ood shivering, more
devilish than ever. She stamped again.

"Bad, bad, bad Bart," she said angrily. "Shall I make him come again?"

"Leave him be," muttered Vic, closing his eyes. "Leave him be where he
is. I don't want him."

"Oh," she said, "it's hard to make him do things, sometimes. But Daddy
Dan can make him do anything."

"Humph!" grunted Vic. He was remembering how, at the master's order,
Bart had crouched at his feet in the wood, an unchained murderer
hungrily waiting for an excuse to kill. There was something very odd
about the people of this house; and it would be a long time before he
rid himself of the impression of the cold, steady eyes which had flashed
up to him a moment before out of that baby face.

"Joan!" called a voice from beyond, and the soft fiber of it made Vic
certain that it belonged to the rider of the black stallion. The little
girl ran a step towards the door, and then stopped and shrank back
against the bed.

"If you're afraid your Dad'll find you here," said Vic, "just you run
along."

She was nervously twisting her hands in her dress.

"Daddy Dan'll know," she whispered without turning. "And--and--he won't
let me be afraid---even of him!"

A small hand slipped up, fumbled a bit, found the thumb of Vic Gregg,
and closed softly over it. With this to steady her, she waited, facing
the door.

Chapter VIII. Discipline

A light step crossed the outer room, with something peculiar in its
lightness, as if the heel were not touching the floor, with the effect
of the padded fall of the feet of some great cat; there was both
softness and the sense of weight. First the wolf-dog pricked his ears
and turned towards the door, the pudgy fist closed convulsively over
Vic's thumb, and then his rescuer stood in the entrance.

"Hello, partner," called Vic. "I got company, you see. The door blew
open and I asked your little girl in."

"I told you not to come here," said the other. Vic felt the child
tremble, but there was no burst of excuses.

"She didn't want to come," he urged. "But I kep' on askin' her."

The emotionless eye of "Daddy Dan" held upon Joan. "I told you not to
come," he said. Joan swallowed in mute agony, and the wolf-dog slipped
to the side of the master and licked his hand as though in dumb
intercession. The blood ran coldly in the veins of Gregg, as if he saw a
fist raised to strike the little girl.

"You go out."

She went swiftly, at that, sidled past her fathe