More--she had seen their effect, and the throat of a
bull cut at a single slash. And yet--she sank on her knees beside the
monster.
His head was well nigh as high as hers, then; if he attacked there could
be no dream of escape for her. Or she might drag herself away from the
tearing teeth--a disfigured horror forever. Think not that an iota of
all these terrors missed her mind. No, she felt the fangs buried in her
throat and heard the snarl of the beast stifled with blood. Yet--she
laid her hand on the bandage across the shoulder of Black Bart.
His head whirled. With those ears flattened, with that long, lean neck,
it was like the head of a striking snake. Her sleeve was rolled up to
the elbow, and over the bare skin the teeth of the wolf-dog were set.
The snarl had grown so deep and hideous that the tremor of it fairly
shook her, and she saw that the jaws of the beast slavered with hunger.
She knew--a thousand things about Black Bart, and among the rest that he
had tasted human blood. And there is a legend which says that once a
wild beast has tasted the blood of man he will taste it a second time
before he dies. She thought of that--she dared not turn her head lest
she should encounter the hellfire of Bart's eyes. Yet she had passed
all ordinary fear. She had reached that exquisite frenzy of terror when
it becomes one with courage. The very arm over which the wolf's teeth
were set moved--raised--and with both hands she untied the knot of the
bandage.
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