As he sat on a ridge a few hundred yards from the bunkhouse he distinctly heard some one call his name. He deliberately turned away and trotted off through the darkness. He had investigated every human habitation for miles around, searching vainly for some sign of Moran. Flash was losing hope, and with it his allegiance to the world of men. More and more now he listened to the night sounds that called him, and he spent much of his time alone in the hills.
He rambled aimlessly on until sometime near daylight, when he curled up on a ridge seventy miles from the Bar T range and slept. The air was crisp and cold. Except for the drifts in the gulches the light fall snows had disappeared from the foothills, but even this early the peaks were one solid glare of white. A stiff breeze rose with the sun and whipped his exposed position, and he started to seek a more sheltered spot.
Below him, a rider was gathering some cows from the rough sidehill breaks. As Flash watched, a steer turned and the rider wheeled his horse and plunged across the draw to head him.
Habit was strong in Flash and he dropped down the slope to head the steer. The instant he appeared, the rider jerked his horse back on his
