Page:The Cross Pull.pdf/36

 one eye and the flow of blood partially obscured his sight.

Brent craved audible evidence of pain. With the same lash he had often worked on the tough hide of a steer until the crazed animal bawled. But the glazing yellow eyes of the wolf dog faced him with as deadly a hatred as before, and he surged against the chain which held him back from Brent.

“You big gray devil, I’ll make you talk,” said Brent. “I’ll drag a yelp out of you.” And he started in again.

Moran came over a ridge of two hundred yards behind the cabin and saw Brent’s big blue roan standing in the yard. As he looked, the horse jerked his head and sidled a half step farther from the house. Again and again he repeated this strange move, and Moran stopped to listen. He heard a faint hiss followed by a sharp report. Once more the horse jerked his head and sidestepped. Then came the rattle of a chain and a dull thud, such as a roped steer makes when he strikes the ground. Moran started running for the house.

“Sing for me,” Brent was mumbling. “Sing for me. I’ll make you sing.”