A day and night he spent in the little meadow before he went back out of the canyon and into his old haunts along the creek, where Wakayoo had fished for him.  There was another bear here now, and he also was fishing.  Perhaps he was a son or a grandson of Wakayoo.  Baree smelled where he had made his fish caches, and for three days he lived on fish before he struck out for the North.

And now, for the first time in many weeks, a bit of the old-time eagerness put speed into Baree’s feet.  Memories that had been hazy and indistinct through forgetfulness were becoming realities again, and as he would have returned to the Gray Loon had Nepeese been there so now, with something of the feeling of a wanderer going home, he returned to the old beaver pond.

It was that most glorious hour of a summer’s day—­sunset—­when he reached it.  He stopped a hundred yards away, with the pond still hidden from his sight, and sniffed the air, and listened.  The pond was there.  He caught the cool, honey smell of it.  But Umisk, and Beaver Tooth, and all the others?  Would he find them?  He strained his ears to catch a familiar sound, and after a moment or two it came—­a hollow splash in the water.

He went quietly through the alders and stood at last close to the spot where he had first made the acquaintance of Umisk.  The surface of the pond was undulating slightly, two or three heads popped up.  He saw the torpedolike wake of an old beaver towing a stick close to the opposite shore.  He looked toward the dam, and it was as he had left it almost a year ago.  He did not show himself for a time, but stood concealed in the young alders.  He felt growing in him more and more a feeling of restfulness, a relaxation from the long strain of the lonely months during which he had waited for Nepeese.

With a long breath he lay down among the alders, with his head just enough exposed to give him a clear view.  As the sun settled lower the pond became alive.  Out on the shore where he had saved Umisk from the fox came another generation of young beavers—­three of them, fat and waddling.  Very softly Baree whined.

All that night he lay in the alders.  The beaver pond became his home again.  Conditions were changed, of course, and as days grew into weeks the inhabitants of Beaver Tooth’s colony showed no signs of accepting the grown-up Baree as they had accepted the baby Baree of long ago.  He was big, black, and wolfish now—­a long-fanged and formidable-looking creature, and though he offered no violence he was regarded by the beavers with a deep-seated feeling of fear and suspicion.

On the other hand, Baree no longer felt the old puppyish desire to play with the baby beavers, so their aloofness did not trouble him as in those other days.  Umisk was grown up, too, a fat and prosperous young buck who was just taking unto himself this year a wife, and who was at present very busy gathering his winter’s rations.  It is entirely probable that he did not associate the big black beast he saw now and then with the little Baree with whom he had smelled noses once upon a time, and it is quite likely that Baree did not recognize Umisk except as a part of the memories that had remained with him.