As for Kate Cumberland, she could not put all the inferences together--she dared not; but when she lay in her bed that night it was a long time before she could sleep, for there was a voice inside her, singing.
She chose her time the next day.

Dan alternated between Black Bart and old Joe Cumberland during most of the day, and no sooner had he left the wolf-dog in the morning than she went out to Bart.
As always, Black Bart lay with his head flattened against the sand, dreaming in the sun, and not an eyelid quivered when she approached, yet she understood perfectly that the animal knew every move she made.

She would have attempted to dress the wound again, but the memory of the ordeal of yesterday was too terrible.

She might break down in the midst of her effort, and the first sign of weakness, she knew, was the only spur which Black Bart needed.

So she went, instead, to the chair where Dan often sat for hours near the dog, and there she took her place, folded her hands on her lap, and waited.