There was both
melancholy and gladness in it. The storm wind running on the hills and
exulting in the blind terror of the night had such a song as this to
sing.
"If he was a man," Haines argued briefly with himself, "I'd do it. But
he isn't a man. He's a devil. He has no more heart than the wolf which
owns him as master. Shall I give a girl like Kate Cumberland to that
wild panther? She's mine--all mine!"
Once more he turned his horse and this time galloped steadily on into
the night.
When Haines dropped out of sight, Dan's whistling stopped. He looked
up to the pitiless glitter of the stars. He looked down to the sombre
sweep of black hills. The wind was like a voice saying over and over
again: "Failure." Everything was lost.
He slipped from the saddle and took off his coat. From his left
shoulder the blood welled slowly, steadily. He tore a strip from his
shirt and attempted to make a bandage, but he could not manage it with
one hand.
The world thronged with hostile forces eager to hunt him to the death.
He needed all his strength, and now that was ebbing from a wound which
a child could have staunched for him, but where could he find even a
friendly child? Truly all was lost! The satyr or the black panther
once had less need of man's help than had Dan, but now he was hurt in
body and soul.
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