SON OF THE WIND
was the gait; and that the diffuse light of the eyes, yet there was something else there too, beneath the surface glare—something discriminating and personal that does not belong to the beast, and certainly not to insanity. As the creature drew closer it appeared as though centered deep in each pupil there was a live, concentrated spark. It shone there dimly, as if from behind a veil. He was in front of Carron when the veil seemed to lift, and the meaning blazed at him—hate, man's high prerogative, that, for a moment, transformed the nameless little being into a man.
A hot wave went over Carron, hotter than dislike or disgust. The senses acknowledged an equal, were ready for their opponent before the mind could think. George Ferrier was furtively advancing his foot, and beginning very slowly to extend his hand. The horse-breaker watched it, feeling himself attacked, yet not knowing what this gentle approach could threaten. He reckoned how hard he could strike to stun without killing. The tips of the fingers had almost touched him when the boy leaped, not forward upon his adversary, nor backward from him, but sidewise like a cat, and darted past him.
Carron clutched at him, grasped air, and stumbled forward on hands and knees. He heard something dash past him up the slope, the ringing of an iron
350
