ircle of lynchers around him, and
only two terror-stricken guards to save him from the most horrible of
deaths. Then came Fate and tore him away and gave him to the liberty
of the boundless hills. Fate in the person of this slender, sombre
man. He stared at Dan with awe.

At the top of a hill his companion drew rein, reeling in the saddle
with the suddenness of the halt. However, in such a horseman, this
could not be. It must be merely a freak feature of his riding.

"Move," said Dan, his breath coming in pants. "Line out and get to
her."

"To who?" said Haines, utterly bewildered.

"Delilah!"

"What?"

"Damn you, she's waitin' for you."

"In the name of God, Barry, why do you talk like this after you've
saved me from hell?"

He stretched out his hand eagerly, but Dan reined Satan back.

"Keep your hand. I hate you worse'n hell. There ain't room enough in
the world for us both. If you want to thank me do it by keepin' out of
my path. Because the next time we meet you're goin' to die, Haines.
It's writ in a book. Now feed your hoss the spur and run for Kate
Cumberland. But remember--I'm goin' to get you again if I can."

"Kate--" began Haines. "She sent you for me?"

Only the yellow blazing eyes made answer and the wail of a coyote far
away on the shadowy hill.

"Kate!" cried Haines again, but now there was a world of new meaning
in his voice. He swung his horse and spurred down the slope.

At the next hill-crest he turned in the saddle, saw the motionless
rider still outlined against the sky, and brought the bay to a halt.
He was greatly troubled. For a reason mysterious and far beyond the
horizon of his knowledge, Dan was surrendering Kate Cumberland to him.

"He's doing it while he still loves her," muttered Haines, "and am I
cur enough to take her from him after he has saved me from God knows
what?"

He turned his horse to ride back, but at that moment he caught
the weird, the unearthly note of Dan's whistling. There was both
melancholy and gladness in it. The storm wind running on the hills and
exulting in the blind terror of the night had such a song as this to
sing.

"If he was a man," Haines argued briefly with himself, "I'd do it. But
he isn't a man. He's a devil. He has no more heart than the wolf which
owns him as master. Shall I give a girl like Kate Cumberland to that
wild panther? She's mine--all mine!"

Once more he turned his horse and this time galloped steadily on into
the night.