The snarling rose to a pitch of maniacal rage; the teeth compressed--if
they broke the skin it was the end; the first taste of blood would be
enough!--and drew away her arm. If she had started then, all the devil
in the creature would be loosed, for her terror taught her that. And by
some mysterious power that entered her at that moment she was able to
turn her head, slowly, and look deep into those terrible eyes.
Her arm was released.
But Black Bart crouched and the snakelike head lowered; he was quivering
throughout that steel-muscled body to throw himself at her throat. The
finger was on the hair-trigger; it needed a pressure not greater than a
bodiless thought. And still she looked into the eyes of the wolf-dog;
and her terror had made her strangely light of body and dizzy of mind.
Then the change came, suddenly. The yellow-green changed, swirled in the
eyes of Black Bart; the eyes themselves wavered, and at last looked
away; the snarl dropped to a sullen growl. And Black Bart lay down as he
had been before.
His head was still turned towards her, to be sure. And the teeth were
still bared, as with rapid, deft fingers she undid the bandage; and from
instant to instant, as the bandage in spite of her care pressed against
the wound, the beast shivered and wicked glances flashed up at her face.
The safe-blower who finds his "soup" cooling and dares not set it down
felt as Kate Cumberland felt then.
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