What he saw was a black head cutting the water just above him, and beside the horse, one hand upon the beast’s mane, swam a man.  At the same instant a hand fastened on his collar and he was drawn slowly against the force of the river.

In the stunning surprise of the first moment he could make no effort to save himself, and as a result, all three were washed hopelessly down the current, but a shrill warning from his rescuer set him fighting again with all the power of his great limbs.  After that they forged steadily towards the shore.  The black horse swam with amazing strength, and breaking the force of the current for the men, they soon passed from the full grip of the torrent and forged into the smoother shallows at the side of the stream.  In a moment firm land was beneath the feet of Mac Strann, and he turned his dull eyes of amazement upon Dan Barry.  The latter stood beside the panting black horse.  He had not even thrown off his slicker in the fording of the stream—­there had been no time for even that small delay if he wished to save Strann.  And now he was throwing back the folds of the garment to leave free play for his arms.  He panted from the fierce effort of the fording, but his head was high, a singular smile lingered about the corners of his mouth, and in his eyes Mac Strann saw the gleam of yellow, a signal of unfathomable danger.

From his holsters Barry drew two revolvers.  One he retained; the other he tossed towards Mac Strann, and the latter caught it automatically.

“Now,” said the soft voice of Barry, “we’re equally armed.—­Down, Bart!——­” (for the wolf-dog was slinking with ominous intent towards the giant) and there’s the dog you shot.  “If you drop me, you can send your next shot into Bart.  If I drop you, the teeth of Bart will be in your throat.  Make your own terms; fight in the way you want; knives, if you like ’em better than guns, or——­” and here the yellow flamed terribly in Barry’s eyes—­“bare hand to hand!”

The grim truth sank slowly home in the dull mind of Mac Strann.  The man had saved him from the water to kill him on dry land.

“Barry,” he said slowly, “it was your bullet that brung down Jerry; but you’ve paid me back here.  They’s nothin’ left on earth worth fightin’ for.  There’s your gun.”

And he threw the revolver into the mud at Barry’s feet, turned on his heel, and lumbered off into the rain.  There was no voice of answer behind him, except a shrill whine of rage from Black Bart and then a sharp command:  “Down!” from the master.  As the blanket of rain shut over him, Mac Strann looked back.  There stood the strange man with the wolf crouched at his feet, and the teeth of Bart were bared, and the hum of his horrible snarling carried to Strann through the beat of the rain.  Mac Strann turned again, and plodded slowly through the storm.