CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

For many days after the Great Fire it was Neewa who took the lead.  All their world was a black and lifeless desolation and Miki would not have known which way to turn.  Had it been a local fire of small extent he would have “wandered” out of its charred path.  But the conflagration had been immense.  It had swept over a vast reach of country, and for a half of the creatures who had saved themselves in the lakes and streams there was only a death by starvation left.

But not for Neewa and his breed.  Just as there had been no indecision in the manner and direction of his flight before the fire so there was now no hesitation in the direction he chose to seek a live world again.  It was due north and west—­as straight as a die.  If they came to a lake, and went around it, Neewa would always follow the shore until he came directly opposite his trail on the other side of the lake—­and then strike north and west again.  He travelled steadily, not only by day but also by night, with only short intervals of rest, and the dawning of the second morning found Miki more exhausted than the bear.

There were many evidences now that they had reached a point where the fire had begun to burn itself out.  Patches of green timber were left standing, there were swamps unscathed by the flames, and here and there they came upon green patches of meadow.  In the swamps and timber they feasted, for these oases in what had been a sea of flame were filled with food ready to be preyed upon and devoured.  For the first time Neewa refused to stop because there was plenty to eat.  The sixth day they were a hundred miles from the lake in which they had sought refuge from the fire.

It was a wonderful country of green timber, of wide plains and of many lakes and streams—­cut up by a thousand usayow (low ridges), which made the best of hunting.  Because it was a country of many waters, with live streams running between the ridges and from lake to lake, it had not suffered from the drought like the country farther south.  For a month Neewa and Miki hunted in their new paradise, and became fat and happy again.

It was in September that they came upon a strange thing in the edge of a swamp.  At first Miki thought that it was a cabin; but it was a great deal smaller than any cabin he had known.  It was not much larger than the cage of saplings in which Le Beau had kept him.  But it was made of heavy logs, and the logs were notched so that nothing could knock them down.  And these logs, instead of lying closely one on the other, had open spaces six or eight inches wide between them.  And there was a wide-open door.  From this strange contraption there came a strong odour of over-ripened fish.  The smell repelled Miki.  But it was a powerful attraction to Neewa, who persisted in remaining near it in spite of all Miki could do to drag him away.  Finally, disgusted