He read it in their voices, caught vibrations of which they themselves were unaware.
Life was now bright for Flash. The two extremes in him were satisfied. These two whom he worshiped were together and he could revel in the combined love of both. When that other urge came, when the wolf strain rose rampant and uppermost, he ran with the phantom pack and killed; killed joyously and with no fear of hard-running horses on his trail.
Moran partially understood the conflict of inherited instincts which swayed Flash’s every move. As nearly as possible he explained all this to the girl.
“Every action has two sides for him,” he told her. “There’s a cross-pull exerted on every act of his life; the opposite longings of dog and wolf. He has struck the strangest compromise I’ve ever known. Instead of being a mixture at all times like most crosses of his kind, he swings like a pendulum from wild to tame. It is as if the warring strains in Flash had never fused, that he is two distinct animals in one—two spirits who alternate in their rule over the same flesh; one gentle and loving, the other ruthless and savage in the extreme. Do you get what I mean?”
