ands. When we had gorged our fill, we carried the remainder of the meat
to the eastward forest and hid it in a tree. We never returned to that
tree, for the shore of the stream that drained Far Lake was packed thick
with salmon that had come up from the sea to spawn.

Westward from the lake stretched the grass-lands, and here were
multitudes of bison and wild cattle. Also were there many packs of wild
dogs, and as there were no trees it was not a safe place for us. We
followed north along the stream for days. Then, and for what reason I do
not know, we abruptly left the stream and swung to the east, and then
to the southeast, through a great forest. I shall not bore you with our
journey. I but indicate it to show how we finally arrived at the Fire
People's country.

We came out upon the river, but we did not know it for our river. We had
been lost so long that we had come to accept the condition of being lost
as habitual. As I look back I see clearly how our lives and destinies
are shaped by the merest chance. We did not know it was our river--there
was no way of telling; and if we had never crossed it we would most
probably have never returned to the horde; and I, the modern, the
thousand centuries yet to be born, would never have been born.

And yet Lop-Ear and I wanted greatly to return. We had experienced
homesickness on our journey, the yearning for our own kind and land;
and often had I had recollections of the Swift One, the young female who
made soft sounds, whom it was good to be with, and who lived by
herself nobody knew where. My recollections of her were accompanied by
sensations of hunger, and these I felt when I was not hungry and when I
had just eaten.

But to come back to the river. Food was plentiful, principally berries
and succulent roots, and on the river bank we played and lingered for
days. And then the idea came to Lop-Ear. It was a visible process,
the coming of the idea. I saw it. The expression in his eyes became
plaintive and querulous, and he was greatly perturbed. Then his eyes
went muddy, as if he had lost his grip on the inchoate thought. This was
followed by the plaintive, querulous expression as the idea persisted
and he clutched it anew. He looked at me, and at the river and the far
shore. He tried to speak, but had no sounds with which to express the
idea. The result was a gibberish that made me laugh. This angered him,
and he grabbed me suddenly and threw me on my back. Of course w