Wherever a man riding a black horse committed an outrage it was
laid to the account of this new and most terrible of long riders.
Two cowpunchers were found dead on the plains. Their half-emptied
revolvers lay close to their hands, and their horses were not far off.
In ordinary times it would have been accepted that they had killed
each other, for they were known enemies, but now men had room for one
thought only. And why should not a man with the courage to take an
outlaw from the centre of Elkhead be charged with every crime on the
range? Jim Silent had been a grim plague, but at least he was human.
This devil defied death.
These were both sad and happy days for Kate. The chief cause of her
sadness, strangely enough, was the rapidly returning strength of
Dan. While he was helpless he belonged to her. When he was strong
he belonged to his vengeance on Jim Silent; and when she heard Dan
whistling softly his own wild, weird music, she knew its meaning as
she would have known the wail of a hungry wolf on a winter night. It
was the song of the untamed. She never spoke of her knowledge. She
took the happiness of the moment to her heart and closed her eyes
against tomorrow.
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