He turned and ran towards the door, stopped, looked back to her, and made a sound which was nearer to the bark of a dog than anything he had ever uttered.  She made a step after him.  He whined with delight and moved closer to the door.  Now she stopped again.  He whirled and ran back, caught her dress in his teeth, and again made for the door, tugging her after him.

At last she understood and followed him.  When she went towards the corral to get her horse, he planted himself in front of her and snarled so furiously that she gave up her purpose.  She was beginning to be more and more afraid.  A childish thought came to her that perhaps this brute was attempting to lure her away from the house, as she had seen coyotes lure dogs, and then turn his teeth against her.  Nevertheless she followed.  Something in the animal’s eagerness moved her deeply.  When he led her out to the road he released her dress and trotted ahead a short distance, looking back and whining, as if to beg her to go faster.  For the first time the thought of Dan came into her mind.  Black Bart was leading her down the road towards Morgan’s place.  What if something had happened to Dan?

She caught a breath of sharp terror and broke into a run.  Bart yelped his pleasure.  Yet a cold horror rose in her heart as she hurried.  Had her father after all been right?  What power had Dan, if he needed her, to communicate with this mute beast and send him to her?  As she ran she wished for the day, the warm, clear sun—­for these growing shadows of evening bred a thousand ghostly thoughts.  Black Bart was running backwards and forwards before her as if he half entreated and half threatened her.

Her heart died within her as she came in sight of Morgan’s place.  There was only one horse before it, and that was the black stallion.  Why had the others gone so soon?  Breathless, she reached the door of the saloon.  It was very dim within.  She could make out only formless shades at first.  Black Bart slid noiselessly across the floor.  She followed him with her eyes, and now she saw a figure stretched straight out on the floor while another man kneeled at his side.  She ran forward with a cry.

Morgan rose, stammering.  She pushed him aside and dropped beside Dan.  A broad white bandage circled his head.  His face was almost as pale as the cloth.  Her touches went everywhere over that cold face, and she moaned little syllables that had no meaning.  He lived, but it seemed to her that she had found him at the legended gates of death.

“Miss Kate!” said Morgan desperately.

“You murderer!”

“You don’t think that I did that?”

“It happened in your place—­you had given Dad your word!”

Still she did not turn her head.

“Won’t you hear me explain?  He’s jest in a sort of a trance.  He’ll wake up feelin’ all right.  Don’t try to move him tonight.  I’ll go out an’ put his hoss up in the shed.  In the mornin’ he’ll be as good as new.  Miss Kate, won’t you listen to me?”