pulse he achieved the first. He found the trail. Five horses had angled from a canyon and topped the ridge, turning up the country along its crest. Flash followed this trail swiftly. It was warm—scarce an hour old.
When within half a mile of the game trail that led down to his own destination he caught a faint trace of man scent and knew that the men had dismounted. He knew too that they had now moved on. Any dog can tell the trail scent or the odor left behind by men from the actual body scent itself, Flash sped to the spot, using no caution in his approach.
The two men had lingered for some time, one of them leaning against a single gnarled tree which stood on the ridge. Flash bristled and snarled as he neared it. Old, half dormant hates welled up within him. Flash had lately found all men to be his enemies and he hated and feared them as a whole without singling out each latest individual who sought his life. That was the wolf in him—the attitude of all wolves toward all men. These hates that now bubbled up in him came from back beyond the days of his running wild in the hills; from the days when he had been more
