“Because you're so afraid of the dark.”
“Joan's not afraid. Oh, no! Joan loves the dark.”
If Kate maintained a smile, it was a frozen grimace. It had only been a few days—hardly yesterday—that Joan left, and already she was a little stranger. Suppose Dan should refuse to come back himself; refuse even to give up Joan! She started up, clutching the hand of the child.
“Quick, Joan, we must go!”
“Joan doesn't want to go!”
“We'll go—for a little walk. We—we'll surprise Daddy Dan.”
“But Daddy Dan won't come back for long, long time. Not till the sun is away down behind that hill.”
That should mean two hours, at least, thought Kate. She could wait a little.
“Joan, what taught you not to be afraid of the dark?”
This problem made Joan look about for an answer, but at length she called softly: “Jackie!”
She waited, and then whistled; at once the bright eyes of the little coyote appeared around the edge of the rock.
“Come here!” she commanded.
He slunk out with his head turned towards Kate and cowered at the feet of the child. And the mother cringed inwardly at the sight; all wild things which hated man instinctively with tooth and claw were the friends, the allies of Whistling Dan, and now Joan was
