expected of him and he began rapidly to learn all the details of the game.
In this as in all else the strange mixed blood cropped out. He loved this work of handling horses and performed it well. The dog in him thrilled at the trust Moran gave to him. But each time he darted to a heel, something called to him to lunge at the flank. Instead he struck like a stock dog but put behind it the forceful drive of the wolf.
Under his management the most confirmed bunch-quitter on the range would soon be the best of the lot. No horse or steer would chance those punishing teeth a second time.
Men soon began to speak of him as the best stock dog on the range.
