, that he could hardly open
his mouth.

"'Well, well,' said his friend, after looking him over carefully, 'you
seem to be in a sad case. What has happened to you?'

"'Oh,' replied Sun-ka, speaking with difficulty, 'I tried to get my
share of the meat, which my mistress has in her lodge, and she beat me
for it. She beat me till I am stiff and sore, and can scarcely move.'

"'Well,' said his friend, 'I wouldn't stand it if I were you. The meat
is just as much yours as it is hers. You caught most of it yourself and
you helped her to catch the rest of it, I'll tell you what we'll do;
well pay her off for it. I'll go and call our friends; I'll call
Rainmaker, Stillbiter, Strongneck, and Sharptooth.' And so he did.

"Rainmaker caused it to rain, and it rained all the day through until
dark, and when it was dark it was very dark. Then Stillbiter crept up
softly to the lodge and bit off all the thongs which fastened the
covering to the lodge poles.

"When this was done, Strongneck crept in and seized the meat and carried
it away. Then Sharptooth ripped open the bag which held the meat, and
before morning the six dogs ate it all up.

"When the meat was all gone, Sun-ka ran away and became a wild dog. What
became of the old Indian woman I do not know."

"Served her right," said the little boy. "If she hadn't been so stingy
with her meat, she wouldn't have lost it. And Sun-ka would have stayed
with her to help catch more."

XXX. HOW THE DOG'S TONGUE BECAME LONG

It was hot. Little Luke sat on the doorstep in the shade. Over in the
pasture Old Boze the Hound gave tongue. He was at his favorite sport of
trailing rabbits all by himself. He really didn't have any spite against
the rabbits, but when he struck a fresh trail, he felt that he just must
follow it. And when he had puzzled out a balk or break in the trait, he
couldn't for the life of him keep still.

But it was really too hot for trailing, especially when there was
nothing in it but fun. The old hound would have stuck to it longer if
Sam the hired man had been around somewhere, hiding behind the bushes
with his thundering fire-stick. Old Boze wasn't afraid of the
fire-stick. He liked to hear it roar, and see the poor rabbits fall
before its deadly breath.

Well, after a while he gave it up and came back to the house. Going
around to the doorstep, he lay down on the cool porch with his head
close to the little boy's shoulder. He was tired, and his drippin