broad paw appear in the interval. The snaky head of Black Bart thrust into the room.
Without a word, Daniels drew his gun.
“Wait!” commanded Kate. Joan awoke with a start at the sharpness of this voice. “Don't shoot, Buck. See that bit of paper under his throat. He's bringing a message.”
“Bart!” cried Joan, slipping to the floor from her mother's lap, but when she ran toward the wolf-dog, that tremendous snarl of warning stopped her short. Bart slunk toward Kate.
“Look out, Kate!” cried Haines. “The black devil means murder.”
“Don't move, or he'll go at your throat,” she answered. “There's no danger to me. He's been ordered to go to me and he won't let even Joan touch him. See!”
He had glided past the amazed, outstretched arms of Joan and went straight to Kate and stopped beside her, obviously expectant. She reached for the slip of folded paper, and as her hand approached he crouched a little, growling; but it was only to caution her, apparently, and though he distrusted the hand, he allowed it to unfasten the missive.
She untwisted the note, she read aloud: “Kate, send Joan back to me or I come for her. Send her with Bart.”
It seemed as though the wolf-dog understood the written words, for now he moved toward Joan and
