stepping in her father's path. A little while longer and the last vestige of gentleness would pass from her. She would be like Dan Barry, following calls which no other human could even hear. It meant one thing: at whatever cost, Joan must be taken from Dan and kept away.
“Jackie sleeps near me,” Joan was saying. “We can see in the dark, can't we, Jackie?”
She lifted her head, and the moment her compelling eyes left him, Jackie scooted for shelter. The first strangeness had worn away from Joan and she began to chatter away about life in the cave, and how Satan played there by the firelight with Black Bart, and how, sometimes—wonderful sight!—Daddy Dan played with them. The recital was quite endless, as they pushed farther and farther into the shadows, and it was the uneasiness which the dim light raised in her that made Kate determine that the time had come to go home.
“Now,” she said, “we're going for that walk.”
“Not away down there!” cried Joan.
Kate winced.
“It's lots nicer here, munner. You'd ought to just see what we have to eat! And my, Daddy Dan knows how to fix things.”
“Of course he does. Now put on your hat and your cloak, Joan.”
“This is lots warmer, munner.”
