He rode toward camp, and as he went he knew that this day had given the final touch to the big change that had been working in him.  He had met the King of the Mountains; he had stood face to face with death, and in the last moment the four-footed thing he had hunted and maimed had been merciful.  He believed that Bruce would not understand; that Bruce could not understand; but unto himself the day and the hour had brought its meaning in a way that he would not forget so long as he lived, and he knew that hereafter and for all time he would not again hunt the life of Thor, or the lives of any of his kind.

Langdon reached the camp and prepared himself some dinner, and as he ate this, with Muskwa for company, he made new plans for the days and weeks that were to follow.  He would send Bruce back to overtake Metoosin the next day, and they would no longer hunt the big grizzly.  They would go on to the Skeena and possibly even up to the edge of the Yukon, and then swing eastward into the caribou country some time early in September, hitting back toward civilization on the prairie side of the Rockies.  He would take Muskwa with them.  Back in the land of men and cities they would be great friends.  It did not occur to him just then what this would mean for Muskwa.

It was two o’clock, and he was still dreaming of new and unknown trails into the North when a sound came to rouse and disturb him.  For a few minutes he paid no attention to it, for it seemed to be only a part of the droning murmur of the valley.  But slowly and steadily it rose above this, and at last he got up from where he was lying with his back to a tree and walked out from the timber, where he could hear more plainly.

Muskwa followed him, and when Langdon stopped the tan-faced cub also stopped.  His little ears shot out inquisitively.  He turned his head to the north.  From that direction the sound was coming.

In another moment Langdon had recognized it, and yet even then he told himself that his ears must be playing him false.  It could not be the barking of dogs!  By this time Bruce and Metoosin were far to the south with the pack; at least Metoosin should be, and Bruce was on his return to the camp!  Quickly the sound grew more distinct, and at last he knew that he could not be mistaken.  The dogs were coming up the valley.  Something had turned Bruce and Metoosin northward instead of into the south.  And the pack was giving tongue—­that fierce, heated baying which told him they were again on the fresh spoor of game.  A sudden thrill shot through him.  There could be but one living thing in the length and breadth of the valley that Bruce would set the dogs after, and that was the big grizzly!

For a few moments longer Langdon stood and listened.  Then he hurried back to camp, tied Muskwa to his tree, armed himself with another rifle, and resaddled his horse.  Five minutes later he was riding swiftly in the direction of the range where a short time before Thor had given him his life.