Flash combined the love of wolf for mate and the love of dog for man into one of single hearted devotion to Moran. But even this binding tie did not still the warring cross currents of mixed ancestral blood.
Here, away from the cabin and the works of man, the night sounds seemed to take on a new meaning, and as Moran slept Flash lay night after night and listened to their call.
The note of the big gray owls, and the quavering howl of the coyotes; the yelping, turkey-like bark of the cow elk, and the weird squall of the foxes that traveled the high bald ridges; all these in some way seemed of a world which he had known and to which he should belong.
Whispering voices called him and urged him to come. But with it all there was something lacking in the nights—some note for which he seemed to listen but never heard. At times he felt that if he could but raise his own voice, this unknown note for which he longed must surely answer it.
One night when the ache grew strong he slipped away and ran for miles. His was not the scrambling gait of the dog but the swift, gliding movement of the wolf. As he ran he learned a new
