All life was tame compared with this sudden awakening of Pierre.

He had killed a man.

For fear of it he raced the tall roan furiously through the night.
He had killed a man.

For the joy of it he shouted a song that went ringing across the blank, white hills.

What place was there in Red Pierre for solemn qualms of conscience?
Had he not met the first and last test triumphantly?
The oldest instinct in creation was satisfied in him.