Flash could not know that to all men but those who knew him he was a wolf. He only knew that all men had turned their hands against him and sought his life.
The next man he saw he avoided, and when next he bedded down it was on the crest of a knoll that offered a clear view for miles.
When night came he traveled on, crossing a low range of mountains and descending into the rolling grasslands of the Wind River Valley. Hunger pressed him and he found no living thing but cows. The sense of distance from familiar scenes made the Bar T seem so far behind as to be part of another world. The fast that men had so recently turned against him was bitterly uppermost in his mind—and he was hungry.
Men sought his life. And for the first time he turned his teeth against an animal that belonged to men and singled out a steer. His first snap was half hearted and did not entirely sever the cords of the leg. The steer fled in a panic and the others, crazed by the smell of blood and this silent wolf shape that had appeared among them, crowded around him in a mad stampede. The one taste of warm blood and the clattering roar of hoofs as more scattered cows joined the frantic
