st, was an overpowering impulse, not a reality. For two
or three days his trail westward was wandering and indefinite. Then it
straightened out, and early in the morning of the fifth day he came
from a deep forest into a plain, and across that plain he saw the
ridge. For a long time he gazed over the level space before he went on.

In his brain the pictures of Neewa were becoming clearer and clearer.
After all, it seemed only yesterday or the day before that he had gone
away from that ridge. Then it was smothered in snow, and a gray,
terrible gloom had settled upon the earth. Now there was but little
snow, and the sun was shining, and the sky was blue again. He went on,
and sniffed along the foot of the ridge; he had not forgotten the way.
He was not excited, because time had ceased to have definite import for
him. Yesterday he had come down from that ridge, and to-day he was
going back. He went straight to the mouth of Neewa's den, which was
uncovered now, and thrust in his head and shoulders, and sniffed. Ah!
but that lazy rascal of a bear was a sleepy-head! He was still
sleeping. Miki could smell him. Listening hard, he could HEAR him.

He climbed over the low drift of snow that had packed itself in the
neck of the cavern and entered confidently into the darkness. He heard
a soft, sleepy grunt and a great sigh. He almost stumbled over Neewa,
who had changed his bed. Again Neewa grunted, and Miki whined. He ran
his muzzle into Neewa's fresh, new coat of spring fur and smelled his
way to Neewa's ear. After all, it was only yesterday! And he remembered
everything now! So he gave Neewa's ear a sudden sharp nip with his
teeth, and then he barked in that low, throaty way that Neewa had
always understood.

"Wake up, Neewa," it all said. "Wake up! The snow is gone, and it's
fine out to-day. WAKE UP!"

And Neewa, stretching himself, gave a great yawn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Meshaba, the old Cree, sat on the sunny side of a rock on the sunny
side of a slope that looked up and down the valley. Meshaba--who many,
many years ago had been called The Giant--was very old. He was so old
that even the Factor's books over at Fort O' God had no record of his
birth; nor the "post logs" at Albany House, or Cumberland House, or
Norway House, or Fort Churchill. Perhaps farther north, at Lac La
Biche, at Old Fort Resolution, or at Fort McPherson some trace of him
might have been found. His skin was crinkled and weather-worn, lik