and he withdrew his head, turtle-wise, as far as possible within the sheltering roll. The yellow coyote eyes were bright with suspicion; the sensitive lips writhed up, exposing the ivory fangs of the wolf, but the yearning of a dog to be loved by man held him from sinking them deep in the hand that was now within easy reach—the first compromise between the wild and tame.
The glare gradually died from his eyes, the lips settled slowly back and covered the fangs, and Moran knew then that he had won.
“Come on, Flash; let’s go home,” he said.
