exactly to suit himself. He was in charge of himself in many ways. A
glass of water and a sandwich would do for a long time, if
necessary. . . . The West pulled him. Awhile in the mountains, he
lived with a prospector; there was a period in the desert when he came
to know lizards; then there were years of the circus, when he was out
with the Cloud Brothers, animal men of the commercial type. Ten queer,
hard years for the boy--as hard almost as for the animals.

Back in Chicago the caged creatures had been kept better--as well as
beasts belonging to the outdoors could be imprisoned, but the Cloud
Brothers didn't have fine senses like their charges. They tried to
make wild animals live in a place ventilated for men. There was a bad
death-percentage and none of the big cats were in show form, until the
Clouds began to take Skag's word for the main thing wrong. It wasn't
the hard life, nor the coops, nor the travel, but the steady day in and
day out lack of fresh air. Skag knew what the animals suffered,
because it all but murdered him on hot nights. Of course, there are
tainted-flesh things like hyenas that live best on foul air, foul
everything, but "white" animals of jungle and forest are high and
cleanly beasts. When well and in their prime, even their coats are
incapable of most kinds of dirt, because of a natural oily gloss.

At nineteen, Skag was in charge of the packing, moving and feeding of
all the big cats, including pumas, panthers, leopards. He was in and
out of the cages possibly more than was necessary. He learned that
there are two ways to manage a wild animal--the "rough-neck" way with a
club, and the fancy way with your own equilibrium; all of which comes
in more to the point later.

He was interested at the time, but not really acquainted with the
camels and elephants. He often chatted with Prussak, the Arab, who
loathed camels to the shallow depths of his soul, but got as much out
of them as most men could. Skag dreamed of a better way still, even
with camels. Often on train-trips, at first, he talked with old Alec
Binz, whose characteristic task was to chain and unchain the hind leg
of the old "gunmetal" elephant, Phedra, who bossed her sire and the
little Cloud herd, as much with the flap of an ear as anything
else. . . .

No, old Alec must not be forgotten, nor his sandalwood chest with its
little rose-jar in the corner, making everything smell so strangely
sweet that it hurt. A