e an evening when she watched Dan play with Black Bart--a
game of tag in which they darted about the room with a violence
which threatened to wreck the furniture, but running with such soft
footfalls that there was no sound except the rattle of Bart's claws
against the floor and the rush of their breath. They came to an abrupt
stop and Dan dropped into a chair while Black Bart sank upon his
haunches and snapped at the hand which Dan flicked across his face
with lightning movements. The master fell motionless and silent. His
eyes forgot the wolf. Rising, they rested on Kate's face. They rose
again and looked past her.

She understood and waited.

"Kate," he said at last, "I've got to start on the trail."

Her smile went out. She looked where she knew his eyes were staring,
through the window and far out across the hills where the shadows
deepened and dropped slanting and black across the hollows. Far away
a coyote wailed. The wind which swept the hills seemed to her like a
refrain of Dan's whistling--the song and the summons of the untamed.

"That trail will never bring you home," she said.

There was a long silence.

"You ain't cryin', honey?"

"I'm not crying, Dan."

"I got to go."

"Yes."

"Kate, you got a dyin' whisper in your voice."

"That will pass, dear."

"Why, honey, you _are_ cryin'!"

He took her face between his hands, and stared into her misted eyes,
but then his glance wandered past her, through the window, out to the
shadowy hills.

"You won't leave me now?" she pleaded.

"I must!"

"Give me one hour more!"

"Look!" he said, and pointed.

She saw Black Bart reared up with his forepaws resting on the
window-sill, while he looked into the thickening night with the eyes
of the hunter which sees in the dark.

"The wolf knows, Kate," he said, "but I can't explain."

He kissed her forehead, but she strained close to him and raised her
lips.

She cried, "My whole soul is on them."

"Not that!" he said huskily. "There's still blood on my lips an' I'm
goin' out to get them clean."

He was gone through the door with the wolf racing before him.

She stumbled after him, her arms outspread, blind with tears; and
then, seeing that he was gone indeed, she dropped into the chair,
buried her face against the place where his head had rested, and wept.
Far away the coyote wailed again, and this time nearer.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE COWARD

Before the coyote cried again, three shadow