He started to go, did go as far as he
could; then the collar choked him and he realised where he was. He
didn't make a sound, he didn't fight or rebel against something he
couldn't help; but the way he looked, there in the moonlight, with the
chain stretched across his back--" She halted abruptly, of a sudden sat
up. "I know it's childish, but promise me, How, you'll let him go," she
pleaded. "He's wild, and the wild was calling to him. Please promise me
you'll let him go!"
Not even then did the man stir or his eyes leave her face.
"Did I ever tell you, Bess," he asked, "that it was to save Shaggy's
life I brought him here? Sam Howard dug his mother out of her den and
shot her, and was going to kill the cub, too, when I found him."
"No." A hesitating pause. "But anyway," swiftly, "that doesn't make any
difference. He's wild, and it's a prison to him here."
Deliberately, ignoring the refutation, the man went on with the
argument.
"Again, if Shaggy returns," he said, "the chances are he won't live
through a year. The first cowboy who gets near enough will shoot him on
sight."
"He'll have to take his chance of that, How," countered the girl. "We
all have to take our chances in this life."
For the second time the Indian ignored the interruption.
"Last of all, he's a murderer, Bess. If he were free he'd kill the first
animal weaker than himself he met. Have you thought of that?"
The girl looked away into the infinite abstractedly.
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