That matchless co-ordination of eye with hand and foot
was gone. He saw Kate smiling into the eyes of Haines; he imagined
Bill Kilduff sitting on the back of Satan, controlling all that
glorious force and speed; he saw Hal Purvis fighting venomously with
Bart for the mastery which eventually must belong to the man.
He turned to the wild pair. Vaguely they sensed a danger threatening
their master, and their eyes mourned for his hurt. He buried his face
on the strong, smooth shoulder of Satan, and groaned. There came the
answering whinny and the hot breath of the horse against the side of
his face. There was the whine of Black Bart behind him, then the rough
tongue of the wolf touched the dripping fingers. Then he felt a hot
gust of the wolf's breath against his hand.
Too late he realized what that meant. He whirled with a cry of
command, but the snarl of Black Bart cut it short. The wolf stood
bristling, trembling with eagerness for the kill, his great white
fangs gleaming, his snarl shrill and guttural with the frenzy of his
desire, for he had tasted blood. Dan understood as he stared into the
yellow green fury of the wolf's eyes, yet he felt no fear, only a
glory in the fierce, silent conflict.
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