Then, with appalling suddenness, a blacker shadow shot up from the deep night of the floor, and white teeth gleamed before the stranger’s face.  He threw up his hand to save his throat.  The teeth sank into his arm—­a driving weight hurled him against the wall and then to the floor—­the revolver and the lantern dropped clattering, and the latter, rolling from its wrapping, flooded the room with light.  But neither man nor wolf uttered a sound.

Calder was standing, gun in hand, but too bewildered to act, while Dan, as if he were playing a part long rehearsed, stood covering the fallen form of Buck Daniels.

“Stand back from him, Bart!” he commanded.

The wolf slipped off a pace, whining with horrible eagerness, for he had tasted blood.  Far away a shout came from Sam Daniels.  Dan lowered his gun.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

The big fellow picked himself up and stood against the wall with the blood streaming down his right arm.  Still he said nothing and his keen eyes darted from Calder to Whistling Dan.

“Give me a strip of that old shirt over there, will you, Tex?” said Dan, “an’ keep him covered while I tie up his arm.”

Before Calder could move, old Daniels appeared at the door, a heavy Colt in his hand.  For a moment he stood dumbfounded, but then, with a cry, jerked up his gun—­a quick movement, but a fraction of a second too slow, for the hand of Dan darted out and his knuckles struck the wrist of the old cattleman.  The Colt rattled on the floor.  He lunged after his weapon, but the voice of Buck stopped him short.

“The game’s up, Dad,” he growled, “that older feller is Tex Calder.”

The name, like a blow in the face, straightened old Daniels and left him white and blinking.  Whistling Dan turned his back on the father and deftly bound up the lacerated arm of Buck.

“In the name o’ God, Buck,” moaned Sam, “what you been tryin’ to do in here?”

“What you’d do if you had the guts for it.  That’s Tex Calder an’ this is Dan Barry.  They’re on the trail of big Jim.  I wanted to put ’em off that trail.”

“Look here,” said Calder, “how’d you know us?”

“I’ve said my little say,” said Buck sullenly, “an’ you’ll get no more out of me between here an’ any hell you can take me to.”

“He knew us when his father talked about Satan an’ Black Bart,” said Dan to Tex.  “Maybe he’s one of Silent’s.”

“Buck, for God’s sake tell ’em you know nothin’ of Silent,” cried old Daniels.  “Boy, boy, it’s hangin’ for you if they get you to Elkhead an’ charge you with that!”

“Dad, you’re a fool,” said Buck.  “I ain’t goin’ down on my knees to ’em.  Not me.”

Calder, still keeping Buck covered with his gun, drew Dan a little to one side.

“What can we do with this fellow, Dan?” he said.  “Shall we give up the trail and take him over to Elkhead?”

“An’ break the heart of the ol’ man?”