"Bart," said the man, and his voice was not raised or harsh, but came as softly as running water, "if you ain't going to be a gentleman, I got to teach you manners. Get up on Satan's back and lie down till I tell you to get off." The wolf received this command with a snarl even more blood-curdling than before, but he obeyed, slinking sidewise a reluctant pace or two, and then springing to the back of the stallion with a single bound. There he crouched, still snarling softly until his master raised a significant forefinger. At that he lowered his head and maintained a fiercely observant silence. "Dan!" called Buck Daniels. The other whirled. "Speakin' of pets," observed Buck Daniels, "I heard tell once about a gent that had a tame lion. Which you got the outbeatingest pair I ever see, Dan. Gentle, ain't they, like a stampede of cows!" But Barry left this remark unanswered. He ran to the tall fence, placed his hand on the top rail, and vaulted lightly over it. Then he clasped the hand of the larger man, and his face lighted. "Buck," he said, "I been sort of lonesome. It feels pretty good to see you agin." "Oh man," answered Buck Daniels, "speakin' of bein' lonesome------" He checked himself. "How about steppin' inside and havin' a talk?" The other started forward agreeably, but stopped almost at once. "Heel!" he called, without turning his head. Black Bart left the back of the stallion in a long bound that carried him half way to the fence. His next leap brought him over the rail and beside his master. Buck Daniels moved back a step involuntarily. "Bart," he said, "d'you know me?" He stretched out his hand; and was received with a sudden baring of the fangs. "Nice dog!" said Buck sarcastically. "Regular house-pet, ain't he?" The other apparently missed the entire point of this remark. He said in his gentle, serious way: "He used to be real wild, Buck. But now he don't mind people. He let the cook feed him a chunk o' meat the other day; and you remember he don't usually touch stuff that other men have handled." "Yep," grunted Buck, "it's sure disgustin' to have a dog as tame as that. I'd bet he ain't killed another dog for a whole day, maybe!" And still Barry saw no irony in this. He answered, as gravely as before: "No, it was the day before yesterday. Somebody come to town and got drunk. He had two dogs, and sicked 'em on Bart." Buck Daniels controlled an incipient shudder. "Both dead?" "I was inside the house," said Dan sadly, "and it took me a couple of seconds to get outside. Of course by that time Bart had cut their throats." "Of course. Didn't the drunk guy try to pot Bart?" "Yes, he got out his gun; but, Mr. O'Brien, the bartender, persuaded him out of it. I was glad there wasn't no trouble." "My God!" exclaimed Buck Daniels. And then: "Well, let's go inside. We'll take your man-eater along, if you want to." A shadow came in the eyes of Barry. "Can't we talk jest as well out here?"