They were on the ridge after all it seemed. He sat down and peered up through the trees at the sheer face of the towering cliff. The drone of voices came plainer now and there was an undertone to it all that he liked as little as he had the scent. But he had no time to figure it out—Moran would be up and around by now—so he hurried back.
Moran noticed that Flash was uneasy. All through the meal and while Moran saddled and packed up, Flash made repeated trips to the break and looked first down the gulch, then far out along the ridge.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Moran asked. “Is there a grizzly around somewhere? You’ve seen enough of them by now to know they don’t mean any harm to us.”
Not until they were half a dozen miles away did the wolf’s uneasiness subside. Even then he continued to turn on every commanding point and look back toward their former camp.
Moran finally decided that Flash had pulled down an elk or deer during the night, and that a grizzly had happened along and driven him from the kill.
But Moran was wrong.
