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Alcatraz by Max Brand
page 79 of 244 (32%)
the lobo, the mountain-lion, the drought, the high flying buzzard who
would claim them, dying, and added above all this, man. Not that
Alcatraz knew these things definitely. He could only feel that these,
his people, were strong only in their speed and in their timidity, and
he felt power to rule and protect them. For he who had fought man, and
won, had surely nothing to dread from beasts. The great moment of his
life had come to him not in the crushing of the Mexican or the baffling
of the mountain lion or the defeat of the black leader but in the first
gentle kindness that had ever softened his stern spirit. He was used to
battle; but these, his people, accepted him. He was used to suspicion
and trickery but these trusted him blindly. He was used to hate, but
because they had put themselves into his power he began to love them. He
felt a blood-tie between him and the weakest colt within the range of
his eye.

The herd drifted slowly down--wind until late afternoon, eating their
way rather than travelling, but when the heat began to wane and the
slant sunlight took on a yellow tone they began to show signs of
unrest, milling in a compact group with the foals frolicking on the
outskirts of the circle. The mares were particularly disturbed, it
seemed to Alcatraz, especially the mothers; and since all heads were
turned repeatedly towards him he became anxious. Something was expected
of him. What was it?

In case they had scented a danger unknown to him, he cast a wide circle
around them at a sharp gallop, but nothing met his nostril, his eye, or
his ear except the dust with its keen taint of alkali, and the bare
hills, and the vague horizon sounds. Alcatraz came back to his
companions at a halting trot which denoted his uneasy alertness. They
were milling more closely than ever. The brood mares had passed to a
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