the highest range, the region of his native Tallac.

He had but little of the usual training of a young Bear, but he had a
few instincts, his birthright, that stood him well in all the main
issues, and his nose was an excellent guide. Thus he managed to live,
and wild-life experiences coming fast gave his mind the chance to
grow.

Jack's memory for faces and facts was not at all good, but his memory
for smells was imperishable. He had forgotten Bonamy's cur, but the
smell of Bonamy's cur would instantly have thrilled him with the old
feelings. He had forgotten the cross ram, but the smell of "Old Woolly
Whiskers" would have inspired him at once with anger and hate; and one
evening when the wind came richly laden with ram smell it was like a
bygone life returned. He had been living on roots and berries for
weeks and now began to experience that hankering for flesh that comes
on every candid vegetarian with dangerous force from time to time. The
ram smell seemed an answer to it. So down he went by night (no
sensible Bear travels by day), and the smell brought him from the
pines on the hillside to an open rocky dale.

Long before he got there a curious light shone up. He knew what that
was; he had seen the two-legged ones make it near the ranch of evil
smells and memories, so feared it not. He swung along from ledge to
ledge in silence and in haste, for the smell of sheep grew stronger at
every stride, and when he reached a place above the fire he blinked
his eyes to find the sheep. The smell was strong now; it was rank, but
no sheep to be seen. Instead he saw in the valley a stretch of gray
water that seemed to reflect the stars, and yet they neither twinkled
nor rippled; there was a murmuring sound from the sheet, but it seemed