on the Great Enemy, and
stood there trembling at their nearness! The heart of Perris leaped.
A great hope which he dared not frame in thought rushed through his
mind, and he stepped slowly forward, his hand extended, his voice
caressing. The chestnut winced one step back, and then waited,
snorting. There he waited, trembling with fear, chained by curiosity,
and ready to leap away in arrowy flight should the sun wink on the
tell-tale brightness of steel or the noosed rope dart whispering
through the air above him. But there was no such sign of danger. The
man came steadily on with his right hand stretched out palm up in the
age-old token of amity, and as he approached he kept talking. Strange
power was in that voice to enter the ears of the stallion and find a
way to his heart of hearts. The fierce and joyous battle-note which he
had heard on the day of the great fight was gone and in its place was
a fiber of piercing gentleness. It thrilled Alcatraz as the touch of
the man's fingers had thrilled him on another day.

Now he was very near, yet Perris did not hurry, did not change the
quiet of his words. By the nearness his face was become the dominant
thing. What was there between the mountains so terrible and so gentle,
so full of awe, of wisdom, and of beauty, as this human face? Behind
the eyes the outlaw horse saw the workings of that mystery which had
haunted his still evenings in the desert--the mind.

Far away the grey mare was neighing plaintively and the scared cowpony
trailed in the distance wondering why these free creatures should come
so close to man, the enslaver; but to Alcatraz the herd was no more
than a growth of trees; nothing existed under the sky saving that hand
ceaselessly outstretched towards him, and the steady murmur of the
voice.

He began to wonder: what would happen if he waited until the finger
tips were within a hair's-breadth of his nose? Surely there would be
no danger, for even if the Great Enemy slid onto his back again he
could not stay, weak as Red Perris now was.

Alcatraz winced, but without moving his feet; and when he straightened
the finger tips touched the velvet of his nose. He stamped and snorted
to frighten the hunter away but the hand moved dauntlessly high and
higher--it rested between his eyes--it passed across his head, always
with that faint tingle of pleasure trailing behind the touch; and the
voice was saying in broken tones: "Some damn fools say they ain't a
God!