She could feel that even though she did not look.

Something that Whistling Dan had said long before came to her: "Even a hoss and a dog, Kate, can get terrible lonesome." Black Bart moved until he faced her directly.

His ears were pricking in eagerness; she heard a snarl, but so low and muffled that there was hardly a threat in it; could it be a plea for attention?
She would not look down to the sharp eyes, until a weight fell on her knees--it was the long, scarred head of the wolf! The joy that swelled in her was so great that it pained her like a grief.
She stretched out her hand, slowly, slowly towards that head.

And Black Bart shrank and quivered, and his lips writhed back from the long, deadly teeth, and his snarl grew to a harsher, hoarser threat; still he did not remove his head, and he allowed the hand to touch him between the eyes and stroke the fur back to between the ears.

Only one other hand had ever touched that formidable head in such a manner! The teeth no longer showed; the keen, suspicious eyes grew dim with pleasure; the snarl sank to murmur and then died out.
"Bart!" commanded the girl, sharply.
The head jerked up, but the questing eyes did not look at her.