CHAPTER V
The Shoshones who had once peopled the Land of Many Rivers had called this season the Short Blue Moon.
The lordly blacktail bucks were preparing to renew acquaintance with their wives and must beautify themselves accordingly. They had discarded the long, faded hair of last year’s coat, and the new one had not yet deepened into the dark gray of early winter.
For one brief span the short new hair was a glistening blue-gray.
Moran pointed across a gulch to where a big buck grazed placidly in a little open park.
“The deer are in the short blue,” he said. “This is the best season of all the year, Flash. It’ll soon be love making time for the antlered tribes. Wait until all the old bull elk tune up. We’ve stayed too long now but it’s worth waiting another week to hear. You’ve never heard one of those old boys blow off—but you will.”
