It was time to kill them now. The rifle lay ready. But a change had
come over the watcher too. Hitherto he had seen Upweekis as a
ferocious brute, whom it was good to kill. This was altogether
different. Upweekis could be gentle also, it seemed, and give herself
for her little ones. And a bit of tenderness, like that which lay so
unconscious under my eyes, gets hold of a man, and spikes his guns
better than moralizing. So the watcher stole away, making as little
noise as he could, following his compass of twigs to where the canoes
lay ready and Simmo was waiting.
Sometime, I hope, Simmo and I will camp there again, in winter. And
then I shall listen with a new interest for a cry in the night which
tells me that Moktaques the rabbit is hiding close at hand in the
snow, where a young lynx of my acquaintance cannot find him.
VIII. HUKWEEM THE NIGHT VOICE.
[Illustration: Hukweem]
Hukweem the loon must go through the world crying for what he never
gets, and searching for one whom he never finds; for he is the
hunting-dog of Clote Scarpe.
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