The wolf was instantly on his feet and lunging again, but a sharp “Heel!” from Dan checked him mid-leap.  He came to a shuddering halt behind the legs of his master.  Whistling Dan slipped a little closer to the giant.

“I should have knowed you before,” he said in a voice which carried only to the ears of Strann.  “You’re the brother of Jerry Strann.  And they’s a reason why Bart hates you, partner!”

The thick upper lip of Strann lifted slightly as he spoke.

“Him or you—­you and your wolf together or one by one—­it don’t make no difference to me.  I’ve come for you, Barry!”

The other straightened a little, and his eyes travelled slowly up and down the form of Strann.

“I been hungering to meet a man like you,” he said.  “Hungerin’, partner.”

“North of town they’s the old McDuffy place, all in ruins and nobody ever near it.  I’ll be there in an hour, m’frien’.”

“I’ll be waiting for you there,” nodded Mac Strann, and so saying, he turned back to his table as if he had been interrupted by nothing more than a casual greeting.  Still Dan Barry remained a moment with his eyes on the face of Mac Strann.  And when he turned and walked with his light, soundless step down the length of the silent barroom, the wolf-dog slunk at his heels, ever and anon swinging his head over his shoulder and glancing back at the giant at the end of the room.  As the door closed on man and dog, the saloon broke once more into murmur, and then into an excited clamoring.  Pale Annie stepped from behind the bar and leaned upon the table beside Mac Strann.  Even while leaning in this manner the bartender was as tall as the average man; he waved back the others with a gesture of his tremendous arm.  Then he reached out and took the hand of Mac Strann in his clammy fingers.

“My friend,” said the ex-undertaker in his careful manner, “I seen a man once California a husky two-year-old—­which nobody said could be done, and I’ve seen some other things, but I’ve never seen anything to touch the way you handled Black Bart.  D’you know anything about that dog?”

Mac Strann shook his ponderous head and his dull eyes considered Pale Annie with an expression of almost living curiosity.

“Black Bart has a record behind him that an old time gun-man would have heard with envy.  There are dead men in the record of that dog, sir!”

All this he had spoken in a comparatively loud voice, but now, noting that the others had heeded his gesture and had made back towards the bar to drink on the strength of that strange fight between man and beast, the bartender approached his lips close to the ear of the giant.

He said in a rapid murmur:  “I watched you talking with Dan Barry and I saw Barry’s face when he went out.  You and he are to meet somewhere again to-day.  My friend, don’t throw yourself away.”