cked
himself at the very instant of firing. The master of the two animals
stood with arms folded, actually smiling upon the fight!

"For God's sake!" cried the marshal. "Shoot the damned wolf, man, or
he'll have your horse by the throat!"

"Leave 'em be," said Dan, without turning his head. "Satan an' Black
Bart ain't got any other dogs an' hosses to run around with. They's
jest playing a little by way of exercise."

Calder stood agape before what seemed the incarnate fury of the pair.
Then he noticed that those snapping fangs, however close they came,
always missed the flesh of the stallion, and the driving hoofs never
actually endangered the leaping wolf.

"Stop 'em!" he cried at last. "It makes me nervous to watch that sort
of play. It isn't natural!"

"All right," said Dan. "Stop it, boys."

He had not raised his voice, but they ceased their wild gambols
instantly, the stallion, with head thrown high and arched tail and
heaving sides, while the wolf, with lolling red tongue, strolled
calmly towards his master.

The latter paid no further attention to them, but set about kindling a
small fire over which to cook supper. Calder joined him. The marshal's
mind was too full for speech, but now and again he turned a long
glance of wonder upon the stallion or Black Bart. In the same silence
they sat under the last light of the sunset and ate their supper.
Calder, with head bent, pondered over the man of mystery and his two
tamed animals. Tamed? Not one of the three was tamed, the man least of
all.

He saw Dan pause from his eating to stare with wide, vacant eyes among
the trees. The wolf-dog approached, looked up in his master's face,
whined softly, and getting no response went back to his place and lay
down, his eyes never moving from Dan. Still he stared among the trees.
The gloom deepened, and he smiled faintly. He began to whistle, a low,
melancholy strain so soft that it blended with the growing hush of the
night. Calder listened, wholly overawed. That weird music seemed an
interpretation of the vast spaces of the mountains, of the pitiless
desert, of the limitless silences, and the whistler was an
understanding part of the whole.

He became aware of a black shadow behind the musician. It was Satan,
who rested his nose on the shoulder of the master. Without ceasing his
whistling Dan raised a hand, touched the small muzzle, and Satan went
at once to a side of the clearing and lay down. It was almost as if
t