forwards, as if expecting some order.  Once or twice he whinnied very softly, and finally Dan sat down beside Satan, his shoulders leaned against the satiny side and his arms flung out along the stallion’s back.  Several times he felt hot breath against his cheek as the horse turned a curious head towards him, but he paid no attention, even when the stallion whinnied a question in his ear.  In his heart was a numb, strange feeling which made him weak.  He was even blind to the fact that Black Bart at last slipped into the shadows of the willows.

Presently something cold touched his chin.  He found himself staring into the yellow-green eyes of Black Bart, who panted from his run, and now dropped from his mouth something which fell into Dan’s lap.  It was the glove of Kate Cumberland.  In the grasp of his long nervous fingers, how small it was!; and yet the hand which had wrinkled the leather was strong enough to hold the heart of a man.  He slipped and caught the shaggy black head of Bart between his hands.  The wolf knew—­in some mysterious way he knew!

The touch of sympathy unnerved him.  All his sorrow and his weakness burst on his soul in a single wave.  A big tear struck the shining nose of the wolf.

“Bart!” he whispered.  “Did you figger on plumb bustin’ my heart, pal?”

To avoid those large melancholy eyes, Bart pressed his head inside of his master’s arms.

“Delilah!” whispered Dan.

After that not a sound came from the three, the horse, the dog, or the man.  Black Bart curled up at the feet of his master and seemed to sleep, but every now and then an ear raised or an eye twitched open.  He was on guard against a danger which he did not understand.  The horse, also, with a high head scanned the circling willows, alert; but the man for whom the stallion and the wolf watched gave no heed to either.  There was a vacant and dreamy expression in his eye as if he was searching his own inner heart and found there the greatest enemy of all.  All night they sat in this manner, silent, moveless; the animals watching against the world, the man watching against himself.  Before dawn he roused himself suddenly, crossed to the sleeping marshal, and touched him on the arm.

“It’s time we hit the trail,” he said, as Calder sat up in the blanket.

“What’s happened?  Isn’t it our job to comb the willows?”

“Silent ain’t in the willows.”

Calder started to his feet.

“How do you know?”

“They ain’t close to us, that’s all I know.”

Tex smiled incredulously.

“I suppose,” he said good humouredly, “that your instinct brought you this message?”

“Instinct?” repeated Dan blankly, “I dunno.”

Calder grew serious.

“We’ll take a chance that you may be right.  At least we can ride down the river bank and see if there are any fresh tracks in the sand.  If Silent started this morning I have an idea he’ll head across the river and line out for the railroad.”