It was partly because the black, silhouetted figures awed her, somewhat,
and partly because she wished to give Daddy Dan a gay surprise, that Joan
did not run to him. And then, in the darkness, she heard Satan munching the
dried grass, and the squeak and rattle as the saddle was drawn off and hung
up, scraping against the rock.
"What you been doin', Bart?" queried the voice of Daddy Dan, and the last
of Joan's fears fell from her as she listened. "You act kind of worried.
If you been runnin' rabbits all day and got your pads full of thorns I'll
everlastin'ly treat you rough."
The wolf-dog whined.
"Well, speak up. What you want? Want me over there?"
It would have been a trifle unearthly to most people, but Joan knew the
ways of Daddy Dan with Satan and Black Bart. She lay quite still, shivering
with pleasure as the footsteps approached her. Then a match scratched--she
saw by the blue spurt of flame that he was lighting a pine torch, then
whirling it until the flame ate down to the pitchy knot. He held it above
his head, and now she saw him plainly: the light cascaded over his
shoulders, glowed on his eyes, and then puffed out sidewise in a draught.
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