The next time Michael barked was when Harley, on the same hot-blood mount, strove to close a poorly hung gate on the steep pitch of a mountain wood-road.  Michael endured the danger to his man-god as long as he could, then flew at the colt’s head in a frenzy of barking.

“Anyway, his barking helped,” Harley conceded, as he managed to close the gate.  “Michael must certainly have told the colt that he’d give him what-for if he didn’t behave.”

“At any rate, he’s not tongue-tied,” Villa laughed, “even if he isn’t very loquacious.”

And Michael’s loquacity never went farther.  Only on these two occasions, when his master-god seemed to be in peril, was he known to bark.  He never barked at the moon, nor at hillside echoes, nor at any prowling thing.  A particular echo, to be heard directly from the ranch-house, was an unfailing source of exercise for Jerry’s lungs.  At such times that Jerry barked, Michael, with a bored expression, would lie down and wait until the duet was over.  Nor did he bark when he attacked strange dogs that strayed upon the ranch.

“He fights like a veteran,” Harley remarked, after witnessing one such encounter.  “He’s cold-blooded.  There’s no excitement in him.”

“He’s old before his time,” Villa said.  “There is no heart of play left in him, and no desire for speech.  Just the same I know he loves me, and you—­”

“Without having to be voluble about it,” her husband completed for her.

“You can see it shining in those quiet eyes of his,” she supplemented.

“Reminds me of one of the survivors of Lieutenant Greeley’s Expedition I used to know,” he agreed.  “He was an enlisted soldier and one of the handful of survivors.  He had been through so much that he was just as subdued as Michael and just as taciturn.  He bored most people, who could not understand him.  Of course, the truth was the other way around.  They bored him.  They knew so little of life that he knew the last word of.  And one could scarcely get any word out of him.  It was not that he had forgotten how to speak, but that he could not see any reason for speaking when nobody could understand.  He was really crusty from too-bitter wise experience.  But all you had to do was look at him in his tremendous repose and know that he had been through the thousand hells, including all the frozen ones.  His eyes had the same quietness of Michael’s.  And they had the same wisdom.  I’d give almost anything to know how he got his shoulder scarred.  It must have been a tiger or a lion.”

* * * * *

The man, like the mountain lion whom Michael had encountered up the mountain, had strayed down from the wilds of Mendocino County, following the ruggedest mountain stretches, and, at night, crossing the farmed valley spaces where the presence of man was a danger to him.  Like the mountain lion, the man was an enemy to man, and all men were his enemies, seeking his life which he had forfeited in ways more terrible than the lion which had merely killed calves for food.