One day Miki found a huge fisher-cat in one of the traps.  He had not forgotten the battle of long ago with Oochak, the other fisher-cat, or the whipping he had received.  But there was no thought of vengeance in his heart on the early evening he became acquainted with Oochak the Second.  Usually he was in his windfall at dusk, but this afternoon a great and devouring loneliness had held him on the trail.  The spirit of Kuskayetum—­the hand of the mating-god—­was pressing heavily upon him; the consuming desire of flesh and blood for the companionship of other flesh and blood.  It burned in his veins like a fever.  It took away from him all thought of hunger or of the hunt.  In his soul was a vast, unfilled yearning.

It was then that he came upon Oochak.  Perhaps it was the same Oochak of months ago.  If so, he had grown even as Miki had grown.  He was splendid, with his long silken fur and his sleek body, and he was not struggling, but sat awaiting his fate without excitement.  To Miki he looked warm and soft and comfortable.  It made him think of Neewa, and the hundred and one nights they had slept together.  His desire leapt out to Oochak.  He whined softly as he advanced.  He would make friends.  Even with Oochak, his old enemy, he would lie down in peace and happiness, so great was the gnawing emptiness in his heart.

Oochak made no response, nor did he move, but sat furred up like a huge soft ball, watching Miki as he crept nearer on his belly.  Something of the old puppishness came back into the dog.  He wriggled and thumped his tail, and as he whined again he seemed to say.

“Let’s forget the old trouble, Oochak.  Let’s be friends.  I’ve got a fine windfall—­and I’ll kill you a rabbit.”

And still Oochak did not move or make a sound.  At last Miki could almost reach out with his forepaws and touch him.  He dragged himself still nearer, and his tail thumped harder.

“And I’ll get you out of the trap,” he may have been saying.  “It’s the man-beast’s trap—­and I hate him.”

And then, so suddenly that Miki had no chance to guard himself, Oochak sprang the length of the trap-chain and was at him.  With teeth and razor-edged claws he tore deep gashes in Miki’s nose.  Even then the blood of battle rose slowly in him, and he might have retreated had not Oochak’s teeth got a hold in his shoulder.  With a roar he tried to shake himself free, but Oochak held on.  Then his jaws snapped at the back of the fisher-cat’s neck.  When he was done Oochak was dead.

He slunk away, but in him there was no more the thrill of the victor.  He had killed, but in killing he had found no joy.  Upon him—­the four-footed beast—­had fallen at last the oppression of the thing that drives men mad.  He stood in the heart of a vast world, and for him that world was empty.  He was an outcast.  His heart crying out for comradeship, he found that all things feared him or hated him.  He was a pariah; a wanderer without a friend or a home.  He did not reason these things but the gloom of them settled upon him like black night.