He had formulated no plan of action to free Buck and kill Silent.  All he knew was that he must reach the long riders at once, and he would learn their whereabouts from Morris.  He rode more slowly as he approached the hotel of the sheriff.  Lights burned at the dining-room windows.  Probably the host still sat at table with his guests, but it was strange that they should linger over their meal so late.  He had hoped that he would be able to come upon Morris by surprise.  Now he must take him in the midst of many men.  With Black Bart slinking at his heels he walked softly across the porch and tiptoed through the front room.

The door to the dining-room was wide.  Around the table sat a dozen men, with the sheriff at their head.  The latter, somewhat red of face, as if from the effort of a long speech, was talking low and earnestly, sometimes brandishing his clenched fist with such violence that it made his flabby cheeks quiver.

“We’ll get to the house right after dawn,” he was saying, “because that’s the time when most men are so thick-headed with sleep that—­”

“Not Whistling Dan Barry,” said one of the men, shaking his head.  “He won’t be thick-headed.  Remember, I seen him work in Elkhead, when he slipped through the hands of a roomful of us.”

A growl of agreement went around the table, and Black Bart in sympathy, echoed the noise softly.

“What’s that?” called the sheriff, raising his head sharply.

Dan, with a quick gesture, made Black Bart slink a pace back.

“Nothin’,” replied one of the men.  “This business is gettin’ on your nerves, sheriff.  I don’t blame you.  It’s gettin’ on mine.”

“I’m trustin’ to you boys to stand back of me all through,” said the sheriff with a sort of whine, “but I’m thinkin’ that we won’t have no trouble.  When we see him we won’t stop for no questions to be asked, but turn loose with our six-guns an’ shoot him down like a dog.  He’s not human an’ he don’t deserve—­Oh, God!”

He started up from his chair, white faced, his hands high above his head, staring at the apparition of Whistling Dan, who stood with two revolvers covering the posse.  Every man was on his feet instantly, with arms straining stiffly up.  The muzzles of revolvers are like the eyes of some portraits.  No matter from what angle you look at them, they seem directed straight at you.  And every cowpuncher in the room was sure that he was the main object of Dan’s aim.

“Morris!” said Dan.

“For God’s sake, don’t shoot!” screamed the sheriff.  “I—­”

“Git down on your knees!  Watch him, Bart!”

As the sheriff sank obediently to his knees, the wolf slipped up to him with a stealthy stride and stood half crouched, his teeth bared, silent.  No growl could have made Bart more terribly threatening.  Dan turned completely away from Morris so that he could keep a more careful watch on the others.

“Call off your wolf!” moaned Morris, a sob of terror in his voice.