He had been warned to watch that
door, but it did not need a warning to tell him that a danger was
approaching the sleeping master. In the crouched form of the man, in
the cautious step, he recognized the unmistakable stalking of one who
hunts. Another soft step the man made forward.
Then, with appalling suddenness, a blacker shadow shot up from the
deep night of the floor, and white teeth gleamed before the stranger's
face. He threw up his hand to save his throat. The teeth sank into
his arm--a driving weight hurled him against the wall and then to
the floor--the revolver and the lantern dropped clattering, and the
latter, rolling from its wrapping, flooded the room with light. But
neither man nor wolf uttered a sound.
Calder was standing, gun in hand, but too bewildered to act, while
Dan, as if he were playing a part long rehearsed, stood covering the
fallen form of Buck Daniels.
"Stand back from him, Bart!" he commanded.
The wolf slipped off a pace, whining with horrible eagerness, for he
had tasted blood. Far away a shout came from Sam Daniels. Dan lowered
his gun.
"Stand up," he ordered.
The big fellow picked himself up and stood against the wall with the
blood streaming down his right arm.
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