of them would mean little to him and only a very few individuals would ever interest him sufficiently to be classed with either extreme.
Brent finished his business, and Moran stood looking after him as he rode away.
“There goes a beast,” he said. “He hasn’t one decent, softening thought. When you look at that blizzard of a face it forces you to believe all those tales you hear of him.”
“They’re true,” Harmon said. “I saw it once myself. I heard a horse scream and rode down.” The ranger swore softly. “Brent was standing there mouthing the same words over and over again as if his own mad-dog fit had left his mind a blank. ‘He struck at me,’ he mumbled. ‘He struck at me. A horse can’t strike at me.’ I rode right on past. I knew I’d kill him if I stopped.”
“Flash spotted that streak in him the minute he came in,” said Moran. “It’s harder to fool an animal than a man.”
The next morning Moran shot a rabbit, jerked the pelt from it while it was still warm and offered the meat to Flash.
This time he took it. From this small start Moran led him on until in a few days he would take anything he offered. It was the first con-
