It was the old cabin, far to the north and east, that drew him now—­the cabin in which Nanette and the baby had lived; and it was toward this cabin that he lured Neewa during the first two weeks of their hunting.  They did not travel quickly, largely because of Neewa’s voracious spring appetite and the fact that it consumed nine tenths of his waking hours to keep full on such provender as roots and swelling buds and grass.  During the first week Miki grew either hopeless or disgusted in his hunting.  One day he killed five rabbits and Neewa ate four of them and grunted piggishly for more.

If Miki had stood amazed and appalled at Neewa’s appetite in the days of their cubhood and puppyhood a year ago, he was more than astounded now, for in the matter of food Neewa was a bottomless pit.  On the other hand he was jollier than ever, and in their wrestling matches he was almost more than a match for Miki, being nearly again as heavy.  He very soon acquired the habit of taking advantage of this superiority of weight, and at unexpected moments he would hop on Miki and pin him to the ground, his fat body smothering him like a huge soft cushion, and his arms holding him until at times Miki could scarcely squirm.  Now and then, hugging him in this embrace, he would roll over and over, both of them snarling and growling as though in deadly combat.  This play, though he was literally the under dog, delighted Miki until one day they rolled over the edge of a deep ravine and crashed in a dog-and-bear avalanche to the bottom.  After that, for a long time, Neewa did not roll with his victim.  Whenever Miki wanted to end a bout, however, all he had to do was to give Neewa a sharp nip with his long fangs and the bear would uncoil himself and hop to his feet like a spring.  He had a most serious respect for Miki’s teeth.

But Miki’s greatest moments of joy were where Neewa stood up man-fashion.  Then was a real tussle.  And his greatest hours of disgust were when Neewa stretched himself out in a tree for a nap.

It was the beginning of the third week before they came one day to the cabin.  There was no change in it, and Miki’s body sagged disconsolately as he and Neewa looked at it from the edge of the clearing.  No smoke, no sign of life, and the window was broken now—­probably by an inquisitive bear or a wolverine.  Miki went to the window and stood up to it, sniffing inside.  The smell was still there—­so faint that he could only just detect it.  But that was all.  The big room was empty except for the stove, a table and a few bits of rude furniture.  All else was gone.  Three or four times during the next half hour Miki stood up at the window, and at last Neewa—­urged by his curiosity—­did likewise.  He also detected the faint odour that was left in the cabin.  He sniffed at it for a long time.  It was like the smell he had caught the day he came out of his den—­and yet different.  It was fainter, more elusive, and not so unpleasant.