The Seventh Man [59]
former life, but now she knew that it was not habit which controlled him, for he was wild by instinct, by nature. Just as the tang of his untamed blood had turned the child to this; and a few days more of life with him would leave her wild forever.
"He left you alone here!" she repeated fiercely. "Where a thousand things might happen. Thank God I've found you."
Even if her words conveyed little meaning to Joan, the intonation carried a message which was perfectly clear.
"Don't you like Daddy Dan?"
"Joan, Joan, I love him! Of course."
But Joan sat with a dubious eye which quickly darkened into fear.
"Oh, Munner, don't take us back!"
Such horror and terror and sadness mixed! The tears rushed into the eyes of Kate.
"Do you want to stay here, sweetheart?"
"Yes, munner."
"Without me?"
At first Joan shook her head decidedly, but thereafter she quickly became thoughtful.
"No, except when we eat."
"You don't want me here at dinner-time? Poor munner will get so hungry."
A great concession was about to burst from the remorseful lips of Joan, but again second thought sobered her. She remained in a quandary, unable to speak.
"Don't you want me even when you wake up at night?"
"Why?"
"Because you're so afraid of the dark."
"Joan's not afraid. Oh, no! Joan loves the dark."
If Kate maintained a smile, it was a frozen grimace. It had only been a few days--hardly yesterday--that Joan left, and already she was a little stranger. Suppose Dan should refuse to come back himself; refuse even to give up Joan! She started up, clutching the hand of the child.
"Quick, Joan, we must go!"
"Joan doesn't want to go!"
"We'll go--for a little walk. We--we'll surprise Daddy Dan."
"But Daddy Dan won't come back for long, long time. Not till the sun is away down behind that hill."
That should mean two hours. at least, thought Kate. She could wait a little.
"Joan, what taught you not to be afraid of the dark?"
This problem made Joan look about for an answer, but at length she called softly: "Jackie!"
She waited, and then whistled; at once the bright eyes of the little coyote appeared around the edge of the rock.
"Come here!" she commanded.
He slunk out with his head turned towards Kate and cowered at the feet of the child. And the mother cringed inwardly at the sight; all wild things which hated man instinctively with tooth and claw were the friends, the allies of Whistling Dan, and now Joan was stepping in her father's path. A little while longer and the last vestige of gentleness would pass from her. She would be like Dan Barry, following calls which no other human could even hear. It meant one thing: at whatever cost, Joan must be taken from Dan and kept Away.
"Jackie sleeps near me," Joan was saying. "We can see in the dark, can't we, Jackie?"
She lifted her head, and the moment her compelling eyes left him, Jackie scooted for shelter. The first strangeness had worn away from Joan and she began to chatter away about life in the cave, and how Satan played there by the firelight with Black Bart, and how, sometimes--wonderful sight!--Daddy Dan played with them. The recital was quite endless, as they pushed farther and farther into the shadows, and it was the uneasiness which the dim light raised in her that made Kate determine that the time had come to go home.
"Now," she said, "we're going for that walk."
"Not away down there!" cried Joan.
Kate winced.
"It's lots nicer here, munner. You'd ought to just see what we have to eat! And my, Daddy Dan knows how to fix things."
"Of course he does. Now put on your hat and your cloak, Joan."
"This is lots warmer, munner."
"Don't you like it?" she added in alarm, stroking the delicate fur.
"Take it off!"
Kate ripped away the fastenings and tossed the skin far away.
"Oh!" breathed Joan.
"It isn't clean! It isn't clean," cried Kate. "Oh, my poor, darling baby! Get your bonnet and your cloak, Joan, quickly."
"We're coming back?"
"Of course."
Joan trudged obediently to the side of the
"He left you alone here!" she repeated fiercely. "Where a thousand things might happen. Thank God I've found you."
Even if her words conveyed little meaning to Joan, the intonation carried a message which was perfectly clear.
"Don't you like Daddy Dan?"
"Joan, Joan, I love him! Of course."
But Joan sat with a dubious eye which quickly darkened into fear.
"Oh, Munner, don't take us back!"
Such horror and terror and sadness mixed! The tears rushed into the eyes of Kate.
"Do you want to stay here, sweetheart?"
"Yes, munner."
"Without me?"
At first Joan shook her head decidedly, but thereafter she quickly became thoughtful.
"No, except when we eat."
"You don't want me here at dinner-time? Poor munner will get so hungry."
A great concession was about to burst from the remorseful lips of Joan, but again second thought sobered her. She remained in a quandary, unable to speak.
"Don't you want me even when you wake up at night?"
"Why?"
"Because you're so afraid of the dark."
"Joan's not afraid. Oh, no! Joan loves the dark."
If Kate maintained a smile, it was a frozen grimace. It had only been a few days--hardly yesterday--that Joan left, and already she was a little stranger. Suppose Dan should refuse to come back himself; refuse even to give up Joan! She started up, clutching the hand of the child.
"Quick, Joan, we must go!"
"Joan doesn't want to go!"
"We'll go--for a little walk. We--we'll surprise Daddy Dan."
"But Daddy Dan won't come back for long, long time. Not till the sun is away down behind that hill."
That should mean two hours. at least, thought Kate. She could wait a little.
"Joan, what taught you not to be afraid of the dark?"
This problem made Joan look about for an answer, but at length she called softly: "Jackie!"
She waited, and then whistled; at once the bright eyes of the little coyote appeared around the edge of the rock.
"Come here!" she commanded.
He slunk out with his head turned towards Kate and cowered at the feet of the child. And the mother cringed inwardly at the sight; all wild things which hated man instinctively with tooth and claw were the friends, the allies of Whistling Dan, and now Joan was stepping in her father's path. A little while longer and the last vestige of gentleness would pass from her. She would be like Dan Barry, following calls which no other human could even hear. It meant one thing: at whatever cost, Joan must be taken from Dan and kept Away.
"Jackie sleeps near me," Joan was saying. "We can see in the dark, can't we, Jackie?"
She lifted her head, and the moment her compelling eyes left him, Jackie scooted for shelter. The first strangeness had worn away from Joan and she began to chatter away about life in the cave, and how Satan played there by the firelight with Black Bart, and how, sometimes--wonderful sight!--Daddy Dan played with them. The recital was quite endless, as they pushed farther and farther into the shadows, and it was the uneasiness which the dim light raised in her that made Kate determine that the time had come to go home.
"Now," she said, "we're going for that walk."
"Not away down there!" cried Joan.
Kate winced.
"It's lots nicer here, munner. You'd ought to just see what we have to eat! And my, Daddy Dan knows how to fix things."
"Of course he does. Now put on your hat and your cloak, Joan."
"This is lots warmer, munner."
"Don't you like it?" she added in alarm, stroking the delicate fur.
"Take it off!"
Kate ripped away the fastenings and tossed the skin far away.
"Oh!" breathed Joan.
"It isn't clean! It isn't clean," cried Kate. "Oh, my poor, darling baby! Get your bonnet and your cloak, Joan, quickly."
"We're coming back?"
"Of course."
Joan trudged obediently to the side of the