As the crowd closed around Dan, a black body leaped among them, snarling hideously.  They sprang back with a yell from the rush of this green-eyed fury; but Black Bart made no effort to attack them.  He sat crouching before the prostrate body, licking the deathly white face, and growling horribly, and then stood over his fallen master and stared about the circle.  Those who had seen a lone wolf make its stand against a pack of dogs recognized the attitude.  Then without a sound, as swiftly as he had entered the room, he leaped through the door and darted off up the road.  Satan, for the first time deserted by this wolfish companion, turned a high head and neighed after him, but he raced on.

The men returned to their work over Dan’s body, cursing softly.  There was a hair-raising unearthliness about the sudden coming and departure of Black Bart.  Jim Silent and his comrades waited no longer, but took to their saddles and galloped down the road.

Within a few moments the crowd at Morgan’s place began to thin out.  Evening was coming on, and most of them had far to ride.  They might have lingered until midnight, but this peculiar accident damped their spirits.  Probably not a hundred words were spoken from the moment Silent struck Dan to the time when the last of the cattlemen took to the saddle.  They avoided each other’s eyes as if in shame.  In a short time only Morgan remained working over Dan.

In the house of old Joe Cumberland his daughter sat fingering the keys of the only piano within many miles.  The evening gloom deepened as she played with upward face and reminiscent eyes.  The tune was uncertain, weird—­for she was trying to recall one of those nameless airs which Dan whistled as he rode through the hills.  There came a patter of swift, light footfalls in the hall, and then a heavy scratching at the door.

“Down, Bart!” she called, and went to admit him to the room.

The moment she turned the handle the door burst open and Bart fell in against her.  She cried out at sight of the gleaming teeth and eyes, but he fawned about her feet, alternately whining and snarling.

“What is it, boy?” she asked, gathering her skirts close about her ankles and stepping back, for she never was without some fear of this black monster.  “What do you want, Bart?”

For reply he stood stock still, raised his nose, and emitted a long wail, a mournful, a ghastly sound, with a broken-hearted quaver at the end.  Kate Cumberland shrank back still farther until the wall blocked her retreat.  Black Bart had never acted like this before.  He followed her with a green light in his eyes, which shone phosphorescent and distinct through the growing shadows.  And most terrible of all was the sound which came deep in his throat as if his brute nature was struggling to speak human words.  She felt a great impulse to cry out for help, but checked herself.  He was still crouching about her feet.  Obviously he meant no harm to her.