she, with a cry, dropped the squealing puppy and caught the great head of Bart in her arms. The puppy wailed, sitting down on his haunches, and quivering with grief.
“Daddy Dan wants me,” explained Joan with bright eyes. “He's sent for me. Go quick, Bart!”
The big animal lay down to facilitate her mounting.
“Joan!” called Kate. The child hesitated and turned toward her. Her mother had taken up that light revolver which Dan had taught her to use so well, and now, as she leveled it at the wolf-dog, Bart laid his fangs bare in silent hate. The weapons of Buck and Lee Haines were ready, and now Bart raised himself a little and commenced to drag gradually forward to leaping distance.
“Drop your gun, Kate,” cautioned Buck. “For God's sake drop your gun. Even if you hit him with a bullet, he'll be at your throat. Unless you kill him with the first shot he'll have you. Drop your gun, and then he'll go at us.”
But Joan knew perfectly well what those gleaming bits of steel meant. She had seen Daddy Dan shoot and kill, and now she ran screaming between Bart and danger.
“Munner!” she cried. “You bad, bad men. I won't let you hurt Bart.”
“They won't hurt you, Bart,” explained Joan, taming much mollified to the great wolf-dog. “They're just playin'. Now we'll go.”
And she started toward the door, with Bart slinking
