With all the room under the root left to him Neewa pulled himself back until only his round head was showing, and from this fortress of temporary safety his bright little eyes glared forth at his mother’s murderer.

Vividly the tragedy of yesterday was before him again—­the warm, sun-filled creek bottom in which he and Noozak, his mother, were hunting a breakfast of crawfish when the man-beast came; the crash of strange thunder, their flight into the timber, and the end of it all when his mother turned to confront their enemy.  And yet it was not the death of his mother that remained with him most poignantly this morning.  It was the memory of his own terrific fight with the white man, and his struggle afterward in the black and suffocating depths of the bag in which Challoner had brought him to his camp.  Even now Challoner was looking at the scratches on his hands.  He advanced a few steps, and grinned down at Neewa, just as he had grinned good-humouredly at Miki, the angular pup.

Neewa’s little eyes blazed.

“I told you last night that I was sorry,” said Challoner, speaking as if to one of his own kind.

In several ways Challoner was unusual, an out-of-the-ordinary type in the northland.  He believed, for instance, in a certain specific psychology of the animal mind, and had proven to his own satisfaction that animals treated and conversed with in a matter-of-fact human way frequently developed an understanding which he, in his unscientific way, called reason.

“I told you I was sorry,” he repeated, squatting on his heels within a yard of the root from under which Neewa’s eyes were glaring at him, “and I am.  I’m sorry I killed your mother.  But we had to have meat and fat.  Besides, Miki and I are going to make it up to you.  We’re going to take you along with us down to the Girl, and if you don’t learn to love her you’re the meanest, lowest-down little cuss in all creation and don’t deserve a mother.  You and Miki are going to be brothers.  His mother is dead, too—­plum starved to death, which is worse than dying with a bullet in your lung.  And I found Miki just as I found you, hugging up close to her an’ crying as if there wasn’t any world left for him.  So cheer up, and give us your paw.  Let’s shake!”

Challoner held out his hand.  Neewa was as motionless as a stone.  A few moments before he would have snarled and bared his teeth.  But now he was dead still.  This was by all odds the strangest beast he had ever seen.  Yesterday it had not harmed him, except to put him into the bag.  And now it did not offer to harm him.  More than that, the talk it made was not unpleasant, or threatening.  His eyes took in Miki.  The pup had squeezed himself squarely between Challoner’s knees and was looking at him in a puzzled, questioning sort of way, as if to ask:  “Why don’t you come out from under that root and help get breakfast?”

Challoner’s hand came nearer, and Neewa crowded himself back until there was not another inch of room for him to fill.  Then the miracle happened.  The man-beast’s paw touched his head.  It sent a strange and terrible thrill through him.  Yet it did not hurt.  If he had not wedged himself in so tightly he would have scratched and bitten.  But he could do neither.