"Tame, is he? You ought to have had to care for him the last few weeks, and you'd think tame. Not once have I dared go in reach of his rope. And there he is, crouched at your feet! I was always dreading he'd get away--" Morris paused, evidently remembering the girl. "Beatrice, are you hurt?" The girl moved toward them. "No. He didn't touch me. But you came just in time--" The girl's voice wavered; and Ben stepped to her side. "I'm all right now--" "But you'd better sit down," Ben advised quietly. "It was enough to scare any one to death--" "Any one--but you--" the girl replied, her voice still unsteady. But she paused when she saw the warm color spread over Ben's rugged, brown face. And his embarrassment was real. Naturally shy and unassuming, such effusive praise as this always disturbed him--just as it would have embarrassed any really masculine man alive. Women, more extravagant in speech and loving flattery with a higher ardor, would have found it hard to believe how really distressed he was; but Morris, an outdoor man to the core, understood completely. Besides, Ben knew that the praise was not deserved. Excessive bravery had played no part in the scene of a moment before. He had been brave just as far as Morris was brave, leaping freely in response to a call for help: the same degree of bravery that can be counted on in most men, over the face of the earth. Bravery does not lie alone in facing danger: there must also be the consciousness of danger, the conquest of fear. In this case Ben had felt no fear. He knew with a sure, true knowledge that he was master of the wolf. He knew the wolf's response to his words before ever he spoke. And now all the words in the language could not convey to these others whence that knowledge had come. He vaguely realized that this had always been some way part of his destiny,--the imposition of his will over the beasts of the forest. He had never tried to puzzle out why, knowing that such trial would be unavailing. He had instinctively understood such creatures as these. To-day he felt that he knew the wild, fierce heart beating in the lean breast as a man might know his brother's heart. The bond between them was hidden from his sight, something back of him, beyond him, enfolded within a secret self that was mysterious as a dream, and it reached into the countless years; yet it was real, an ancient relationship that was no less intimate because it could not be named. In turn, the wolf had seemed to know that this tall form was a born habitant of the forests, even as himself, one that would kill him as unmercifully as he himself would kill a fall, and whose dark eyes, swept with fire, and whose cool, strong words must never be disobeyed. "You never seen this wolf before?" Morris asked him, calling him from his revery. "Never." "Then you must be old Hiram's brother himself, to control him like you did. Lord, look at him. Crouching at your feet."