"Hugging up to a sleepy-old bear, to keep warm, bless her," explained McLaggan. "Got any grub with you? I want a square feed, and a tin of tea."
"A bear?" cried Davis eagerly, snatching at his gun and starting to slip off his snow-shoes. "Where is he? In that hole?"
"No, you don't, Baldy," snapped McLaggan, sharp as a whip-lash, grabbing Davis savagely by the wrist. "No, you don't! See?"
Then, noticing Davis's astonishment, he continued more mildly: "You see, Baldy, that old bear's my pal. She adopted me, that she did, when I was just all in. Why, she's licked my back hair all the wrong way, so hard I don't know as I'll ever get it to lay straight again."
"My mistake. I apologize," responded Davis good-humouredly.
Long Jackson, a woodsman and trapper of experience who had been wont to study the wild kindreds even more intently than he hunted them, divined all McLaggan's experience in a flash.
"I see," said he, nodding his head. "An old she-bear, an' cubs, eh? Too sleepy to know the difference, eh? An' I'll bet you stole the cubs' rations, eh, Mac?"
"Only one cub—and me!" laughed McLaggam "There was plenty for the two of us. But right now I'd like something solider than warm milk."
"We'll move round yonder into the sun, an'
