She felt her knees buckle, felt the fingers about the light revolver butt relax, felt every nerve grow slack.

She was helpless, and it was not fear of the man, but of something which stalked behind him, inhuman, irresistible; not the wolf-dog, but something more than Satan, and Bart, and Whistling Dan, something of which they were only a part.
He began to whistle, thoughtfully, like one who considers a plan of action and yet hesitates to begin.

She felt his eyes run over her, as if judging how he should put her most gently to one side; then from the house, very lightly, hardly more than an echo of Dan's whistling, came an answer--the very same refrain.

Joan was calling to him.
At that he stepped forward, but the thing which stirred him, had hardened the mind of Kate.

The weakness passed in a flash.