First he studied the habits of the new king of the Eagle Mountains, day by day following the trail.  It was not hard to distinguish after he had once measured the mighty stride of Alcatraz in full gallop and he came to know to a hair’s breath the distances which the chestnut stepped when he walked or trotted or loped or galloped or ran.  More than that, he could tell by the print of the four hoofs, all of the same size, the same roundness—­token so dear to the heart of a horseman!  By such signs he identified old and new trails until he could guess the future by the past, until he could begin to read the character of the stallion.  He knew, for instance, the insatiable curiosity with which the chestnut studied his wilderness and its inhabitants.  He had seen the trail looping around the spot where the rattler’s length had been coiled in the sand, or where a tentative hoof had opened the squirrel’s hole.  On a night of brilliant moonshine, he had watched through his glass while Alcatraz galloped madly, tossing head and tail, and neighing at a low-swooping owl.

Great, foolish impulses came to Alcatraz; he might gather his mares about him and lead them for ten miles at a terrific pace and with a blind destination; he might leave them and scout far and wide, alone, always at dizzy speed.  As the hunter stayed longer by his puzzling task, he began to wonder if this sprang from mere running instinct, or knowledge that he must keep himself in the pink of condition.  Like a man, the preferences of Alcatraz were distinctly formed and well expressed.  He disliked the middle day and during this period sought a combination of wind and shade.  Only in the morning and in the evening he ranged for pasture or for pleasure.  Impulse still guided him.  Now and again he wandered to the eastern or the western mountains, then far into the hot heart of the desert, then, with incredible boldness, he doubled back to the well-watered lands of the Jordan ranch, leaped a fence, followed by the mares to whom he had taught the art of jumping, and fed fat under the very eye of his enemies.

The boldness of these proceedings taught Perris what he already knew, that the stallion knew man and hated as much as he dreaded his former masters.  These excursions were temptings of Providence, games of hazard.  Perris, gambler by instinct himself, understood and appreciated, at the same time that his anger at being so constantly outwitted, outdistanced, grew hot.  Then there remained no kindness, only desire to make the kill.  His dreams had come to turn on one picture—­Alcatraz cantering in range of the waiting rifle!