“What is it, Dan?”

“He was pretty big, Kate.  He was bigger’n almost any man I ever seen!  It was kind of funny.  After he hit me I was almost glad.  I didn’t hate him—­”

“Dear Dan!”

“I didn’t hate him—­I jest nacherally wanted to kill him—­and wantin’ to do that made me glad.  Isn’t that funny, Kate?”

He spoke of it as a chance traveller might point out a striking feature of the landscape to a companion.

“Dan, if you really care for me you must drop the thought of him.”

His hand slipped away.

“How can I do that?  That writin’ I was tellin’ you about—­”

“Yes?”

“It’s about him!”

“Ah!”

“When he hit me the first time—­”

“I won’t hear you tell of it!”

“The blood come down my chin—­jest a little trickle of it.  It was warm, Kate.  That was what made me hot all through.”

Her hands fell limp, cold, lifeless.

“It’s as clear as the print in a book.  I’ve got to finish him.  That’s the only way I can forget the taste of my own blood.”

“Dan, listen to me!”

He laughed again, in the new way.  She remembered that her father had dreaded the very thing that had come to Dan—­this first taste of his own powers—­this first taste (she shuddered) of blood!

“Dan, you’ve told me that you like me.  You have to make a choice now, between pursuing this man, and me.”

“You don’t understand,” he explained carefully.  “I got to follow him.  I can’t help it no more’n Black Bart can help howlin’ when he sees the moon.”

He fell silent, listening.  Far across the hills came the plaintive wail of a coyote—­that shrill bodiless sound.  Kate trembled.

“Dan!”

Outside, Satan whinnied softly like a call.  She leaned and her lips touched his.  He thrust her away almost roughly.

“They’s blood on my lips, Kate!  I can’t kiss you till they’re clean.”

He turned his head.

“You must listen to me, Dan!”

“Kate, would you talk to the wind?”

“Yes, if I loved the wind!”

He turned his head.

She pleaded:  “Here are my hands to cover your eyes and shut out the thoughts of this man you hate.  Here are my lips, dear, to tell you that I love you unless this thirst for killing carries you away from me.  Stay with me!  Give me your heart to keep gentle!”

He said nothing, but even through the dark she was aware of a struggle in his face, and then, through the gloom, she began to see his eyes more clearly.  They seemed to be illuminated by a light from within—­they changed—­there was a hint of yellow in the brown.  And she spoke again, blindly, passionately.

“Give me your promise!  It is so easy to do.  One little word will make you safe.  It will save you from yourself.”

Still he answered nothing.  Black Bart came and crouched at his head and stared at her fixedly.