Mooswa sighed wearily. Jack's frivolity was tiring to his sedate mind.

"Well, that's my Boy there. I'd like to rub my nose against his rose-flowered cheek."

"While Francois tickled your lean ribs with the Firestick!" jeered the Bird.

"Bring a pot of water," said Francois to his comrade, "while I cut up the fish."

"Great Suckers!" exclaimed Nekik; "Fish! and a beauty, too. It's a Tulabie. I know them; they're first cousin to White-fish. These men have fine taste--a fish diet makes one clever."

"It does!" declared Mink.

"It's better than roots!" concurred Muskrat.

"Slow Birds! it makes me hungry," sighed the Red Widow.

"So it does me, Good Dame," piped Whisky-Jack. "You chaps had better slip away home now; I'm going to breakfast with the Men. It isn't safe to remain, for I can't stop to look after you."

"Go and clear the plates, Feather-front," cried Carcajou, malignantly.

Jack sawed the air energetically with his wings and lighted on the wire guy with which Francois had steadied the stove pipe.

"Shall we move, Comrades?" asked Black King.

"Wait and see how Jack gets on with The Boy," pleaded Mooswa.

"I could sit here and smell that Fish all day," declared Nekik.

"So could I," added Mink. "It's just lovely. I've never tasted Fish dried in the fire-pot. Once I stole one from a Trapper which he had dried in the sun--there was no juice in it."

"Pe-e-p! Peep!" squeaked Whisky-Jack. The Boy looked up at him.

"What a frowsy-headed old bird!" he exclaimed, shying a stick at Jay.

Muskwa dug Mooswa in the ribs with his big paw. "We'll see fun yet if we wait," he chuckled thickly.

"Don't bodder 'bout dat fell'," remonstrated Francois; "dat's only Whisky-Jack."

"Only what?" asked the lad.

"What dey call Canadienne Jay--Whisky-Jack."

"Shall I shoot him?"

"No; dat fell' no good, but he's not wort' de powder an' s'ot."

Jack heard a faint giggle come up from the gray willows, for Wolverine had his big-clawed fist half-way down his throat to choke the sound of laughter.

"Our Clerk's Men Friends are complimentary," remarked Black King.

The Boy cut a small piece of fat pork, stuck it on a sharp stick, and busied himself somewhat at the stove front; but the watchers could not quite see what he was doing.

"I think I'll give Jay some breakfast," he said suddenly; "the bird seems hungry:" and straightening his back, threw towards him the lump of pork.

With a pleased chuckle Jack swooped down and drove his beak into the white ma.s.s like a lance. Then he went through a rare set of gymnastic contortions, for the wicked Boy had heated the pork scalding hot. Jack clawed at it with his feet and burnt his toes--his tongue was blistered.

"What's that noise?" exclaimed Rod, for a distinct m.u.f.fled laugh had escaped from the band of animals.

"It's de float-ice groundin' on de ribber-banks, I tink me," answered Francois, c.o.c.king his head sideways to listen.

As the animals slipped away in alarm, Jack came fluffing after them, and perched himself indignantly on Mooswa's great antlers.

"O my Giant Brother!" he cried furiously, "come and kill that debased Man-Cub, I beg you."

The Moose's s.h.a.ggy sides were heaving with suppressed laughter. "What has he done, Sweet Bird?" he moaned.

"Taken the skin off my toes, and blistered my tongue with his accursed fat pork."

"Why don't you wear boots as I do, and not knock around barefooted? I should be always jamming my toes if I hadn't these thick boots. Why, last year when the big fire was on, I went through miles of burning country, and except a little hardening up of the soles, there was no harm done."

"But you don't wear them on your tongue, do you?" asked the Bird, crossly.

"No, Silent One, I don't--neither do you; but if you'll just wrap it up for a few days and give it a rest, I'm sure it will be all right."

"Do," cried Carcajou; "we sha'n't mind. I suppose that's what The Boy calls his Tongue Trap--he knew whom to set it for, too."

"Come and trample him with your sharp hoofs, dear Mooswa," pleaded Whisky-Jack, the lack of sympathy and the chaff making him furious.

"Oh, sit still, if you're going to ride on my horns," exclaimed the Bull. "You're jigging about--"

"As though he had corns," interrupted Carcajou.

"It was so nice of you, Whisky-Jack," said Lynx, in an oily tone, "to take care of us all while we were there--wasn't it? Some of us might have burned our tongues but for you destroying the hot Bait."

When the animals got back to their meeting-place, which was known as the Boundary Centre, they stopped for a time to compare notes.

"Comrades," said Mooswa, "little have I claimed from you. I kill not anything; neither the Fox Cubs, nor the Sons of Umisk, nor the red-tailed Birds that beat their wings like drums, nor anything. But this new law I ask of you all in the face of the King; for the Boy that was my Man-brother, the safeguard of the Boundaries."

"You have not had the hot-meat thrust in your throat, friend of the rascally Cub," objected Jack, angrily.

"Hush, Chatterer!" growled Bear; "let Mooswa speak."

"The horn-crowned Lord of the Forest gives expression to a n.o.ble sentiment," declared Pisew. "By all means let the Kit-Man grow free of the Boundary Fear, until his claws are long and his bone-cracking teeth are strong."

"He must have a Mother also," said the Red-Widow softly. "You have all forsworn malice to my Babe, Stripes, until he is of full strength--let the Man-Cub have the same guard."

"What about Francois?" objected Whisky-Jack. "By my Stone-crop I'll wager he taught that Chick the trick of the hot pork."

"For him," continued Mooswa, gravely, "in defence of our rights and our lives the full law of the Forest; by night, the lone road and the cry of Blue Wolf and his Brothers; by day, the strong clasp of Muskwa; at close quarters, the stamp of my hoofs; and for his Traps and their Bait, the cunning of Carcajou and Black King."