Now, a dog snarls from not far down in its throat, but the noise of an angered wild beast rolls up out of its very entrails--a passion of hate and defiance.

And when she heard that sound, or when she saw the still more terrible silent rage of the beast, Kate Cumberland's spirit failed, and she would shrink back again to a safe distance.
She was not easily discouraged.

She had that grim resolution which comes to the gambler after he has played at the same table night after night, night after night, and lost, lost, lost, until, playing with the last of his money, he begins to mutter through his set teeth: "The luck _must_ change!" So it was with Kate Cumberland.

For in Black Bart she saw the only possible clue to Whistling Dan.

There was the stallion, to be sure, but she knew Satan too well.