hear it again.” She heard Moran laugh softly.
“You are mistaken,” he said. “If you live for a thousand years and hear it every night it will always be the same. You may not fear it—but the wolf shiver will shake you each time it sounds.”
For the first time since her arrival the girl failed to bar the door at night but left it swinging open—mute evidence of her absolute confidence in Moran.
Half an hour later Flash touched Moran’s hand with his cold nose, gave one brief sniff and went inside to the girl. He sat beside her bunk, his chin resting on the edge while she stroked his head.
“Flash,” she whispered. “Flash. Why couldn’t it have been a man like the one out there—like Clark Moran?”
Flash trotted outside and lay beside Moran.
“You old rascal,” said Moran. “Just look what you’ve led me into now! I believe I’ve found her, Flash—I know it. Isn’t she a little beauty? Don’t you dare tell me you ever saw a woman who could compare with her. Any girl I’ve ever met would seem drab and commonplace beside her. What do you think about it, Flash?”
