Whistling Dan watching her, not openly, for she could never catch his eye, but subtly, secretly. She knew that he was measuring her, studying her, whether in hostility, amity, or mere wonder, she could not tell. Finally, a vast uneasiness overtook her and she turned to the doctor for relief. Dr. Randall Byron held a singular position in the intention of Kate. Since the night of the fire and her open talk with him, the doctor knew everything and women are troubled in the presence of a man who knows the details of the past. The shield behind which they hide in social intercourse is a touch of mystery, or at least a hope of mystery. The doctor, however, was not like other men. He was more similar to a precocious child and she comforted herself in his obvious talent for silence. If he had been alert, strong, self-confident, she might have hated him because he knew so much about her. But when she noted the pale, thoughtful face, the vast forehead out balancing the other features and the wistful, uncertain eyes, she felt nothing towards him stronger than pity. It is good for a woman to have something which she may pity, a child, an aged parent, or a house dog. It provides in a way the background against which she acts. So Kate, when in doubt, turned to the doctor as on this night. There was a certain cruelty in it, for when she smiled at him, the poor doctor became crimson and when she talked to him, his answers stumbled on his tongue. And when she was silent and merely looked at him, that was the worst of all, for he became unable to manage knife and fork and would sit crumbling bread and looking frightened. Then he was apt to draw out his glasses and make a move to place them on his nose. But he always caught and checked himself in time, which added to his embarrassment. These small maneuvers had not lasted long before the girl became aware that the silent attention of whistling Dan had passed from her to the doctor and held steadily upon him. She did not go so far as to call it jealousy, but certainly it was a grave and serious consideration that measured the doctor up and down and back again. And it left her free to examine the two men in contrast. For the first time it struck her that they were much alike in many ways. Physically, for instance, there was the same slenderness, the same delicacy with which details were finished, the same fragile hands, for instance. The distinction lay in a suggestion of strength and inexhaustible reserve of energy, which Dan Berry possessed. The distinction lay still more in their faces. That of Byron was worn and pallid from the long quest and struggle for truth. The body was feeble, the eyes were uncertain, but within there was a powerful machine which could work infallibly from the small to the large and the large to the small. With whistling Dan, there was no suggestion at all of mental care. She could not imagine him worrying over a problem. His knowledge was not even communicable by words. It was more impalpable than the instinct of a woman. And there was about him the wisdom and the coldness of Black Bart himself. The supper ended too soon for Kate. She had been rallying Rambel Byron, and as soon as he could graciously leave, the poor fellow rose with a crimson face and left the room. And behind him, sauntering apparently in the most casual manner, went whistling Dan. As for Kate Cumberland, she could not put all the inferences together. She dared not, but when she lay in her bed that night, it was a long time before she could sleep, for there was a voice inside her singing. She chose her time the next day. Dan alternated between Black Bart and old Joe Cumberland during most of the day. And no sooner had he left the wolf dog in the morning than she went out to Bart. As always, Black Bart lay with his head flattened against the sand, dreaming in the sun, and not an eyelid quivered when she approached. Yet she understood perfectly that the animal knew every move she made. She would have attempted to dress the wound again, but the memory of the ordeal of yesterday was too terrible. She might break down in the midst of her effort, and the first sign of weakness she knew was the only spur which Black Bart needed. So she went instead to the chair where Dan often sat for hours near the dog. And there she took her place, folded her hands on her lap, and waited. She had no particular plan in mind, more than that she hoped to familiarize the great brute with the sight of her. Once he had known her well enough, but now he had forgotten all that past before, as completely, no doubt, as whistling Dan himself had forgotten. While she sat there musing, she remembered a scene that had occurred not many a month before. She had been out walking one fall day, and had gone from the house down past the corrals, where a number of cattle newly driven in from the range were penned. They were to be driven off for shipment the next day. A bellowing caught her ear from one of the enclosures, and she saw two bulls standing, horn the horn, their heads lowered, and their puffing and snorting breaths knocking up the dust while they pawed the sand back in clouds against their flanks. While she watched, they rushed together, bellowing, and for a moment they swayed back and forth. It was an unequal battle, however, for one of the animals was a hardened veteran, scarred for many a battle on the range, while the other was a young three-year-old with a body not half so strong as his heart. For a short time he sustained the weight of the larger bull, but eventually his knees buckled and then dropped heavily against the earth. At that, the older bull drew back a little and charged again. This time he avoided the long horns of his rival and made the unprotected flank of the animal his target. If he had charged squarely, the horns would have been buried to the head, but striking at an angle, only one of them touched the target and delivered a long ripping blow. With the blood streaming down his side, the wounded bull made off into a group of cows, and when the victor pursued him closely, he at length turned tail and leaped the low fence, for the corral was a new one, hastily built for the occasion. The conqueror raised his head inside the fence and bellowed his triumph, and outside the fence, the other commenced pawing up the sand again, switching his tail across his bleeding side and turning his little red eyes here and there. They fixed at length upon Cate Cumberland, and she remembered with a start of horror that she was wearing a bright red blouse. The next instant the bull was charging. She turned in a hopeless flight. Safety was hundreds of yards away in the house. The skirts tangled about her legs, and behind her the dull impacts of the bull's hoofs swept close and closer. Then she heard a snarl in front, a deep-throated, murderous snarl, and she saw a blackbark racing towards her. He whizzed by her like a black thunderbolt. There was a roar and bellow behind her, and at the same time she stumbled over a fence board and fell upon her knees. But when she cast a glance of terror behind her, she saw the bull lying on its side with lawling tongue and glazing eyes, and the fangs of blackbark were buried in its throat. When she reached this point in her musing, her glance naturally turned towards the wolf-dog, and she started violently when she saw that Bart was slinking towards her, trailing the helpless leg. The moment he felt her eyes upon him, Bart dropped down, motionless, with a wicked bearing of his teeth. His eyes closed, and he seemed, as usual, dreaming in the sun. Was the brute stalking her? It was worse in a way than the ordeal of the day before, this stealthy, noiseless approach. And in her panic, she first thought of springing from her chair and reaching the distance which the chain would keep him from following. Yet it was very strange. Black Bart, in his wildest days, after Dan brought him to the ranch, had never been prone to wantonly attack human beings. Infringe upon his right, come suddenly upon him, and then, indeed, there was a danger to all saving his master. But this daylight stalking was stranger than words could tell. She forced her eyes to look straight ahead and sat with a beating heart, waiting. Then, by slow degree, she led her glance travel cautiously back towards Bart without turning her head. There was no doubt about it. The great wolf dog was slinking towards her, on his belly, still trailing the wounded foreleg. There was something snake-like in that slow approach, so silent and so gradual. And yet she waited, moving neither hand nor foot. A sort of nightmare paralysis held her, as when we flee from some horror in our dreams and find that our limbs have grown numb. Behind us races the deadly thing closer and closer. Before us is the door of safety, only a step to reach it, and yet, we cannot move a foot. It was not all pure terror. There was an incredible excitement as well. Her will against the will of the dumb brute, which would conquer. She heard a faint rustling of the sand beside her and could hardly keep from turning her head again, but she succeeded. Waves of coldness broke on her mind. Her whole body would have shuttered, had not fear, chilled her into motionlessness. All reason told her that it was madness to sit there with the stealthy horror sliding closer. Even now it might be too late. If she rose, the shaggy form might spring from the ground at her. Perhaps the wolf had treasured up the pain from the day before and now. A black form did indeed rise from the ground, but slowly, and standing on three legs, Bart stood a moment and stared in the face of the girl. The fear rushed out of her heart and her face flushed hotly with relief. There was no enmity in the steady stare of the wolf dog. She could feel that even though she did not look, something that whistling Dan had said long before came to her. Even a hawse and a dog, Kate, can get terrible lonesome. Black Bart moved until he faced her directly. His ears were pricking in eagerness. She heard a snarl, but so low and muffled that there was hardly a threat in it. Could it be a plea for attention? She would not look down to the sharp eyes until a weight fell on her knees. It was the long scarred head of the wolf. The joy that swelled in her was so great that it pained her like a grief. She stretched out her hand slowly, slowly towards that head. And Black Bart shrank and quivered, and his lips withered back from the long, deadly teeth. And his snarl grew to a harsher, horser threat. Still he did not remove his head and he allowed the hand to touch him between the eyes and stroke the fur back to between the ears. Only one other hand had ever touched that formidable head in such a manner. The teeth no longer showed. The keen, suspicious eyes grew dim with pleasure. The snarl sank to murmur and then died out. Bart commanded the girl sharply. The head jerked up, but the questioning eyes did not look at her. He glanced over his shoulder to find the danger that had made her voice so hard. And she yearned to take the fierce head in her arms. There were tears she could have wept over it. He was snarling again, prepared already to battle and for her sake. Bart, she repeated more gently, lie down. He turned his head slowly back to her and looked with that unspeakable wistfulness of the dumb brutes into her eyes. But there was only one voice in which Bart could speak. And that was the harsh, rattling snarl, which would have made a mountain lion check itself mid-leap and slink back to its lair. In such a voice he answered Kate and then sank down gradually. And he lay still. So simply and yet so mysteriously, she was admitted to the partnership. But though one member of that swift grim trio had accepted her, did it mean that the other two would take her in? A weight sank on her feet and when she looked down she saw that black Bart had lowered his head upon them and so he lay there with his eyes closed, dreaming in the sun. End of chapter 27. Chapter 28 of The Night Horseman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman by Max Brand. Chapter 28, The Trail. Bandages and antiseptics and constant care by themselves could not have healed black Bart so swiftly. But nature took a strong hand. The wound closed with miraculous speed. Three days after he had laid his head on the feet of Kate Cumberland, the wolf dog was hobbling about on three legs and tugging now and again at the restraining chain. And the day after that, the bandages were taken off and whistling Dan decided that Bart might run loose. It was a brief ceremony but a vital one. Dr. Byron went out with Barry to watch the loosening of the dog. From the window of Joe Cumberland's room, he and Kate observed what passed. There was little hesitancy in black Bart. He merely paused to sniff the foot of Randall Byron, snarl, and then trod it with a limp towards the corral. Here, in a small enclosure, with rails much higher than the other corrals, stood Satan, and black Bart made straight for the stallion. He was seen from afar and the black horse stood waiting, his head thrown high in the air, his ears pricking forward, the tail flaunting, a picture of expectancy. So under the lower rail Bart slunk and stood under the head of Satan, growling terribly. Of this display of anger, the stallion took not the slightest notice, but lowered his beautiful head until his velvet nose touched the cold muzzle of Bart. There was something ludicrous about the greeting. It was such an odd shade close to the human. It was as brief as it was strange, for black Bart at once whirled and trotted away towards the barns. By the time Dr. Byron and Whistling Dan caught up with him, the wolf-dog was before the heaps and ashes, which marked the sight of the burned barn. Among these white and gray and black heaps, he picked his way, sniffing hastily here and there. In the very center of the place, he sat down suddenly on his haunches, pointed his nose aloft, and wailed with tremendous dreariness. Now murmured the doctor to Dan, that strikes me as a singular manifestation of intelligence in an animal. He has found the sight of the very barn where he was hurt. Upon my word, even fire doesn't affect his memory. Here he observed that the face of Whistling Dan had grown grim. He ran to Bart and crouched beside him, muttering, and Byron heard. That's about where you was lying, said Dan, and you smell your own blood on the ground. Keep trying, Bart. There's something else to find around here. The wolf-dog looked his master full in the face with prickly nears, whined, and then started off sniffing busily at the heaps of ashes. The shooting of the dog is quite a mystery, said Byron, by way of conversation. Do you suppose that one of the men from the bunkhouse could have shot him? But Dan seemed no longer aware of the doctor's presence. He slipped here and there with the wolf-dog among the ash-sheeps, pausing when Bart paused, talking to the brute continually. Sometimes he pointed out to Bart things which the doctor did not perceive, and Bart whined with a terrible, slavering, blood eagerness. The wolf-dog suddenly left the ash-sheeps and now darted in swiftly entangled lines here and there among the barns. Dan Berry stood thoughtfully still, but now and then he called a word of encouragement. And Black Bart stayed with his work. Now he struck out a wide circle, running always with his nose close to the ground. Again he doubled back sharply to the barn's site and began again in a new direction. He ran swiftly, sometimes putting his injured leg to the ground with hardly a limp, and again drawing it up and running on three feet. In a moment he passed out of sight behind a slight rise of ground to the left of the ash-sheeps and at some little distance. He did not reappear. Instead a long, shrill wail came wavering toward the doctor and Dan Berry. He'd raised the hair on the head of the doctor and sent a chill through his veins, but it sent whistling Dan racing towards the place behind which Black Bart had disappeared. The doctor hurried after as fast as he might and came upon the wolf-dog, making small, swift circles, his nose to the ground and then crossing to and fro out of the circle. And the face of the master was Black while he watched. He ran again to Bart and began talking swiftly. Do you see, he asked, pointing, from behind this here hill you could get a pretty good sight of the barn and you wouldn't be seen hardly from the barn. Someone must have waited here. Look about Bart, you'll be finding a pile of signs around here. It means that them that done the shooting and the firing of the barn stood right here behind this hilltop and watched the barn burn and was hoping that Satan and you wouldn't ever come out alive. That's the story. He dropped to his knees and caught Bart as the big dog ran by. Find him, Bart, he whispered, find him. And he struck sharply on the scar where the bullet had plowed its way into Bart's flesh. The answer of Bart was a yelp too sharp and too highly pitched to have come from the throat of any mere dog. Once more he darted out and ran here and there and Dr. Byron heard the beast moaning as it ran. Then Bart ceased circling and cut down the slope away from the hill at a sharp trot. A cry of inarticulate joy burst from Dan and then, you found it, you have it. And the master ran swiftly after the dog. He followed the ladder only for a short distance down the slope and then stood still and whistled. He had to repeat the call before the dog turned and ran back to his master where he whined eagerly about the man's feet. There was something uncanny and horrible about it. It was if the dumb beast was asking for a life and the life of a man. The doctor turned back and walked thoughtfully to the house. At the door he was met by Kate and a burst of eager questions and he told simply all that he had seen. You'll get the details from Mr. Berry, he concluded. I know the details answered the girl. He's found the trail and he knows where it points now and he'll want to be following it before many hours have passed. Dr. Byron, I need you now terribly. You must convince Dan that if he leaves us it will be a positive danger to dad. Can you do that? At least said the doctor, there will be little deception in that. I will do what I can to persuade him to stay. Then she said hurriedly, sit here and I shall sit here. We'll meet Dan together when he comes in. They had hardly taken their places when Berry entered. The wolf had his heels. At the door he paused the flash of glance at them and then crossed the room. On the farther side he stopped again. I might be telling you, he said in a soft voice, that now Bart's got well, I got to be traveling again. I start in the morning. The pleading eyes of Kate raised Byron to his feet. My dear Mr. Berry, he called. The other turned again and waited. Do you mean that you will leave us while Mr. Cumberland is in this critical condition? A shadow crossed the face of Berry. I'd stay if I could, he answered, but it ain't possible. What takes you away is your affair, sir, said the doctor. My concern is Mr. Cumberland. He is in a very precarious condition. The slightest nerve shock may have fatal results. Dan Berry sighed. Seems to me, he answered, that he was bucking up considerable. Don't look so thin, Doc. His body may be well enough, said the doctor calmly, but his nerves are wrecked. I'm afraid to prophesy the consequences if you leave him. It was apparent that a great struggle was going on in Berry, he answered at length. How long would I have to stay? One rain could wipe out all the sign and make me like a blind man in the desert. Doc, how long would I have to stay? A few days, answered Byron, may work wonders with him. I'll go up and talk with him, he said. And what he wants, I'll do. End of Chapter XXVIII Chapter XXIX of The Night Horseman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman by Max Brand, Chapter XXIX. Talk. He was long in getting his answer. The hours dragged on slowly for Kate and the doctor. For if Joe Cumberland could hold Dan, it was everything to the girl. And if Berry left at once, there might be some route for the hope which was growing stronger and stronger every day in the heart of Randall Byron. Before evening, a not unwelcome diversion broke the suspense somewhat. It was the arrival of no less a person than Marshal Jeff Calkins. His shoulders were humped and his short legs bowed from continual riding. And his head was slung far forward on a gaunt neck, so that when he turned his head from one to another in speaking, it was with a peculiar pendulum motion. The Marshal had a reputation which was strong over the 300 miles and more of a mountain desert. This was strange, for the Marshal was a very talkative man. And talkative men are not popular on the desert. But it has been discovered that on occasion his six-gun could speak as rapidly and much more accurately than his tongue. So Marshal Calkins waxed in favor. He set the household at ease upon his arrival by announcing that they had nothing for him there. All he wanted was a place to bunk in, some chow, and feed for the horse. His trail led past the Cumberland Ranch many and many a dreary mile. The Marshal was a politic man, and he had early in life discovered that the best way to get along with any man was to meet him on his own ground. His opening blast of words at Dr. Byron was a sample of his art. So you're a doc, eh? Well, sir, when I was a kid, I had a colt that stuck its foreleg in a hole and busted it short. And when that colt had to be shot, there was no holding me, no, sir. I could have cleaned up on the whole family. And ever since then, I've had a hankering to be a doc. Something about the idea of cutting into a man that always sort of tickled me. There's only one main thing that holds me back. I don't like the idea of knife in a fella when he ain't got a chance to fight back. To this Dr. Randall Byron bowed, rather dazed, but returned, no answer. And has your patient doc pursued the irresistible Marshal? How's old Joe Cumberland? I remember when me and Joe used to trot about the range together. I was sort of a kid then. But think of old Joe being down in bed, sick, why? I ain't never been sick a day in my life. Sick? I'd laugh myself plumb to death if anybody ever wanted me to go to bed. What's the matter with him anyway? His nerves are a bit shaken about, responded the doctor, to which I might add that there is superimposed an arterial condition. Cut at short doc, cried the Marshal good naturedly. I ain't got a dictionary handy. Nerves bad, huh? Well, I don't wonder about that. The old man's had enough trouble lately to make anybody nervous. I wouldn't like to go through it myself, no sir. What with that Dan Berry? I ain't stepping on any corns, Kate, am I? She smiled vaguely, but the Marshal accepted the smile as a strong dissent. There was a time not long ago when folks said that you was kind of sweet on Dan. Glad to hear there ain't nothing in it. Smatter of fact. But here Kate interrupted with a raised hand, she said. I think that was the supper gong. Yes, there it is. We'll go in now, if you wish. There's only one sound in the world that's better to be than a dinner gong, said the profuse Marshal, as they seated themselves around the big dining room table. And that was the sound of my wife's voice when she said, I will. Queer thing too. Maria ain't got a very soft voice, most generally speaking. But when she busted up in front of that preacher and says, I will, why? God Almighty, asking your pardon, Kate. There was a change coming her voice that was like a bell chiming down in her throat. A bell ringing away off far, you know. So you only kind of guess at it. But coming back to you and Dan, Kate. It was in vain she plied the Marshal with edibles. His tongue wagged upon roller bearings and knew no stomping. Moreover, the Marshal had spent some portion of his life in a boarding house and had mastered the boarding house art of talking while he ate. Coming back to you and Dan, we was all of us saying that you and Dan kind of had an eye for each other. I suppose we was all wrong. You see, that was back in the days before Dan busted loose. When he was about the range, most usually he was the quietest man I ever sat opposite to, Baron One. And that was a fellow that went west with a bum heart at the chuck table. Ha, ha, ha. The Marshal's laughter boomed through the big room as he recalled this delightful antidote. He went on, but after that gem silent play, we all changed our minds some. Do you know, Doc, I was an elkhead the night that Dan got our Lee Haines. I've never heard of the episode, murmured the doctor. You ain't? Well, I'll be damned, asking your pardon, Kate. But you sure ain't lived in these parts long. Which you wouldn't think one man could ride into a whole town, go to the jail, knock out two guards that was proved to men, take the keys, unlock the irons off the man he wanted, saddle a horse, and ride through a whole town for the folks that were shooting at him. Now, would you think that was possible? Certainly not. And it ain't possible, I'm here to state. But there was something different about Dan Berry. Did you ever notice it, Kate? She was far past speech. No, I guess you never would have noticed it. He was living too close to him all the time to see how differing he was from other fellas. Anyway, he done it. They say he got plugged while he was riding through the lines, and he bled all the way home. And he got there unconscious. Is that right, Kate? He waited an instant and then accepted the silence as an affirmative. Funny thing about that too, the place where he come to was Buck Daniels' house. Well, Buck was one of Jim Silen's men, and they say Buck had tried to plug Dan before that. But Dan let him go that time. And when Buck seen Dan right in all covered with blood, he remembered that favor, and he kept Dan safe from Jim Silen and safe from the law until Dan was well. I seen Buck this morning over to Rafferty's place, and here the Marshal noted a singular look in the eyes of Kate Cumberland, a look so singular that he turned in his chair to follow it. He saw Dan Berry in the act of closing the door behind him, and Marshal Calkins turned a deep and violent red, varied instantly by a blotchy yellow, which in turn faded to something as near white as his tan permitted. Dan Berry gasped the Marshal rising, and he reached automatically towards his hips before he remembered that he had laid his belt and guns aside before he entered the dining room, as etiquette is in the mountain desert, for it is held that shooting at the table disturbs the appetite. Good evening, said Dan quietly. Was it Buck Daniels that you've seen at Rafferty's place, Marshal Calkins? Him not at the Marshal Horsley? Yep, Buck Daniels. And then he sank into his chair, silent for the first time. His eyes followed Berry as though hypnotized. I'm kind of glad to know where I can find him, said Berry, and took his place at the table. The silence continued for a while, with all eyes focused on the newcomer. It was the doctor who had to speak first. You talk things over with Mr. Cumberland, he asked. We had a long talk, not at Dan. He was wrong about him, Doc. He thinks he can do without me. What, cried Kate? He thinks he can do without me, said Dan Berry. We talked it all over. The silence fell again. Kate Cumberland was staring blankly down at her plate, seeing nothing, and Dr. Byron looked straight before him and felt his pulse drumming in his throat. His chance then was to come. By this time, the Marshal had recovered his breath. He said to Dan, seems like he'd been away some time, Dan. Where you been hangin' out? I've been writing about, answered Dan vaguely. Well, chuckled the Marshal. I'm glad there ain't no more Jim silence about these parts, not while you're here and while I'm here. You kept things kind of busy for Glasgow, Dan. He turned to Kate, who'd pushed back her chair. What's the matter, Kate? He moomed. He ain't lookin' too tip-top sick. I may be back in a moment, said the girl, but don't delay supper for me. She went out of the room with a step poised well enough, but the moment the door closed behind her, she fairly staggered to the nearest chair and sank into it, her head fallin' back, her eyes dim, and all the strength gone from her body and her will. Several minutes passed before she roused herself and then it was to drag herself slowly up the stairs to the door of her father's room. She opened it without knocking and then closed it and stood with her back against it in the shadow. End of Chapter 29, Chapter 30 of The Night Horseman. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman by Max Brand, Chapter 30, The Voice of Black Bart. Her father lay propped high with pillows among which his head lulled back. The only light in the room was near the bed and it cast a glow upon the face of Joe Cumberland and on the white linen, the white hair, the white pointed beard. All the rest of the room swam in darkness. The chairs were blotches, indistinct, uncertain. Even the foot of the bed trailed off to nothingness. It was like one of those impressionistic, very modern paintings where the artist centers upon one point and throws the rest of his canvas into dull oblivion. The focus here was the face of the old cattleman. The bedclothes never stirred, lay in folds sharply cut out with black shadows and they had a solid seeming as the mortcloth rendered in marble over the effigy. That suggested weight exaggerated the frailty of the body beneath the clothes. Exhausted by that burden, the old man lay in the arms of a deadly langer, so that there was a kinship of more than blood between him and Kate at this moment. She stepped to the side of the bed and stood staring down at him and there was little gentleness in her expression. So cold was that settled gaze that her father stirred at length, shivered and without opening his eyes fumbled at the bedspread and drew it a little more closely about his shoulders. Even that did not give him rest. Presently the wrinkled eyelids opened and he looked up at his daughter. The film of worryiness heavier than sleep at first obscured his sight but this in turn cleared away. He frowned a little to clear his vision and then wagged his head slowly from side to side. Kate, he said feebly, I done my best. It simply wasn't good enough. She answered in a voice as low as his but steadier. What could have happened, dad? What happened to make you give up every hold on Dan? What was it? You were the last power that could keep him here. You knew it. Why did you tell him he could go? The monotone was more deadly than any emphasis of a raised word. If you'd been here, pleaded Joe Cumberland, you'd have done what I'd done. I couldn't help it. There he sat at the foot of the bed. See where them covers still kinda sagged down. After he told me that he had something to do away from the ranch and that he wanted to go now that Black Bart was well enough to travel in short spells, he asked me if I still needed him. And you told him no, she cried. Oh, dad, you know it means everything to me, but you told him no. He raised a shaking hand to ward off the outburst and stop it. Not at first, honey. Give me a chance to talk, Kate. At first I told him that I needed him and God knows that I do need him. I don't know why. Not even Dr. Byron knows what there is about Dan that helps me. I told Dan all them things and he didn't say nothing, but just sat still on the foot of the bed and looked at me. It ain't easy to bear his eyes, Kate. I lay here and tried at first to smile at him and talk about other things, but it ain't easy to bear his eyes. You take a dog, Kate. It ain't supposed to be able to look you in the eyes for long. But suppose you met up with a dog that could. It'd make you feel sort of queer inside, which I felt that way while Dan was looking at me. Not that he was threatening me. No, it wasn't that. He was only thoughtful, but I kept getting more nervous and more fidgety. I felt after a while like I couldn't stand it. I had to crawl out of bed and began walking up and down till I got quieter, but I seen that wouldn't do. Then I begun to think. I thought of near everything in a little while. I thought of what would happen. Just suppose Dan should stay here. Maybe you and him would get to like each other again. Maybe you'd get married. Then what would happen? I thought of the wild geese flying north in the spring of the year and the wild geese flying south in the fall of the year. And I thought of Dan with his heart following the wild geese. God knows why. And I seen a picture of him standing and watching them with you nearby and not able to get one look out of him. I seen that and it made my blood chilly like the air on a frosty night. Kate, there's something like the power of prophecy that comes to a dying man. Dad, she cried, what are you saying? She slipped to her knees beside the bed and drew his cold hands toward her. But Joe Cumberland shook his head and mildly drew one hand away. He raised it with extended forefinger, a sign of infinite warning and with the glow of the lamp full upon his face, the eyes were pits of shadow with stirring orbs of fire in the depths. No, I ain't dead now, he said, but I ain't far away from it. Maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe whole months, but I've passed the top of the hill and I know I'm riding down the slope. Pretty soon I'll finish the trail, but what little time I've got left is worth more than everything that went before. I can see my life behind me and the things before like a cold morning light was over at all. You know before the sun begins to beat up the waves of heat and the mist gets tangling in front of your eyes. You know when you can look right across to 30 mile valley and name the trees most on the other side, that's the way I can see now. There ain't no feeling about it. My body is all plum paralyzed. I just see and know that's all. And what I see if you and Dan, if you ever marry is plain hell. Love ain't the only thing that is between a man and a woman. There's something else. I don't know what it is, but it's sort of a common purpose. It's having both pairs of feet stepping out on the same path. That's what it is. But your trail would go one way and Dan's would go another. And pretty soon your love wouldn't be nothing but a big wind blowing between two mountains. And all it would do would be to freeze up the blood in your hearts. I seen all that while Dan was sitting at the foot of the bed. Not that I don't want him here. When I see him, I see the world the way it was when I was under 30. When there wasn't nothing I wouldn't try once. When all I wanted was a gun and a horse and a song to keep me from trading with kings. No, it ain't going to be easy for me when Dan goes away. But what's my tag end of life compared with yours? You've got to be given a chance. You've got to be kept away from Dan. That's why I told him, finally, that I thought I could get along without him. Whether or not you save me, she answered, you signed the death warrant for at least two men when you told him that. Two men? There's only one he's after and Buck Daniels has had a long start. He can't be caught. That Marshall Calkins is here tonight. He saw Buck at Rafferty's and he talked about it in the hearing of Dan at the table. I watched Dan's face. You may read the past and see the future, Dad, but I know Dan's face. I can read it as a sailor reads the sea before tomorrow night Buck Daniels will be dead and Dan's hands will be red. She dropped her head against the bedclothes and clasped her fingers over the bright hair. When she could speak again, she raised her head and went on in the same swift, low monotone. And besides, Black Bart has found the trail of the man who fired the barn and shot him and the body of Buck won't be cold before Dan will be on the heels of the other man. Oh, Dad, two lives lay in the hollow of your hand. You could have saved them by merely asking Dan to stay with you, but you've thrown them away. Buck Daniels repeated the old man, the horror of the thing dawning on him slowly. Why didn't he get farther away? Why didn't he ride night and day after he left us? He's got to be warned that Dan is coming. I've thought of that. I'm going into my room now to write a note and send it to Buck by one of our men. But at the most, he'll have less than a day's start. And what is a day to Satan and Dan Berry? I thought it was for the best, muttered old Joe. I couldn't see how it was wrong. But I can send for Dan and tell him that I've changed my mind. He broke off in a groan. No, that wouldn't be no good. He set his mind on going by this time and nothing can keep him back. But Kate, maybe I can delay him. Has he gone up to his room yet? He's there now, talk softly or he'll hear us. He's walking up and down now. I, I, I, not at old Joe, his eyes widening with horror. And his footfalls is like the padding of a big cat. I could tell it out of a thousand steps. And I know what's going on inside his mind. Yes, yes, he's thinking of the blow Buck Daniels struck him. He's thinking of the man who shot down Bart. God save them both. Listen, whispered the cattleman. He's raised the window. I heard the rattle of the weights. He's standing there in front of the window, letting the wind of the night blow in his face. The wind from the window indeed struck against the door communicating with Joe Cumberland's room and shook it as if a hand were rattling at the knob. The girl began to speak again as swiftly as before. Her voice, the barely audible rushing of a whisper. The law will trail him, but I won't give him up. Dad, I'm going to fight once more to keep him here. And if I fail, I'll follow him around the world. Such words should have come loudly ringing. Spoken so softly, they gave a terrible effect like the ravings of delirium or the monotone of insanity. And with the white light against her face, she was more awe-inspiring than beautiful. He loved me once and the fire must still be in him. Such fire can't go out and I'll fan it back to life. And then if it burns me, if it burns us both, the fire itself cannot be more torture than to live on like this. Hushlass murmured her father, listen to what's coming. It was a moan, very low-pitched, and then rising slowly and gaining in volume, rising up the scale with a dizzying speed till it burst and rang through the house, the long drawn wail of a wolf when it hunts on a fresh trail. End of Chapter 30 Chapter 31 of The Night Horseman This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman by Max Brand Chapter 31 The Message Buck Daniels opened his eyes and sat bolt upright in bed. He had dreamed the dream again, and this time, as always, he awakened before the end. He needed no rubbing of eyes to rouse his senses. If a shower of cold water had been dashed upon him, he could not have rallied from sound slumber so suddenly. His first movement was to snatch his gun from under his mattress. Not that he dreamed of needing it, but for some reason the pressure of the butt against his palm was reassuring. It was better than the grip of his friend, a strong man. It was the first gray of dawn, a light so feeble, that it served merely to illuminate the darkness, so to speak. It fell with any power upon one thing alone, the bit of an old dusty bridle that hung against a wall, and it made the steel glitter like a watchful eye. There was a great dryness in the throat of Buck Daniels, and his whole big body shook with the pounding of his heart. He was not the only thing that was awake in the gray hour. For now he caught a faint and regular creaking of the stairs. Someone was mounting, with an excessively cautious and patient step. For usually the crazy stairs that led up to this garret room of the Rafferty House creaked and groaned a protest at every footfall. Now the footfall paused at the head of the stairs, as when one stops to listen. Buck Daniels raised his revolver and leveled it on the door, but his hand was shaking so terribly that he could not keep his aim. The muzzle kept veering back and forth across the door. He seized his right hand with his left, and crushed it with a desperate pressure. Then it was better. The quivering of the two hands counteracted each other, and he managed to keep some sort of a bead. Now the step continued again down the short hall. A hand fell on the knob of the door and pressed it slowly open. Against a deeper blackness of the hall beyond, Buck saw a tall figure, hatless. His finger curved about the trigger, and still he did not fire. Even to his hysterical brain, it occurred that Dan Berry would be wearing a hat, and moreover the form was tall. Buck called a guarded voice. The muzzle of Daniels' revolver dropped. He threw the gun on his bed and stood up. Jim Rafferty he cried with something like a groan in his voice. What in the name of God are you doing here at this hour? Someone come here and banged on the door a while ago. He had a letter for you. Must have rid long ways and come fast. While he was giving me the letter at the door, I heard his horse panting outside. He wouldn't stay but went right back. Here's the letter, Buck. Hope it ain't no bad news. Got a light here, ain't you? All right, Jim, answered Buck Daniels, taking the letter. I got a lantern. You get back to bed. The other replied with a noisy yawn and left the room, while Buck kindled the lantern. By that light he read his name upon the envelope and tore it open. It was very brief. Dear Buck, last night at supper Dan found out where you are. In the morning he's leaving the ranch and we know he intends to ride for Rafferty's place. He'll probably be there before noon. The moment you get this, saddle your horse and ride. Oh, Buck, why did you stay so close to us? Relay your horses. Don't stop until you're over the mountains. Black Bart is well enough to take the trail and Dan will use him to follow you. You know what that means. Ride, ride, ride. Kate. He crumpled up the paper and sank back upon the bed. Why did you stay so close? He had wondered at that himself many times in the past few days. Like the hunted rabbit he expected to find safety under the very nose of danger. Now that he was discovered it seemed incredible that he could have followed so patently a foolish course. In a sort of a day he uncrumpled the note again and read the wrinkled writing word by word. He had leaned close to read by the uncertain light and now he caught the faintest breath of perfume from the paper. It was a small thing, smaller among scents than a whisper is among voices. But it made Buck Daniels drop his head and crush the paper against his face. It was a moment before he could uncrumple the paper sufficiently to study the contents of the note thoroughly. At first his day's brain caught only part of the significance. Then it dawned on him that the girl thought he had fled from the Cumberland Ranch through fear of Dan Berry. Aye, there had been fear in it. Every day at the ranch he had shuttered at the thought that the destroyer might ride up on that devil of black, silk and grace Satan. But every day he had convinced himself that even then Dan Berry remembered the past and was cursing himself for the ingratitude he had shown his old friend. Now the truth swept coldly home to Buck Daniels. Berry was as fierce as ever upon the trail and Kate Cumberland thought that he, Buck Daniels, fled like a cur from danger. He seized his head between his hands and beat his knuckles against the corrugated flesh of his forehead. She had thought that. Desire for action, action, action beset him like thirst, to close with his devil, this wolf man, to set his big fingers in the smooth, almost girlish throat, to choke the yellow light out of those eyes, to die but like a man proving his manhood before the girl. He read the letter again and then in agony he crumpled it to a ball and hurled it across the room. Catching up his hat and his belt he rushed wildly from the room, thundered down the crazy stairs and out to the stable. Long best, the tall Baymare, which had carried him through three years of adventure and danger and never failed him yet, the aristocratic head above the side of the stall and winnied. For answer he shook his fist at her and cursed insanely. The saddle he jerked by one stirrup leather from the wall and flung it on her back and when she cringed to the far side of the stall he cursed her again bitterly and drew up the cinch with a lunge that made her groan. He did not wait the leader to the door before mounting but sprang into the saddle. Here he whirled her about and drove home the spurs. Cruel usage for long best had never denied him the utmost of her speed and strength at the mere sound of his voice. Now half mad with fear and surprise she sprang forward at full gallop, slipped and almost sprawled on the floor and then thundered out of the door. At once the soft sandy soil received and deadened the impact of her hoofs. Off she flew through the gray of the morning soundless as a racing ghost. Long best. There was good blood in her. She was as delicately limbed as an antelope and her heart was as strong as the smooth muscles of her shoulders and hips. Yet to buck Daniels her fastest gate seemed slower than a walk. Already his thoughts were flying far before. Already he stood before the ranch house calling to Dan Berry, by at the very door of the place they should meet and one of them must die. And better by far that the blood of him who died should stain the hands of Kate Cumberland. End of Chapter 31 Chapter 32 of The Night Horseman This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman by Max Brand Chapter 32 Victory The night which Buck Daniel saw that morning hardly brightened as the day grew for the sky was overcast with sheeted mist and through it a dull evening radiance filtered to the earth. Wong Lu, his celestial slant eyes now yellow with cold built a fire on the big hearth in the living room. It was a roaring blaze for the wood was so dry that it flamed as though soaked in oil and tumbled a mass of yellow fire up the chimney. So bright was the fire indeed that it slight quite overshadowed the meagre day which looked in at the window and every chair cast its shadow away from the hearth. Later on Kate Cumberland came down the back stairs and slipped into the kitchen. Have you seen Dan, she asked to cook? Wong Lu make nice fire, grinned the Chinaman. Miss her Dan in there. She thought for an instant. Is breakfast ready, Wong? Pretty soon quick, not at Wong Lu. Then throw out the coffee or the eggs, she said quickly. I don't want breakfast served yet. Wait till I send you word. As the door closed behind her the eyebrows of Wong rose into perfect Roman arches. Ho grunted Wong Lu. Oh, ho! In the hall Kate met Randall Byron coming down the stairs. He was dressed in white and had found the little yellow wildflower and stuck it in his buttonhole. He seemed ten years younger than the day he rode with her to the ranch and now he came to her with a quick step, smiling. Dr Byron, she said quietly breakfast will be late this morning. Also I want no one to go into the living room for a while. Will you keep them out? The doctor was instantly gone. He hasn't gone yet, he queried. Not yet. The doctor sighed and then, apparently following a sudden impulse he reached his hand to her. I hope something comes of it, he said. Even then she could not help a Wayne smile. What do you mean by that, doctor? The doctor sighed again. If the inference is not clear he said I'm afraid I cannot explain but I'll try to keep everyone from the room. She nodded her thanks and went on, but passing the mirror in the hall, the sight of her face made her stop abruptly. There was no vestige of color in it and the shadow beneath her eyes made them seem inhumanly large and deep. The bright hair to be sure waved over her head and coiled on her neck. But it was like a futile shaft of sunlight falling on a dreary moor in winter. She went on thoughtfully to the door of the living room. But there she paused again with her hand upon the knob and while she stood there she remembered herself as she had been only a few months before with the color flushing in her face and a continual light in her eyes. There had been little need for thinking then. One had only to let the wind and the sun strike on one and live. Then in a quiet despair she said to herself, As I am, I must win or lose, as I am. And she opened the door and stepped in. She had been cold with fear and excitement when she entered the room to make her last stand for happiness. But once she was in it was not so hard. Dan Berry lay on the couch at the far end of the room with his hands thrown under his head and he was smiling in a way which she well knew. It had been a danger signal in the old days and when he turned his face and said good morning to her she caught the singular glimmer of yellow which sometimes came up behind his eyes. In reply to his greeting she merely nodded and then walked slowly to the window and turned her back to him. It was a one tone landscape, sky, hills, barns, earth, all was a single mass of lifeless gray. In such an atmosphere old Homer had seen the wraiths of his dead heroes play again at the things they had done on earth. She noted these things with a blank eye. For a thousand thoughts were leaping through her mind. Something must be done. There he lay in the same room with her. He had turned his head back no doubt and was staring at the ceiling as before and the yellow glimmer was in his eyes again. Perhaps after this day she should never see him again. Every moment was precious beyond the price of gold and yet there she stood at the window doing nothing. But what could she do? Should she go to him and fall on her knees beside him and pour out her heart telling him again of the old days? No, it would be like striking on a wooden bell. No echo would rise and she knew beforehand the deadly blackness of his eyes. So Black Bart lay often in the sun staring at infinite distance and seeing nothing but his dreams of battle. What were appeals and what were words to Black Bart? What were they to Dan Berry? Yet once, by sitting still the thought made her blood leap with a great joyous pulse that set her cheeks tingling. She waited till the first impulse of excitement had subsided and then turned back and sat down in a chair near the fire. From a corner of her eye she was aware that whistling Dan had turned his head again to await her first speech. Then she fixed her gaze on the wall of yellow flame. The impulse to speak to him was like a hand tugging to turn her around and the words came up and swelled in her throat but still she would not stir. In a moment of rationality she felt in an overwhelming wave of mental coldness the folly of her course. But she shut out the thought with a slight shudder. Silence to Dan Berry had a louder voice and more meaning than any words. Then she knew that he was sitting up on the couch. Was he about to stand and walk out of the room? For moment after moment he did not stir and at length she knew with a breathless certainty that he was staring fixately at her. The hand which was farthest from him and hidden she gripped hard upon the arm of the chair. That was some comfort, some added strength. She now had the same emotion she had had when Black Bart slunk toward her under the tree. If a single perceptible tremor shook her if she showed the slightest awareness of the subtle approach she was undone it was her only apparent unconsciousness which could draw either the wolf dog or the master. She remembered what her father had told her of hunting young deer how he had lain in the grass and thrust up a leg above the grass in sight of the deer and how they would first run away but finally come back step by step drawn by an invincible curiosity until at length they were within range of a point blank shot. Now she must concentrate on the flames of the fireplace see nothing but them think of nothing but the swiftly changing domes and walls and pinnacles they made. She leaned a little forward and rested her cheek upon her right hand and thereby she shut out the sight of Danbury effectually. Also it made a brace to keep her from turning her head towards him and she needed every support physical and mental. Still he did not move was he in truth looking at her or was he staring beyond her at the gray sky which lowered past the window the faintest creaking sound told her that he had risen slowly from the couch then not a sound except that she knew in some mysterious manner that he moved but whether towards her or towards the door she could not dream she stepped suddenly and noiselessly into the range of her vision and sat down on a low bench at one side of the hearth if the strain had been tensed before it now became terrible for there he sat almost facing her and looking intently at her yet she must keep all awareness of him out of her eyes. In the excitement a strong pulse began to beat in the hollow of her throat as if her heart were rising she had won she had kept him in the room she had brought him to a keen thought of her a pyrrhic victory for she was poised on the very edge of a cliff of hysteria she began to feel a tremor of the hand which supported her cheek if that should become visible to him he would instantly know that all her apparent unconsciousness was a sham and then she would have lost him truly something sounded at one of the doors and then the door opened softly she was almost glad of the interruption for another instant might have swept away the last reserve of her strength so this then was the end but the footfall which sounded in the apartment was a soft patting step with a little scratching sound light as a finger running on a frosty windowpane and then a long shaggy head slipped close to whistling Dan it was Black Bart a wave of terror swept through her she remembered another scene not many months before when Black Bart had drawn his master away from her and led him south, south after the wild geese the wolf dog had come again like a demoniac spirit to undo her plans only an instant the crisis of a battle then the great beast turned slowly faced her slunk with his long stride closer and then a cold nose touched the hand which gripped the arm of her chair it gave her a welcome excuse for action of some sort she reached out her hand slowly and touched the forehead of Black Bart he winced back and the long fangs flashed her hand remained tremulously poised in air and then the long head approached again cautiously and once more she touched it and since it did not stir she trailed the tips of her fingers backwards towards the ears Black Bart snarled again but it was a sound so subdued has to be almost like the purring of a great cat he sank down and the weight of his head came upon her feet victory in the full tide of conscious power she was able to drop her hand from her face raise her head turn her glance carelessly upon Dan Berry she was met by ominously glowing eyes anger at least it was not indifference he rose and stepped in his noiseless way behind her but he reappeared instantly on the other side and reached out his hand to where her fingers trailed limp from the arm of the chair there he let them lie white and cool against the darkness of his palm it was as if he sought in the hand for the secret of her power over the wolf-dog she let her head rest against the back of the chair and watched the nervous and sinewy hand upon which her own rested she had seen those hands fixed in the throat of Black Bart himself once upon a time a grim simile came to her the tips of her fingers touched the paw of the panther the steel-sharp claws were sheathed but suppose once they were bared and clutched or she stood touching a switch which might loose by the slightest motion a terrific voltage what would happen? nothing presently the hand released her fingers and Dan Berry stepped back and stood with folded arms frowning at the fire in the weakness which overcame her in the grip of the wild excitement she dared not stay near him longer she rose and walked into the dining-room served breakfast now long she commanded and at once the gong was struck by the cook before the long vibrations had died away the guests were gathered around the table and the noisy marshal was the first to come he slammed back a chair and sat down with a grunt of expectancy morning, Diane, he said, wetting his knife across the tablecloth I hear you're riding this morning ain't going my way, are you? Dan Berry sat frowning steadily down at the table it was a moment before he answered I ain't leaving, he said softly at length postponed my trip End of Chapter 32