had been, seemed to join in the man chase and spur him on. They raced madly by his side, he heard their hunting cry, the sound of menace to man.
Also the primitive man seemed to be with him in his chase of the civilized man. He was the man with short legs and long arms and with hair upon his body, the man who made strange sounds for language and who himself was little more than an animal. He also spurred him on in the chase of the white civilized man.
So the mind of poor Silversheene shifted and changed as he pursued the trail of the slayer of his mate. He would not give up. He would find the man sleeping by his campfire. He would creep up and spring upon him and kill him.
Then a terrible thought filtered through his mind. Supposing it might be Gene Gordet, his god, who had killed Gray Wolf. Good men killed wolves. They were outlaws. The thought was not very clear in his mind, yet it arrested him. The slayer
