As for Muskwa, he had gone syrup mad.  He could not remember that his mother had ever given him anything like it, and Thor had produced nothing better than fish.

Late in the afternoon Langdon untied Muskwa’s rope and led him for a stroll down toward the creek.  He carried the syrup dish and every few yards he would pause and let the cub have a taste of its contents.  After half an hour of this manoeuvring he dropped his end of the leash entirely, and walked campward.  And Muskwa followed!  It was a triumph, and in Langdon’s veins there pulsed a pleasurable thrill which his life in the open had never brought to him before.

It was late when Metoosin returned, and he was quite surprised that Bruce had not shown up.  Darkness came, and they built up the fire.  They were finishing supper an hour later when Bruce came in, carrying something swung over his shoulders.  He tossed it close to where Muskwa was hidden behind his tree.

“A skin like velvet, and some meat for the dogs,” he said.  “I shot it with my pistol.”

He sat down and began eating.  After a little Muskwa cautiously approached the carcass that lay doubled up three or four feet from him.  He smelled of it, and a curious thrill shot through him.  Then he whimpered softly as he muzzled the soft fur, still warm with life.  And for a time after that he was very still.

For the thing that Bruce had brought into camp and flung at the foot of his tree was the dead body of little Pipoonaskoos!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

That night the big loneliness returned to Muskwa.  Bruce and Metoosin were so tired after their hard climb over the range that they went to bed early, and Langdon followed them, leaving Pipoonaskoos where Bruce had first thrown him.

Scarcely a move had Muskwa made after the discovery that had set his heart beating a little faster.  He did not know what death was, or what it meant, and as Pipoonaskoos was so warm and soft he was sure that he would move after a little.  He had no inclination to fight him now.

Again it grew very, very still, and the stars filled the sky, and the fire burned low.  But Pipoonaskoos did not move.  Gently at first, Muskwa began nosing him and pulling at his silken hair, and as he did this he whimpered softly, as if saying, “I don’t want to fight you any more, Pipoonaskoos!  Wake up, and let’s be friends!”

But still Pipoonaskoos did not stir, and at last Muskwa gave up all hope of waking him.  And still whimpering to his fat little enemy of the green meadow how sorry he was that he had chased him, he snuggled close up to Pipoonaskoos and in time went to sleep.

Langdon was first up in the morning, and when he came over to see how Muskwa had fared during the night he suddenly stopped, and for a full minute he stood without moving, and then a low, strange cry broke from his lips.  For Muskwa and Pipoonaskoos were snuggled as closely as they could have snuggled had both been living, and in some way Muskwa had arranged it so that one of the dead cub’s little paws was embracing him.