It was anything but laughter to Muskwa.  But it impinged upon him the truth of one of two things:  either these grotesque looking monsters did not dare to fight him, or they were very peaceful and had no intention of harming him.  But they were more cautious thereafter, and as soon as they reached the valley they carried him between them, strung on a rifle-barrel.

It was almost dark when they approached a clump of balsams red with the glow of a fire.  It was Muskwa’s first fire.  Also he saw his first horses, terrific looking monsters even larger than Thor.

A third man—­Metoosin, the Indian—­came out to meet the hunters, and into this creature’s hands Muskwa found himself transferred.  He was laid on his side with the glare of the fire in his eyes, and while one of his captors held him by both ears, and so tightly that it hurt, another fastened a hobble-strap around his neck for a collar.  A heavy halter rope was then tied to the ring on this strap, and the end of the rope was fastened to a tree.

During these operations Muskwa snarled and snapped as much as he could.  In another half-minute he was free of the shirts, and as he staggered on four wobbly legs, from which all power of flight had temporarily gone, he bared his tiny fangs and snarled as fiercely as he could.

To his further amazement this had no effect upon his strange company at all, except that the three of them—­even the Indian—­opened their mouths and joined in that loud and incomprehensible din, to which one of them had given voice when he sank his teeth into his captor’s leg on the mountainside.  It was all tremendously puzzling to Muskwa.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Greatly to Muskwa’s relief the three men soon turned away from him and began to busy themselves about the fire.  This gave him a chance to escape, and he pulled and tugged at the end of the rope until he nearly choked himself to death.  Finally he gave up in despair, and crumpling himself up against the foot of the balsam he began to watch the camp.

He was not more than thirty feet from the fire.  Bruce was washing his hands in a canvas basin.  Langdon was mopping his face with a towel.  Close to the fire Metoosin was kneeling, and from the big black skittle he was holding over the coals came the hissing and sputtering of fat caribou steaks, and about the pleasantest smell that had ever come Muskwa’s way.  The air all about him was heavy with the aroma of good things.

When Langdon had finished drying his face he opened a can of something.  It was sweetened condensed milk.  He poured the white fluid into a basin, and came with it toward Muskwa.  The cub had unsuccessfully attempted flight on the ground until his neck was sore; now he climbed the tree.  He went up so quickly that Langdon was astonished, and he snarled and spat at the man as the basin of milk was placed where he would almost fall into it when he came down.